Asian Massage

I once got a spa massage as a birthday gift from two of my friends. It was heavenly.

This year, my mom treated me to an Asian massage. It was recommended to her by a friend after her car accident. My mom bought a package deal of 10 massages, and we went in together as a mother-daughter experience. 

Technically, we went in for the 60-minute foot massage/reflexology session. I had already read on yelp that it's actually a full-body massage with a concentration on the feet. Cool.

Upon entering the spa-looking lobby, we were led into a dimly lit room with six beds in a three-by-two grid. My mom and I were led to opposite sides of the room, since there were other customers already on the other beds. Our session started with a foot soak, which was nice and warm and relaxing. I did my best to tune out the other patrons grunting, and the sound of banging (?!). 

My masseuse was a surprisingly strong petite Chinese lady. She covered me (fully clothed) with a blanket, and then sat at the head of the bed. I heard oil being pumped, and then suddenly her hands were kneading my face--forehead, cheeks, chin. Oil. On. My. Face. Who knows what kind of oil! I could only think of washing my face as soon as I got home. I would really, really like to not be broken out for my interview later this week. Another weird thing was my masseuse stuck her fingers in my ears, and then gave me a scalp massage. Huh.

After the face and scalp massage, a towel was placed over my eyes so I could only see a sliver of light if I looked down my nose. Then my masseuse started working on my shoulders. It was actually really nice, as my shoulders are tense probably 90% of my waking hours. When she started working down my arms, I let out a little yelp because my left arm is still not 100% from my snowboarding accident. She reduced the pressure a little and then both arms were kneaded without incident. I think that covering the eyes was supposed to make a more relaxing experience, but in all honesty it only made my ears more keen to sounds of a man groaning nearby.

The 'foot' part of the foot massage was interesting. I'm not normally ticklish on any area of my body, but it was all I could do to keep from laughing uncontrollably in that room full of other people. While my masseuse was rubbing and kneading, I thought about dungeons. I thought about the MCAT. I thought about how sad Anne Hathaway looked in Les Mis (which Danny and I watched yesterday). I got through the foot massage with only a stifled chortle and clenched fists. It could've been much, much worse.

I was told to flip over, and to put my face into the face donut thing, you know, for breathing. But this face donut wasn't particularly well designed, because I couldn't breathe. With every knead on my back, my chest was compressed and my throat pushed against the bed. I'm fine though, because I learned very quickly to alternate my breaths with the kneads. Normally, when Danny gives me shoulder massages, I make a huge scene and sort of noisily laugh-cry because it hurts and I have a low threshold for muscle-related pain. But I resolved to keep silent during this massage, even when my masseuse used her elbows to scrape my shoulder blades. I amuse myself.


My mom and I emerged slightly out of breath. She beamed, "Good, huh? Too bad you didn't get a man. Mine had so much strength! Maybe next time."