I’ve never had a professional massage.
When I admit this, especially to women friends, the typical response is a dropped-jawed, “You’re KIDDING!”
Nope. Not. Kidding.
Yes, the act of massage can knead sore muscles into submission. Yes, massages can be relaxing, healing and effective stress-reducers. So I’ve heard.
I’m fairly certain that the stress I’d experience from disrobing for a massage from a stranger would be greater than the potential stress relieved from even the best massage. I’d need a massage to unwind from the massage.
Part 1 of my massage hangup is tied to feeling self-consciousness about my body and all its imperfections. I can’t get beyond this, no matter how many times I hear assurances that a topnotch masseuse never judges bodies, nor even really notices bodies upon which they pummel and push.
I find that difficult to believe.
What cracks me up is my body is far less perfect now than it was back when I was 20-something and even then felt too embarrassed to get a massage.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Part 2 of my massage hangup is being unable to wrap my brain around hiring a human being to move their hands along my body. I have similar issues about pedicures, where it always feels like something’s wrong with the picture when someone literally sits below me to wash and beautify my calloused feet. Biblical, yes. Comfortable, no.
Back to massages, about which I’ve often said to myself, “I’d pay for a massage if only I could keep my clothes on and if it were performed by a machine.”
Without sounding like an infomercial, I found that magical machine. I tried it. I loved it. I’m going back for more.
It’s called SpaCapsule. The last I heard, the SpaCapsule at Caribbean Sun (an appreciated Food for Thought advertiser) on Lake Boulevard in Redding is just one of two in California. The other is in Southern California.
I was skeptical when Trish McGuire, Caribbean Sun’s owner, suggested I start with just seven minutes in the SpaCapsule. Seven minutes? My washing machine’s spin cycle lasts longer. I eyed the machine that was to give me my first massage. It resembled a horizontal one-person space ship, or George Jetson’s coffin or an over-sized futuristic stapler.
I swept those images from my mind as I followed McGuire’s instructions to remove my shoes and lie face down inside the padded SpaCapsule. The lid, where apparently, all the action happens, was lowered over me, although I couldn’t feel it.
Show time.
I wasn’t aware of it at the time, but the back of my head was exposed. My face rested in a padded opening where a small screen projected nature scenes. I heard New Agey music. I smelled my chosen aroma, oxygen (I could have picked lavender or sandalwood or just about anything else).
Within a few seconds I felt as if I’d left the Lake Boulevard strip mall; transported to someplace beautiful and serene, like the most beautiful Igo clouds at sunset.
Meanwhile, the SpaCapsule went to work. It started at my feet and moved up my body to my shoulders, then returned to my feet and repeated the whole massage. Again. And again. And again.
It felt glorious. As it turned out, seven minutes was just about right for me.
I’ve since learned that although the SpaCapsule is generally said to help with things like poor circulation, sore muscles, stress, back tension and even menstrual cramps, it’s a big hit with many people who suffer from fibromyalgia.
Now I really do sound like an infomercial. Why stop now? Feel free to check out this SpaCapsule video link.
As someone who’d never experienced a real “human” massage, I was perfectly pleased with the SpaCapsule. I had no frame of reference, unlike my husband, who explained that traditional massages don’t just concentrate on someone’s back. Most of all, with a certified massage therapist, Bruce said there’s the benefit of communication.
True enough, the SpaCapsule and I never said a word to one another. I was fine with that. I think the SpaCapsule was, too.
I was also fine with purchasing future SpaCapsule sessions in 20-minute increments. The more minutes one buys, the more discounted the price. For example, while 20 SpaCapsule minutes cost $27, 40 minutes cost $50, 80 minutes cost $90 and so on.
I bought one SpaCapsule gift certificate for my husband. (He slept through his first session. He awoke rested; oblivious to any music, scents or scenery.) I bought another gift certificate for my son, and then my son bought a SpaCapsule gift certificate for his girlfriend.
If SpaCapsule were a division of Amway, surely our family would be rich by now.
We’re not rich. But we’re more relaxed.
Now, if someone could get busy and invent a pedicure capsule . . .
