The Rush of Rolfing

The Rush of Rolfing
As you might have guessed, I was gung ho over the idea, given the physical and
emotional trauma I had experienced in the past two years. I thought, I’m going to
go for this and see what happens! I Googled Rolfing in Boston to find a local
Rolfing Masseuse – or Masseur, as the case might be. Mark had done his
sessions in La Jolla, California – where almost all alternative treatments and
therapies are more mainstream than they are in the East. Clearly, I couldn’t travel
so far for this type of treatment, regardless of the amazing results I expected to
receive from it.
Thank God for the “world wide web,” as my mother still refers to it. I found an
adorable 30-something Rolfing masseur, Tim Roode (interesting name for a
Rolfer, I thought!). He looked like a doll on the Channel 5 piece on his web site
about the benefits of Rolfing. So I thought, “What the heck – sign me up!” I left
Tim a message explaining that I found his television piece engaging and
compelling, and that I was enthusiastic about getting started.
Tim called right away and we scheduled our first session. His voice was like
butter; I didn’t want to hang up. I decided to start Rolfing in the summer – figuring
I’d have more “me” time to traipse into Boston’s South End to see my new
Rolfing buddy, Tim.
The one thing I didn’t think I needed help with was posture though– one of the
main end-results of Rolfing. My entire life people would often comment about
what great posture I had. But so what? I’m sure there would be other benefits –
like those described on the web site.
Mark seemed really happy that I had taken charge and booked my first session.
He told me I really should complete the 10 sessions, and said I’d look and feel so
much better when I was done. I was psyched and eager to get started! Tim
suggested I wear a sports bra and underpants (not a thong, I wondered?) to each
session. I guess this wasn’t going to be a naked massage. Darn! Then, he
suggested that I keep a diary of my thoughts, and my physical and emotional
responses (,) after each session. Okey, dokey Tim!
Session One:
Started my day at 6:30 a.m. Nearly impossible to get out of bed, but I had things
to do and people to see. After packing lunches and snacks for my two bambinos
who were home at the time, reminding them to brush their teeth, pack their sun
screen and bug spray and bring a towel to camp that day – all about five times – I
headed out the door. Needless to say, I was looking forward to seeing Tim in
Boston and immersing myself in Rolfing.
I arrived in Boston at 10a.m. sharp after the camp drop offs. Now, it’s my time. I
arrived at Tim’s South End apartment/condo on a sunny day and was excited to
get started. He was even better looking than the video clip I saw of him. Dark
hair, fit physique, a small silver hoop earring on his right ear and a tattooed arm
that I can honestly say would never be a turn on if someone else was wearing it.
But on Tim . . . well, you get the picture. He also wears a tight fitting t-shirt that
says “Stand Corrected.” I don’t get that joke until five sessions into Rolfing, but
I’m up to my eyeballs in like with this guy. What fun! Tim told me a lot about
Rolfing and its positive effects, which he said I would feel almost immediately
(quite frankly, I was already feeling the love) and asked me about my recent
mental and physical health woes. We were off to a great start!
Tim was supportive, empathic and encouraging as he listened – which just made
me love him all the more. “Keep pure thoughts, Nancy,” I keep reminding myself.
Remember, your boyfriend encouraged you to do this – it would not be right to
run off with the Rolfing masseur. Besides, he’s way too young for you. Pure
thoughts, that’s your job today.
All right, I have to admit, this was more intense than I had imagined. Tim
reviewed my posture from every angle (well, almost . . .) and began his slow and
steady push into specific parts of my body. “Ooh, is this supposed to feel this
painful, Tim?” I asked. “You’re doing great, Nancy. This is good.”
I am on my way. Session One was excellent. I am so glad to be doing something
to help my body work through its recent trauma.
Session Two:
This time, I scheduled the session with Tim after drive time hours. I had the
whole morning to get caught up on e-mails and calls, and to attempt to get some
work done while my cherubs were at summer camp. Ah, these lazy, hazy, crazy
days of summer.
