Foot Massage, Sir?

During our first summer in China, our daughters (then 6 and 8) made arrangements for Mom and Dad to have a "date night" (while they went bowling with our good friend Shaq, a 6'2" body-builder from Malaysia, who they fiercely referred to as "their bodyguard"!) The date was to include dinner, dessert and a foot massage at the hotel in Fuzhou where we were staying. How nice!

So, when the appointed time came, Chris and I were escorted to the hotel dining room with instructions as to the evening's plans, and the girls ran happily off with Shaq to put on their bowling shoes and test their skills at the local lanes - we were officially in date mode!

Dinner was enjoyable, dessert was nice, but the most memorable part of the evening was ... the foot massage! Now, I'm sure you're thinking, "Oh, how lovely to have someone spend an hour rubbing your feet!" It's true, when we sat down in the big comfy chairs in the dimly lit room and put our feet into big wooden tubs of hot water, this is just what we were thinking! We held hands across the big arms, leaned our heads back on the cushy pillows, and smiled with anticipation about what was ahead - absolute bliss, right?

Note: If you haven't read my entry on March 25th about Chinese Therapeutic Massage, this might be a good time to do so. I only wish at the time Chris and I had access to a somebody's blog somewhere that would have given us a clue as to what was ahead - although I'm not sure anything would have prepared us for our first encounter with Chinese reflexology.

The "therapists" were waiting for us, dressed in crisp clean uniforms, smiling politely, nodding and gesturing for us to make ourselves comfortable. They spoke not a word of English and Chris and I spoke about three words of Chinese ("Hi", "Thank You" and "Cold Beer.") Apparently, they had been told we were very important guests from America and they should give us the deluxe treatment. This was going to be great!

And then they started. I'm not sure I can adequately describe the multiple levels of pain we experienced that night, but I know neither of us will ever forget it. They hit places on our feet that we had no idea ever existed. They targeted minute muscles that I'm certain podiatrists in America only find after years of study. And if reflexology is to be believed, according to our feet that night, Chris and I were falling apart at the seams!!

The blissful smiles on our faces turned to grimaces of shock and disbelief; tears slowly ran down my cheeks, while Chris, jaw clenched, brow furrowed, stoically refused to utter even a single cry of distress. We gripped each other's hands in agony, knuckles turning white, blood draining from our faces, as we anxiously counted the minutes until the dreaded torture was over! I kept thinking, "This must be very good for me," while Chris desperately searched his limited Chinese vocabulary for the words, "Stop or I'm going to throttle you!" Sadly, he never found the words, and I've since decided any health benefits that might have resulted from that first foot massage were greatly overrated!

After it was over, we limped out of there, bruised and beaten, committed never to return to the dreaded comfy chairs, the dimly lit room and the warm wooden tubs. It was an awakening of sorts, a right of passage, and definitely not an experience for the weak-willed or faint of foot! I've since returned to have many other foot massages (albeit at other establishments), and have always enjoyed the experience. Chris, however, has never returned. To this day, he keeps his socks and shoes firmly in place if anybody should ever dare to ask, "Foot massage, Sir?"