I began this week with a 6-miler on Monday.  Done with rest days from here on in (unless I need one, of course) it was no surprise that following Sunday’s LR,  the infamous leg was barking a bit.

The next morning, I’m in the midst of my usual time suck and see a Facebook update from my local running store that includes a link to Phila Massage with something like “Give yourself a gift of sports massage”.

Now, I must admit, I’m 50 years old and have never had a massage – that wasn’t about sex, that is.  I’m not a Spa-type person at all, I don’t care about being made to relax or lying around with hot rocks on my back or getting dipped in mud or walking around with a white towel turban – it’s really not my thing.

And because I am a dumb-ass a lot of the time, I always assumed a sports massage was that type of luxury item: something you don’t need, makes you feel better for a day but then you’re back to your same-old self a couple days later.

But I check out the website and it hits me that sports massage is in the same bucket as ART, that it’s another form of PT.  Reading further, I see this place is located in a gym downtown (just a 20-minute walk from my apartment so no Zipcar rental or parking hassles), the rates are reasonable and it has nothing to do with doctors or referrals, I can just go. Hmmm…

So I go for my run, an 8-miler, and while it’s dramatically improved from the previous day, I can’t stop thinking about the massage place.  I know full-well I still have soft-tissue adhesions that will continue to bark intermittently until my foam roller, fingers and time eventually work them out. But how long is that gonna take?  One week, two, four? No telling.

Mid-run, I decide “Enough dickin’ around, let’s give it a try”.  The moment I get home, I fill out the online booking form.  This was at 2pm.  By 5pm, I’m on a table getting a massage.

The Massage
It was phenomenal.  The masseur, Brian, is a huggy bear of a guy, sweet as hell and really enthusiastic about his work.   He was also extremely generous with his knowledge; it was like taking a class, I absolutely loved it.  He worked on me for an hour, homed right in on the trouble spots and as a result, yesterday’s planned 9-miler turned into 11.

I’m seriously kicking myself for having eschewed massage prior to this.  Had I done it in September when I felt those first tweaks, I am certain there would never have been an injury in the first place.  Hindsight aside, I’m thrilled to have it in my back pocket now, it’s like a secret weapon for the future.

In the meantime, I booked a 30-min appt for next Wednesday.  I’m sure there’s some final adhesion gunk to work out and I’ll be happy and confident knowing the last of my cooties are gone.

Social Ineptitude
Of course, a new experience like this would not be complete without me doing something embarrassing – this time it was when I paid for the session. I hadn’t thought about tipping, thinking it was like a PT or doctor thing.  But once I got out on the street, it occurred to me that perhaps this is more akin to a hairdresser.

So after wrestling with “do I, don’t I?” for about 10 minutes, I post an emergency update on Facebook asking if I’m supposed to tip and how much.  While I impatiently waited for replies, I see a girl standing there outside (it’s a huge building btw and the gym is just one of many businesses in there) but she looks like she’s wearing fitnessy clothing, so I walk up like a lunatic and ask “Do you know if you’re supposed to tip a sports massage person?”  Without missing a beat she said, “Yeah, it’s like when you go out to eat, so like 15-20%.”  I thank her profusely, run back inside and very apologetically take care of it.  Still, I kicked myself all the way home, I hate screwing up tipping etiquette.

Despite my near-gaffe, yesterday morning Brian sends me a really nice email that includes a 3D model of the body, isolating the muscles he’d worked on, that you can pan around and zoom – really cool.  Conclusion: it was a great experience from beginning to end.

And with that, have a great holiday week, all.  I’ll pop in on Xmas day with my mileage rundown as usual.  In the meantime, enjoy the happy spirit of the season or hide in your basement till it’s over, whichever makes you happiest.  Later, loves!

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