If you’ll recall this post I wrote a couple of years ago, I was…anxious about my first ever massage. But since I survived, and—with some reflection—understood there were in fact benefits, I decided that once I hit my 1000-mile running goal, I’d give massages another go.
Before I ever went to a spa, I used make passing comments that if I did, I’d rather they “wrap me in a leaf” or “put me in mud for a few hours” than give me a massage. While one of those wishes was more or less fulfilled a few years back (which you can read about here) I decided that this post-running spa trip probably would (and should) consist of a massage.
Fast-forward a few weeks to the Friday after Christmas. My mom had put in an extensive amount of research to try and make my spa day dreams come true, and as we sat on cushioned lounge chairs in white cloth robes, waiting to be called back to our individual rooms, I was both anxious and excited.
“Kimberlee,” a woman said as she approached us.
She guided me down a hallway and pointed to a white door, all the while explaining what would be involved in my lavender milk and honey cocoon. (Yeah, remember that leaf I’d always wanted? That idea went out the window the minute I learned of the opportunity to go full insect on the world.)
I walked into the room and my masseuse, Natalie (the same name as my sister, a.k.a her first win in my book) told me she was going to step out of the room for a few minutes. In that time, I could adjust the lighting, the music being played, the temperature of the room, and finally, take off my robe and lie on my stomach.
I didn’t end up changing any of the settings she mentioned, but on par with both of the other spa experiences I’ve had, I spent a solid amount of time on the underwear debate. Do I keep it on? Do I take it off? Should I have taken it off before she led me back here?
With my robe already off, and my underwear in my hand, I paced back and forth across the room—in perhaps the strangest way I’ve ever thought something over—and eventually decided to tuck my underwear in my robe pocket. When Natalie knocked, I was under the covers with my face stuffed into that pillow that always seems one size too small.
“Alright Ms. Kim, we’re going to start with the body buff.”
And for the next twenty minutes, I was quite literally buffed. Using a scrub that felt like sandy soap (in a good way?) I felt like she was exercising every imperfection out of my skin. The only hiccup was when she reached for my stomach and my skin literally moved away from her hands, like a cartoon character fidgeting away from danger. Luckily Natalie seemed unfazed and finished the spiff job like I was a classic car going to auction.
She then asked me to stand up, rinse off in the shower—which I didn’t even notice was there—then come back in with my towel open in the back and sit up straight on the table. It was pretty straightforward. And aside from feeling slightly like I was at the gyno, I was excited for step two, a.k.a THE COCOON.
Now, it’s probably clear—or if it isn’t, allow me to clarify—I am a human girl. However, once my masseuse began to lather—not sprinkle, not dab, LATHER—the honey & lavender milk mixture on my skin, I quickly began my transformation into a mouth watering KFC biscuit. And while I kept wanting to feel, I don’t know, gross because of how much I undoubtedly resembled a human flytrap, I managed to maintain a head space of bliss rather than bleh.
I’d like to say this was from my newly found spa-maturity, however, I’m 100% sure it was attributed to the fact that after she finished a section of my body she would layer on hot towels, making me feel like a moisturized mummy, something I never knew I wanted to be. And if that wasn’t great enough, once I was to honey what Eggo waffles should be to syrup, she pulled the sides of the weighted blanket I was laying on over me and tied me into it.
I repeat, SHE TIED ME INTO IT.
It was like I was a 5 year old being burrito-ed into bed by my dad all over again and I was LIVING. FOR. IT.
As a final step, she turned off the lights, giving me an ample atmosphere for my caterpillar/peasant to moth/full blown goddess transformation. Then, after just the right amount of time (i.e. long enough that I could have grown honey scented wings but not so long that I’d develop cocoon claustrophobia a.k.a a level of fear I never want to unlock) Natalie slowly lifted the lights, unzipped me and told me to rinse off in the shower again.
Once I was back on the table, we began the 50-minute massage included with the package, which was substantially less terrifying than my first one. Mostly because I knew what to expect, but also because by that point I felt like Natalie and I had been through a lot together and I trusted she wouldn’t do anything to break the strong (probably one-sided) bond we’d built. In the end, I’m happy to report the massage went off without a hitch, save for the few minutes at the end when the music changed to what sounded like the soundtrack to The Godfather, and I lost focus on relaxation and started thinking about you know, murder.
When Natalie was finished, she heated my robe in…umm…a magical robe heater…I assume—I honestly have no idea—and then she once again stepped out, giving me privacy to get dressed. As you can imagine, getting up sounded impossible at this point, let alone getting dressed and reentering the real world. But I managed to muster up the strength (see: courage). Afterwards, Natalie led me back down the hallway to the cushiony lounge chairs where it all began. She also gave me an apple and a magazine with an article about JK Rowling in it, making me wonder if I should just propose. Before I could decide however, she was gone.