As a runner, and one who occasionally runs long distances, I am a big proponent of massage therapy. Now when I say massage I am not referring to the type of Swedish massage that has you fast asleep on the table in 15 minutes. I am talking about the kind of therapeutic sports massage that features a masseuse that has to remind you to breathe and apologizes for the pain 9 or 10 times in the matter of an hour. Last night, I let my inner masochist out and paid a little asian woman to make me cry.
Normally it doesn’t come to this, but I have been lax in my stretching and foam rolling and I noticed over the last week that my legs were getting very sore and very stiff. So I booked a massage with the full expectation of having it be a bit painful now, but beneficial in the long run. Because I called at the last minute my appointment was with a woman that I hadn’t seen before, named Bee.
“Do you have any problem areas?” she asked.
“My legs. I have been running longer distances lately, so my legs are getting sore.”
“And you want hard massage right?” she confirmed.
“Is it okay if I walk on you?” she asked mater-of-fact.