I should have known something was up when the receptionist asked me if I needed any gym shorts. For a massage? I'm comfortable enough with my own bare ass that a towel is just fine.
Then I walked into the room. There were no candles, no mood music, just a softball on the bookshelf and some posters from Bob's company showing what the various muscles in the human body are named. The blinds were open, the lights were on. I began second guessing my decision not to accept the gym shorts.
A couple minutes later, Stacy came in with a clipboard in her hand and asked me about problem areas. I explained that I had crashed in a bike race and landed on my head and now my neck hurt. I also told her I have chronic back spasms from an auto accident but that those had disappeared for some reason after my crash.
She explained that they don't mess around with full body stuff, they just go to work on the problem areas. And then she proceeded to beat the shit out of me for 45 minutes. She didn't tell me to relax or to stop crying or to hold still. When she saw that it hurt, she just made it hurt more. Which kind of sucked at the time, but now I feel much better.
Enough better that when she said I needed to come back on Friday, I didn't even hesitate. I've been led to believe I'll be ready to race on Saturday.