Caught a light lunch at Chang An (the local Chinese watering hole) and opted not
to have a Mai Tai. I thought it would be too dangerous at noon with my
impending drive into the city. Instead, I drank a pot of Chinese tea and four
glasses of water and headed into Beantown.
Tim’s French bull dog, Blu, greets me as I enter his apartment building. Blu sits
on a pillow and sleeps during my sessions. He’s absolutely adorable, just like
Tim. Two peas in a pod. Seeing Blu makes me want to get a dog of my own,
and I tell Tim so.
I’m thinking of that song with Barbara Streisand in Fanny Brice, “I’d Rather be
Blue”:
I'd rather be blue, thinking of you
I'd rather be blue over you
Than be happy with somebody else
Tim has me lying on my back as he begins pushing on the fascia of my calves. I
think I might scream, but I resist. I have to excuse myself five times to relieve
myself from all the Chinese tea and water I consumed before heading to Tim’s
place. That helps, but only a little. Again, Tim shows empathy and interest. And
the song helps…
I'm crazy about 'ya, without 'ya
For you I'm strong
I can't do without 'ya
Oucha-ma-goucha, don't stay too long!
He had seen the piece on me that Fox 25 did about my illness and my continued
recovery and thought I was “inspiring.” So is he – at least to look at -- when I can
position myself at the right (not appropriate) angle to watch him work his magic
on me.
I need a little ah, little ooh, little Oh
I'm knocking on wood
Honey hurry up, hurry up, hurry up
It's so hard to be good
At the end of the session, I am so glad to be there and to have completed my
second Rolfing session. I know this is going to help me so much. Mark was
right.
Between Session Two and Three:
Thank God I have an electric toothbrush that will allow me to lie in bed and turn
my head from side to side. I have a feeling my arms are broken and I’ll be
unable to drive for next week’s session. It’s nice to know these sessions can’t be
booked in two consecutive days, and that they must be booked a week or two
apart.
I continue to wonder throughout the day whether I should drive myself to the local
hospital for x-rays or call 911. I imagine driving myself to the local ER. I think
that, while it would be a great challenge, it would still be the less embarrassing
option. I’d be OK so as long as I didn’t try to turn the wheel or apply the breaks.
I’d park in a handicapped spot at the ER and announce myself.
But, I could just see the ER nurse being annoyed with me after hearing what I
thought I had undergone at the hands of Tim. She’d refuse x-rays and send me
home. So, instead of going to the ER or calling 911, I decided to call several
neighbors and friends to help me retrieve my kids from camp. We ordered in a
pizza.
I called Tim and left him a pathetic message about not being able to use my
arms. I wondered if he had any suggestions on how I could continue to take care
of not only myself, but my two camp-aged children. He never returned my phone
call.
Session Three:
I arrived at Tim’s apartment two weeks later. Let’s face it;I needed a freaking
break from this guy. Cute or not, he was about to become a major pain in my
butt – literally. He never so much as mentioned the message I left him and that
really ticked me off.
I decided this session should start earlier, given all the trips to the little girl’s room
(or boy’s room, given that I was at Tim’s place, and still assuming he’s single) to
relieve myself from the pot of Chinese tea during the last session.
Tim seemed a little distant, but everyone is entitled to a bad day. I started to
moan (not the kind of moaning you’re thinking) as he stuck his finger(s) under my
butt and pushed up almost lifting me off the torture table. He was pushing so
hard I had this sudden fear that his thumbs would be permanently lodged in my
butt.
I could see us now in the emergency room. “Ma’am, we don’t know how to tell
you this, but we are going to have to perform a thumberdectomy on your butt.
You’ll have two permanent dents from where the thumbs were. Let’s look on the
bright side; you’ll have two cute little dimples – well actually big dimples – oh,
and by the way, this is not covered by your insurance – or any insurance on this
planet!”
