My First Full Spa Day by Lisa Jacques of Toronto
published on:
http://www.traveltowellness.com/readers-share-stories#lisaj
So I walk into the Elmwood Spa in downtown Toronto with no makeup, sweatpants and freshly shaven legs. I present my gift card, feeling rather like a V.I.P. They send me on my merry way.
I was early so I was able to use the water therapies. I noticed the hot tub and pool first, so naturally (as I love hot water), I eased my way into the hot tub. I was in there for a good half hour. Eventually I started to feel like boiled potatoes. Then I noticed colourful noodles dangling beside me. That was enough to convince me to hop into the 83 ºF pool. It was just me and a middle-age couple, which was slightly awkward, but I broke the ice by asking them if they wanted a noodle. After my back started getting numb from the water jets (that I deliberately parked myself in front of), I noticed the steam room! I couldn’t believe I almost missed the steam room. I sat in there until my fingers started to look like a 90-year-old woman’s.
It was almost time for my 50-minute Swedish massage so I thought I’d go a little early in hopes of squeezing in a couple extra minutes. The excitement must have been written all over my face when she called my name.
I eagerly jumped up, got naked, and climbed on the bed- no hesitations. I noticed heat warmers on the sheets covering my feet…lovely. The masseuse began rubbing my back and I was in bliss. She moved her hands in a pattern: a circular motion, added pressure, fingers sliding down, repeat. It was fabulous!
She noticed my upper shoulders were tense and knotted. I blamed them on exams. I thought, “Damn those exams. But now they’re over! Woo! Ok enough thinking. Quiet now, Lisa. ….Ahh, ya right there.” When she proceeded to ask me another question about school I realized there’s no polite way to tell a masseuse to stop talking. I gave short-answers as hints instead. The pressure was perfect; hard, but not too hard. I realized I should be dating a masseuse.
I went into my facial with low expectations because I hated my last one. That was also many moons ago, so I kept an open-mind. I got into the mini-bed and she started to wash my face with something thick. After, it was a cream that smelled like vodka. Then, one that smelled like my grade five crush’s hair gel. Then, a citrus one. After, something lemony was placed over my eyes. Then a foamy serum on my face, with a hot cloth (I mistakenly thought the hot cloth symbolized the beginning of the end but boy, was I wrong!). I had no idea what was going on up there. My eyes were covered, but even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t have been able to see a damned thing since it was all going on on my face.
By this point, more than ten masks, gels, toners, creams and serums had been smeared across my face. She asked me if I ever had high-frequency before (I said “high what?”). She laughed and told me I would feel a slight tingle. All of a sudden it sounded like bees were in mating-season above my face. I had no idea what was going on but I stayed still (I found out later it checked oil levels and helped close my pores… or something).
Then the chaotic buzzing stopped, and she warned me a bright light was going to come on. What an understatement! It was like looking directly into the sunlight of death. As my eyes adjusted to this ridiculousness, she started squeezing my pimples! As she was hacking away at my blackheads and whiteheads with her rather sharp nails, I was swearing inside.
Relaxation at the spa? Ha! She wouldn’t give up on this one non-pimple right above my upper-lip, and needless to say, it hurt. I tried to give her fairly straightforward hints that I wanted her to stop. But apparently they’re trained to ignore all our complaints (“Ouch. That’s enough. OK let’s stop on that one” No response).
All of a sudden she was giving me a foot rub (she must have known this was the way to receive my forgiveness). Afterwards though, my lower legs started to burn from the cream. Apparently my legs were sensitive because I had just shaved that morning. Damn! They were really red and felt like they were on fire. Apparently, the whole facial thing still isn’t my cup of tea.
My manicure and pedicure were pretty standard. I chose the nail colour “Perky Peach.” I dreaded the sanding on the bottom of my feet because I’m extremely ticklish. She whipped out the sander from her tool belt like it was some sort of medieval weapon and began sanding my feet vigourously. I was going insane. I couldn’t take it anymore and pulled back my feet. I was giggling like a mad woman. Everyone around me was staring, and I apologized for disturbing the peace (in between giggles).
I’m not sure how people do the “spa thing” once a week. I’ll need at least a month to recover from the buzzing bees on my face or the intense tickle-fest under my toes. But massages? Those I can handle. Any time. Any place.
No comments:
Post a Comment