I am a drunken noodle
I just got back from heaven. Or, actually, Tenleytown. But I feel heavenly, because I just had a full hour massage.
I tend to think massages are for ostentatiously rich people. You know, the kind of people who might find occasion to say, “Dah-ling, could you possibly be troubled to pass me the truffle-glazed caviar? It’s just that this darned 9-karat diamond ring is so heavy, it makes it hard to reach that far!”
Like anyone else, I aspire to such egregious wealth, but somehow I think the pittance they call my salary doesn’t qualify me, as yet.
However, it has come to my attention that the therapeutic value of a massage is strongly recommended to counter the stress of training for an endurance event. It is, dare I say it, medically necessary, (though, not, of course, the kind of medically necessary that is covered by health insurance).
Given such a moral imperative, I felt I had no other choice but to scrape up the dough and get myself an appointment.
For my purposes, it seemed there were two options: sports massage (of the deep tissue variety) or Thai massage (which involves a lot of bending and stretching). Since the soreness in my joints seemed to stem from lack of flexibility and poor stretching habits, I opted for the latter. Plus, deep tissue massage sounds painful. I’m all for moral imperatives, as long as it means I get a foot massage, not if it means getting jabbed painfully and repeatedly in the leg.
The appointment was for today, and when the time came, I took an hour of sick leave (plus lunch) and headed over there. In Thai massage, you wear loose clothes, and lie on a mat on the floor—as they like to call it, a Pad Thai! Ba dum pum!
(Do you get it? Because Pad Thai is a Thai noodle dish? And it was a pad on the floor? At a Thai massage? It’s funny, right? And the title’s a pun too, because Drunken Noodles is ANOTHER Thai dish. HA!)
Pathetically, I have been waiting all day to be able to make that joke. I’m sorry you all had to witness that.
Anyway, I went, he stretched, and it was glorious. There was some weirdness at first—as he crawled from my feet to my hips, rubbing my thighs, I started to wonder where this was going—but by the end, at which point he was massaging my head and face, I just didn’t care.
Oh yeah, and yesterday, I ran five Yasso repeats, all around the 4-minute mark.
La vie est belle, mes chéries.
I tend to think massages are for ostentatiously rich people. You know, the kind of people who might find occasion to say, “Dah-ling, could you possibly be troubled to pass me the truffle-glazed caviar? It’s just that this darned 9-karat diamond ring is so heavy, it makes it hard to reach that far!”
Like anyone else, I aspire to such egregious wealth, but somehow I think the pittance they call my salary doesn’t qualify me, as yet.
However, it has come to my attention that the therapeutic value of a massage is strongly recommended to counter the stress of training for an endurance event. It is, dare I say it, medically necessary, (though, not, of course, the kind of medically necessary that is covered by health insurance).
Given such a moral imperative, I felt I had no other choice but to scrape up the dough and get myself an appointment.
For my purposes, it seemed there were two options: sports massage (of the deep tissue variety) or Thai massage (which involves a lot of bending and stretching). Since the soreness in my joints seemed to stem from lack of flexibility and poor stretching habits, I opted for the latter. Plus, deep tissue massage sounds painful. I’m all for moral imperatives, as long as it means I get a foot massage, not if it means getting jabbed painfully and repeatedly in the leg.
The appointment was for today, and when the time came, I took an hour of sick leave (plus lunch) and headed over there. In Thai massage, you wear loose clothes, and lie on a mat on the floor—as they like to call it, a Pad Thai! Ba dum pum!
(Do you get it? Because Pad Thai is a Thai noodle dish? And it was a pad on the floor? At a Thai massage? It’s funny, right? And the title’s a pun too, because Drunken Noodles is ANOTHER Thai dish. HA!)
Pathetically, I have been waiting all day to be able to make that joke. I’m sorry you all had to witness that.
Anyway, I went, he stretched, and it was glorious. There was some weirdness at first—as he crawled from my feet to my hips, rubbing my thighs, I started to wonder where this was going—but by the end, at which point he was massaging my head and face, I just didn’t care.
Oh yeah, and yesterday, I ran five Yasso repeats, all around the 4-minute mark.
La vie est belle, mes chéries.
posted by Noames at 2:38 PM
4 Comments:
Okay...so, I recently found your blog through the RBF...and I'm really just a lurker as I don't have my own blog, so I never feel like I *deserve* to comment on other people's blogs...but, man you crack my sh*%-up! Funny, funny these last two posts. Keep it up!
All comments are welcomed and appreciated--especially if they're nice ones. Stick around--hopefully I'll manage to stay funny!
I had no idea you existed until, like, yesterday, but my goodness I'm glad you do! I've been catching up on your adventures all day. It has helped entertain me through a lot of not-good stuff at the office.
My sister ran a marathon with some of her friends last month (and the fact that she has friends who also run marathons boggles me), and she's been pleading with me to run further than my puny 5K races, but I have been holding out. Reading your stuff, though, is going a long way toward making me think "Hrmmmm... maybe." Evil temptress.
What else do you do with peanut butter, by the way? If there are any other crazy food combinations out there that make other people's heads hurt, I want to know!
Hey -- found your site through the RBF this morning, and love your writing!
I wanted to say... Anchorage '99 was my third TNT marathon, and by far my favorite of the courses I ran (more so than San Fran, my hometown course). I remember training for my first marathon in '97, and I can totally relate to so many of the things you say!
Anyway, Anchorage is a fun place to be, and the marathon is gorgeous, so I thought I'd poke in and say "hi" from the "other" Washington...
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