At this point I am yelling so loud, he starts to bitch about his neighbors hearing
me. That sweet, buttery voice of his now sounds like nails on a chalk board and I
secretly contemplate killing him.
My ass is on fire and I ask him how much longer he has to go. I never realized
with so much fat in my butt, he could reach the fascia in that part of my body. I
guess where Tim has a will, he has a way. He’s relentless. He pushes so hard I
have the sensation my butt is now up between my shoulder blades. At this rate,
I’ll have more cleavage on my back then my front! Won’t that be wonderful?
He then moves to my thighs. What a relief – NOT! I’m now wondering if Mark
has a secret vendetta against me and wants to inflict pain on me. I thought this
man loved me and he recommends Rolfing? What was he thinking? I’m
breaking up with him after this session.
I asked Tim why most people go to him for Rolfing and he explained most
people are in chronic pain and have tried everything else, to no avail. I
thought this was hysterical because I can’t see how inflicting pain can possibly
help people with chronic pain.
My God, I'm finally out of chronic pain which I had in my bones from a reaction to
medication I was on (I’ll be featured in the New England Journal of Medicine, by
the way – isn’t that nice). The last thing I need is more pain!
Tim tries to reassure me how well I’m doing and how much better I’m going to
feel after the 10 sessions are completed. He says some other shit, too.
Session Four:
I’m running late, because I can’t bear the thought of seeing Tim’s ugly mutt and
his own freaking face. I’m also having a hard time sitting, so getting in and out of
the car are next to impossible. As I make the trip to Boston (a city I used to love
and now detest almost as much as I do Tim), I wonder what kind of idiot lets his
dog sleep on a pillow in the very torture chamber to which he subjects his clients
to enter into.
I can’t believe I’m paying him to abuse me! I need to schedule a therapy session
immediately and get to the bottom of this. (used “this” twice…)
Tim buzzes me in and his dog comes running out to greet me again. But this time
I notice his fangs and a mean-spiritedness that I hadn’t remembered from this
dog in earlier sessions – annoying as he is.
Tim is annoyed at my tardiness, and also because I didn’t call to let him know I
was running late. That’s because I had to position my blackberry under my
tailbone between my butt and my thong (what the hell, I’m wearing that thing) to
keep it in place and to alleviate the pressure on my butt after our work out last
week. I decided to leave the phone where it was – Tim could wait. Tim suggests
I lie on my stomach and he begins working on my spine, back and shoulders. I
ask him if anyone has ever referred another client to him – because I sure won’t
be. He digs into me more. I wish I hadn’t shared this thought with him!
Tim tells me he’s going on vacation for two weeks with his wife. I’m so glad to
hear he’s flipping married, because I hate this man and want nothing to do with
him. We’ll start again in two weeks, he tells me. He knows my goal is to
complete these sessions by Thanksgiving. He says we’re still on track.
My body feels like a boneless chicken.
Between Session Four and Five:
I pray something happens to Tim in France, so he won’t be able to practice his
“craft” upon returning. I hate the man and hope to never see him again. If I see
him walking in Boston, I’m going to push my foot on the gas peddle and claim
that I thought I was slamming on the breaks to avoid him.
Session Five:
I’ve decided Tim’s a total dickhead. He’s an idiot. He’s a sadistic, evil man and
I’m dreading seeing him.
He and his freaking dog greet me again to buzz me into his apartment. Tim
reassures me that today’s session will be great because he’s going to focus on
the rib cage (the exact spot on my filleted stomach after a liver transplant) and
I’m going to feel so much better. He’s a freaking liar. I never feel better when I
see him – only worse, much worse. Who the hell is he kidding? It’s like paying
to be beaten up in slow, excruciating pushes into unknown areas of your body
that you never thought existed until now. Oh sure, I feel great when I stop
bashing my head against the wall, so let’s do it some more.
