I’ve decided to write this morning about a massage I had yesterday, not because it was particularly interesting or special, but because I feel it only fair that I warn all of you massage lovers out there to beware of little old lady masseuses, especially those of Asian ethnicity who tend to be very petite and fragile-looking. Let me start however by explaining why I sought out a massage yesterday, a deep-tissue one I might add. Early last year I injured my right hip while out on a long run (a long run for me is generally 9 or more miles), and its only been in recent months that I have been able to adhere to a regular running schedule which also includes a weekly long run. One area of my training which drastically lacks attention mind you, is post-run stretching, hence my muscles often feel sore and tight. Last week I knew that it was imperative that I get myself to a masseuse who could give my muscles a good rub-down and decent stretch. And that is how I ended up in the massage room at Futenma Semper Fit gym.

I knew I was in trouble when I met the masseuse and saw how old and tiny she was; I knew I was in further trouble when she proceeded to massage me without even enquiring about my specific concerns or needs (she spoke very little English). The trouble I was about to encounter though was not at all what I expected; I assumed that because of her age and size, as well as the absence of a consultation, her ability to provide a deep tissue massage would be somewhat minimal. She proved me VERY wrong!

The massage began with the masseuse slowly kneading her fingers and palms down my spine, along the small of my back, and then up toward my shoulder blades. I felt frustrated at first because the gentle kneading was not what I wanted or needed. But the pressure suddenly increased and the gentle kneading turned into small but painful pressing movements which seemed to target my most sensitive pressure points. Her fingers poked and prodded the muscles at the back of my neck and when it became obvious that one side was causing me significantly more pain than the other, she pushed on that side even harder. She said, “Kore, itai?” (Here, does it hurt?”). “Hai,” I replied. Am I wrong to think that my “hai,” which sounded at least two or three octaves higher than my usual speaking voice, should have been a cue to the masseuse that she might need to ease off a little? Silly me! Bear in mind too that this was only five minutes into the massage, I still had another fifty five minutes to endure.

Moving on from my neck, this little Japanese lady who looked as if she should be crooning over her grandchildren in some nice little park somewhere, began to focus on my back and shoulders. She went up and down my spine, which by the way, cracked loudly several times. She then carefully pushed on my upper back and shoulders until she found the most sensitive spots, and with deliberate and powerful movements, she fiercely dug her fingers into those extremely tender points and held them there until I was almost in tears. I swear that if a camera had been inserted underneath the bed and was able to capture the faces I was pulling, it would also have captured proof that the face can be contorted in ways that are typically not possible. And just when I thought she was done butchering my back, she sprung up on the bed, straddled my back and used every ounce of her miniscule body weight to push down on my spinal cord. Believe me when I tell you that a small body frame is deceiving in the art of massage! Finally she lowered herself down from the bed and finished the back portion of the massage with a few walloping slaps that quickly threw me out of my vegetative state and into a renewed state of alertness.

My legs were next, much to my dismay! I wanted to tell her that I had just remembered an appointment that I had to get to and that I would have to leave, but by this point she terrified me and I was too afraid to say anything. So I lay there quietly and willingly allowed her to manipulate and move my legs as she pleased. She started with my left leg; first my outer thigh and down over my calf. I can’t put into words how excruciatingly painful this part of the massage was. Maybe because I am a runner and my muscles are always tight from being over-used, the level of sensitivity becomes ten-fold when being massaged? I think if it had been a masseuse who was used to altering the amount of pressure applied as indicated by the client’s comfort level, I probably would have coped okay. But this lady was not going to ease off one iota, she sensed the pain she was inflicting and she grinded her fingers in deeper. I know she was aware of my discomfort because apart from the quiet mellow music in the background, the only sound that could be heard was my huge breaths in and my huge breaths out! The final part of the leg massage involved the violent jerking of my toes, much like someone ruthlessly yanking out the feathers from a turkey. Sometimes my husband attempts to pull my toes and get the joints to crack, and while he’s sometimes successful he’s more often not, at least not without more than one attempt. This lady however stood at the end of the bed, and with one single jerking movement for each toe, she made every single toe crack and I think I may have even heard two cracks on one of my toes. At any rate, once both legs and both feet were done I knew I was on the homestretch.

Ten minutes to go! “Turn over,” she said abruptly, so I quickly obeyed and rolled myself over. Fortunately she spent just a few minutes pressing on my thigh muscles; I couldn’t have handled much more as the thigh muscles are large and in my case, as I mentioned, already very sore from all my running. As I was wondering how the massage would end, she snatched the small towel up from under my head and wrapped it around my face, including my eyes. She then began to push into my eyes, into the sides of my nose, and a little around my cheeks. Then it was a quick last minute dig at the back of my head and neck, and without warning she flung me upright into a sitting position and said, “Hai, dozo!” (Basically, “Ok, you’re done!”). And that was it, no rapport or relationship established, no questions asked, no conversation, just exactly what I had asked for, a “deep-tissue” massage!

In all fairness though (it’s a day later and I’m not feeling as traumatized anymore), it’s possible that Kuniko-san is one of the more experienced and effective masseuses on Okinawa. She certainly seemed to know which parts of my body required more attention than others, and I can’t say that I have ever had a massage before where the masseuse has managed to pop as many joints as Kuniko-san did. She even stretched my legs out toward the end and had them extended well beyond any stretch I could ever manage on my own; this part of the massage I DID enjoy. I guess though the real test will be determined by how I feel in the next day or two and how relaxed my muscles will feel. Here’s hoping……… Oh, one more thing, if you’re one of those people who like a deep and intense massage and are considering paying Kuniko-san a visit, I also need to warn you that you should lose any reservations you might have about dressing privately. There is a little standing partition in the room which I thought I was going to be changing behind, but instead Kuniko-san stood behind it while I changed openly in the room and kept wondering if she was peeking through the cracks in the partition. But that’s really a non-issue isn’t it, after all there’s very little of your body that the masseuse doesn’t end up seeing anyway. Happy massaging…….