Addicted To The Massage Stick Torture

You want a terrorist to talk, give him a spirited rubdown with one of these massage sticks.  I bought one of these over the weekend at the expo for Cincinnati’s Flying Pig Marathon.  Gitmo officials listen up.  Trust me.  Put away the water boarding bucket and blindfold.  Get yourself a massage table (with hand and foot restraints if you feel so inclined) and one of these puppies.  Then go gather up the worst of the worst for a sensual massage.  No doubt you’ll have Osama’s home address and an invitation to a cave dinner party within twenty deep strokes of the right calf muscle.

“Ow.  Oww.  Oh!  Ha ha ha!  Owww!” was the exact quote of my wife Sunday night as she rolled out a wicked mooglie in her left calf.  I nearly blew the soda I was drinking out my nose as I laughed at her.  “Well stop,” I said.  She was writhing, half laughing and crying at the flood of lactic acid hurt she was putting on herself.  I didn’t think of it till now, but maybe I should’ve tried to pry a secret out of her.  “Did you throw away my ratty jeans in 1998?  You know the faded bell-bottom ones with a bandana for a knee patch?  They didn’t just disappear now did they?  Huh?!  Did you throw them away?”  I have suspected for a long time now, regardless of what she says with those big brown puppy dog eyes, I cannot just lose a pair of pants.  No doubt, I could’ve brought the conspiracy to light.

After only 2-3 days, we’re already addicted.  The massage stick works (and for the record this is not a paid endorsement.)  Just like a masseur with a good set of meat hooks can work a knot out of your muscle, the stick seems to do a pretty good job of working out the lactic acid and the nasty muscle lumps.  The only real problem is that you have to inflict the pain on yourself.  No lie it hurts so bad that tears will well in your eyes and you’ll have to stop to pound the couch cushion with your fist.  Then you’ll stand up and be amazed at how good you feel.  That’s the moment, like a Somali chewing Khat, you’re hooked.

I spent the better part of the day patching the lawn and pulling weeds on Sunday, vacuumed the stairs and then went out late in the afternoon for a two-hour fast paced hilly beatdown ride.  Normally the yard work alone would lay me up for 3 days with gimpy hamstrings, but after a bout with the stick I felt good enough to go for a mountain bike ride yesterday. 

However, you have to respect the stick and its allure.  Even after a day or two, you’ll start using it all over your body, contorting yourself like a yoga master to get ever little hitch out of your muscular system.  You’ll leave it on the sofa and give yourself a rub down during 30 Rock commercial breaks.  Then the first warning sign will appear.  You’ll consider buying another, so you can have one at work.  After that it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be in a 12 step program for those with stick addiction.