I spend almost all my energy and time trying to cover these scars and he’s goin’
for it today. What the hell? I can’t wait for everyone to see and feel and dig into
those incisions. I’m wondering if Tim isn’t a mass murderer and there are body
parts in his fridge. I sneak out to use his bathroom again and start to head for
the kitchen to check it out. But he’s in there – protecting his stash of God knows
what’s inside his Sub Zero. This guy is making a killing on unsuspecting victims,
like myself if his appliances are trumping mine. What the hell?
As he works my rib cage and arms, I tell him, “Tim, if I had the physical strength
to punch you in the face, I’d do it.” He laughs like he thinks I’m kidding, which
makes me want to punch him all the more.
Then I remembered Christine’s advice in my Women with Controlling Partners
support group. She asked us all one day if any of us had ever punched anyone
in the face (as she had attempted to do to her ex-husband). Amazingly, none of
us had (although we had thought about it countless times). She advised against
it because she broke her hand when she swung out at her ex. Poor Christine! I
think, instead, I’ll take Christine’s wise advice and just focus on getting out of this
apartment in one piece.
Session Six.
I hate Tim and ask him if his other clients hate him as much as I do. He laughs,
again, thinking I’m trying to be funny. I’m dead serious, although I hope to stay
alive during this session, given the Jeffrey Dahmer thoughts that have been
going through my mind lately. I’m trying to think of ways I can kill Tim at his own
game, in his own apartment and get away with it. I can’t stop thinking about the
movie Unfaithful with Richard Gere and Diane Lane where Gere finds out his wife
is having an affair, goes to the NYC apartment, confronts the cheater, murders
him, {and} wraps him up in a rug and leaves for the suburbs as if nothing
happened. Oh, then I remember, Gere gets caught. I think I would to. Better
not. I have alimony and child support to cash in on.
Tim is back working on my feet and calves. Hasn’t he done enough damage
there? This man is relentless. I’m wondering if I’ll be able to walk out of his
apartment after this session, let alone drive, or even walk to the end of my yard
to collect the mail, for that matter. He’s freaking crazy.
I think I should have taken up something less painful, like ballroom dancing or
yoga, or poking myself in the eye with a sharp stick. I’ve already experienced
about as much torture as anyone should have to go through. To think I signed up
for this is insane.
Ok, here’s one positive thing, though. I’ve found a great Greek/Indian restaurant
on the corner of Tim’s apartment. Obviously the business result of an intercultural union with a flare and love of the culinary! Cute, I think to myself. Glad
some couples are having fun living and working together. I am secretly happy
and grateful I’m not one of them. I am, however, falling in love with the
Spanikopita and Chicken Marsala – and this is now my reward for surviving the
session.
Between Session Six and Seven:
I have breakfast with two colleagues and friends, Diane and Kathleen. I tell them
about Mark’s suggestion that I torture myself with Rolfing sessions and they’re
shocked and appalled at his recommendation.
Maybe you could have done something more gentle and relaxing, than Rolfing. I
heard it hurts terribly,” Diane suggests.
“You have no freaking idea,” I say. “I’ve never wanted to kill two people more
than I do now. I never thought it’d be possible for me to harbor these feelings
toward other people. For God’s sake, I don’t even feel this way towards (my exhusband) Michael,” I yell.
Kathleen interjects, “Nor should you, he’s a great meal ticket and you’ve earned
every cent. But why would Mark – someone who supposedly loves you – suggest
this kind of therapy?”
I tell them that Mark says that he thinks I’ll feel great; that he thinks my attitude
has improved and that I’m more relaxed, easygoing and fun to be around (albeit
3,000 miles away). You know what I say: What the hell does he know? I don’t
feel great – I feel like crap. If he were here, he’d know this for sure and would
stop talking out of his ass!
The host asks us to keep it down out of consideration of the other patrons at the
restaurant. Do you think I give a flying you-know-what about these people right
now? I’m in freaking agony!
