I’ve had two massages in my entire life. Totally deprived, I know. After the second massage, which occurred in the Philippines and bordered outright molestation, I decided enough was enough. To hear my pampered friends drone on and on about their massages did little to provoke me to any kind of envy. I’d just mentally go right back to ‘Olga’ the gargantuan Filipino masseuse with her boulder hands and shudder at the thought of another massage. Donnie was happy. Saving money on such luxuries is a score in his book.
When my Chiropractor mentioned that he thought a medical massage would greatly benefit the gazillion muscle knots I was harboring in my back, I was hesistant. However, I trust this guy so off I went (NOT like a sheep to the slaughter as with my Philippine massage!) doubting any medical properties to the massage. I truly believed it was just a massage wrapped in different wording. That little “medical” had a nice ring and worked for me.
Enter the massuse. He was all professional and verbally flashed his academic background. Impressive. But the moment he placed his hands on me it was like medicine coursing through my back. He dug, poked, stretched, pushed, stroked and other things words can not describe. Contrary to how it sounds the experience was totally G rated. My muscles screamed in hurt so good pain as he found each knot and forced it out. He knew trigger points, nerve roots, muscular junctions, basically enough to put the “medical” in massage and bliss in my back. This massage was like no other massage I had ever had…all two to compare to, I realize but the dude was good.
Time was up. I was done. The medical massage was over. My muscles were burning.
I had been overhauled and I was hooked.