Session Seven:
Mark calls on my cell phone as I pull into the parking spot behind Tim’s
apartment. I tell him I shouldn’t have picked up the phone because I’m about to
enter a 90-minute timeframe of wishing serious harm on him and Tim. He jokes
it off telling me how proud he is of me and that I’m going to be so glad I did this.
He then asks me if Tim’s done my mouth yet. Mouth? What the hell is he talking
about?
I laugh, thinking he’s yanking my chain, only to discover Tim whipping out a pair
of heavy latex gloves to go inside the fascia in my mouth – after working on my
shoulders and arms once again. OK, shoulders and arms I understand – maybe.
But how the hell does my mouth affect my posture?
I leave Tim’s feeling like I’ve been orally raped and go directly to my new haunt
where I order a bottle of Greek wine, Spanikopita and a Greek salad. If I didn’t
have to drive home I would have downed the whole bottle. I was definitely
pissed off and having fantasies of planting my foot up his ass – actually both feet.
“Take that, you Rolfing freak!” I decided rolf was a four letter word.
Between Sessions Seven and Eight:
Tim leaves a message on my voice mail with his whiny, grating voice, wondering
why I haven’t booked the last two sessions. He wants to make sure we get them
on the calendar. Again, I don’t call him back, because I only have the strength to
lift the TV remote and watch 11 straight hours of the Home and Garden TV
Network.
Finally, I make the calls and book the last two rolfing torture sessions of rolfing
Rolfing.
Session Eight:
I wheel myself into his apartment with the wheelchair I had after the transplant .
Tim seems to take it all in stride. This really pisses me off. “Don’t tell me your
other patients come in wheelchairs too?”
“Sometimes,” he smiles. I want to put him in a wheelchair right then and there!
Tim wants to know if he’ll meet Mark. I tell him, “Absolutely, you will. I’m booking
him a Rolfing session with you when he visits me in December and I’m
watching!” Tim gets a “kick” out of me, he says. I look him in the eye and tell
him I mean it – I am watching.
I’m in so much pain I took an Atavan earlier, and I’m a little out of it. I tell Tim I
need to use his bathroom, but I somehow end up going back to the front door
and accidentally letting out his stupid dog {out}.
Tim flies by me when he realizes what I’ve done and yells something about ear
plugs on the table.
After using his bathroom, I lie on his massage table and see the ear plugs. How
thoughtful of him. There’s construction in the neighborhood and these will no
doubt help me relax. I put them in and promptly fall asleep.
Eventually, I wake up and find I’ve been asleep for 90 minutes – and Tim is
nowhere to be found!} I head out the door and find Tim and his dog, asleep at
his door step. I figure his wife will be home any minute, so I head for my car
parking spot.
I later find out he had locked himself out and was buzzing the door frantically until
his neighbors told him to cut it out. No Greek or Indian food for me tonight. The
nap was exactly what I needed.
Between Session Eight and Nine:
I host the weekly Monday morning support group. Carolyn, Norah and Liz. can’t
help commenting on how relaxed and calm I am. Little do they know I’m
seething with dread underneath the calm facade because I have to see dickhead -- Tim’s new pet name – this afternoon! I hate my rolfing life and I hate him
even more.
I’ve recently purchased two voodoo dolls (one named Tim, the other Mark) on
whom I take out my Rolfing frustrations after each session.
Only two more sessions to go through and now, I’m pre-paying as a way to
ensure I’ll return to the dungeon he calls his Rolfing Room in Boston’s South
End.
Mark and I get into a fight on the phone. I’m coming out to visit and he’s insisting
I book a hotel room for myself in the city where he lives in! He’s not inviting me
to stay with him at his condo? He says he wants to take a break – something I
thought we were doing a lot of, given the vast physical distance between us.
What’s up with that?
Session Nine:
I have to call LocalMotion, the children’s van company to pick me up and take
me to the city today. Thank God, this is nearing an end. Why would the person
who, I thought, loved me convince me to inflict such pain on myself? Mark
secretly hates me – I know now. Better to know sooner than later, I tell myself.
Rolfing, I decide, is about as much fun as having a liver transplant and brain
surgery while in a coma – or moving back home with Mom and Dad while you
recover.
I still say, if God has better plans for me, He’ll send me a tall, dark handsome
man who’d be willing to push my fascia in other places -- if you know what I
mean.
Dick-head doesn’t even mention the incident last session. I decide not to bring it
up either. No sense giving him any more reasons to hurt me.
Thoughts of hurting him preoccupy me the whole time I’m there. I can’t believe
the evil thoughts of which I am so capable. Has anyone researched the dark
side of Rolfing?
The “cab” ride costs $197 round trip.
Session Ten:
I hired my 12-year-old daughter to design a t-shirt for me that reads, “I’d rather be
Rolfing!” on the front side and “I Stand In-corrected” on the back. I think Tim will
get a “kick” out of this. He doesn’t even acknowledge it – further pissing me off.
I guess it took a lot for me to joke about rolfing. After waking up from my coma, I
spent 11 weeks with non-stop nausea and lost 40 pounds. Not the best way to
diet.
Tim’s buttery voice is really grating now. It’s kind of like the sound of a nice silk
dress getting torn over broken glass (don’t ask me how I know this). Tim reminds
me that we’ve completed our goal. Whose goal, I wonder? “Of finishing the 10
Rolfing sessions before Thanksgiving,” Tim reminds me.
As I leave and write my final check to Tim, I tell him that if I never see him again
it will be too soon. He smiles and asks, ”Why was it so important to finish up
before Thanksgiving?”
“So I’d have something to be thankful for.” He seems satisfied with that.
Now I have something really funny to confess. You know that phenomenon they
call the Stockholm syndrome - it’s a psychological response sometimes seen in
an abducted hostage, where the hostage shows signs of loyalty to the hostagetaker, regardless of the danger the hostage was in.
Well that’s me and Tim. I can’t explain it, but somehow I love the guy.
I actually look back on this and do appreciate what it has done for me. Maybe,
like labor pains, you forget and move on.
People tell me my posture is better, that I’ve never looked better and I feel
healthier for it.
So maybe Tim isn’t so bad after all.
I’ve put together a list to help people who are contemplating Rolfing:
Top 10 Things to do to prepare for Rolfing:
1) Invest in Boy short Underwear and Tank Tops
2) Bring your favorite music to the session (I’d Rather be Blue)
3) Don’t drink a lot of green tea before hand
4) Do drink a glass of wine
5) Hire a housekeeper after session 2
6) Treat yourself to something nice after every session
7) Hire a cook after session 4
8) Promise yourself you will take a nice vacation when you are done
9) Hire a chauffeur after session 8
10) Enjoy your vacation
Nancy Michaels . . .
•
Is the creator of MatchGoneWrong.com, a website
designed to provide a virtual support group for
women going though the pain of separation and
divorce. Her mission is to provide, through her
own personal story of separation, divorce and a
near-death experience and 18-month illness, how
to thrive post-divorce.
•
Is the author of five books on marketing for
women owned businesses, and is currently
working on her sixth book, Match Gone Wrong:
13 Strategies to Thrive Post-Divorce. You can see
a sample chapter at _____________
•
Has spoken on behalf of such clients as Xerox,
Office Depot, AT&T, Staples, Constant Contact, HP’s LogoWorks, among many
others, in reaching the women’s market
•
In the spring of 2005 just eight months after separating from her husband of
16 years, Nancy became very ill and underwent a liver transplant due to liver
failure. She is the grateful recipient of a donor liver. Find out how you can
become a donor at www.organdonor.gov.
•
Nancy is a single mother of three small children and lives in Concord, MA.