All the things

Several weeks ago, my friend Amy asked me to watch her sweet doggie Ollie while she and her roommate were both out of town for the weekend.  Ollie and I have a special relationship (meaning that he gets excited to see anyone who comes in his house, and I take that personally and think he’s excited to see me, so I eat up the attention and love all over him like a doting aunt or something), so I quickly agreed.  During my weekend with Ollie, I managed to meet a cute policeman (who got my phone number!  Because it was his job…) when I set off the alarm and had the wrong code and called Amy and Missy and Traci and Pam and Cindy and finally got the right one from Pam but not before the security company had talked to me over the intercom and sent the police to the house.  I managed to read a book while hanging out with my “boyfriend” (Ollie, not the policeman).  And I managed to get lost(ish) at Bob Eden Park with Rian and her dog Dude when we went for a walk without being aware that the trail doesn’t circle around.  Three miles later and our doggies were pooped.  But it was fun.  I agreed to (and  loved) my weekend with Ollie, not knowing that I was getting a gift (besides Ollie’s attention) in return.  Amy gave me a Massage Envy massage.

Ending the school year was stressful.  When you teach seniors, there are a lot of logistics you have to take care of that I never experienced teaching the younger ones – prom, senior week, early grades for class rank and/or diploma status, last minute recommendation letters for scholarships, and of course, graduation, as well as all of the end-of-year things that every teacher has to do.  And this year, we’re all moving classrooms, which had to be done on the last Friday of school because summer school is happening in our building and was starting the next Monday.

The week before, KD (my trainer, remember?) had gotten me two workouts to do (an Integrated Stabilization Training one and a core one), and I hadn’t had time to do either.  I also hadn’t been able to make it to yoga, so my muscles were taut.  I was a little hobbly in the walking arena, and I was unable to catch the chiropractor to set me straight (pun intended).  In short, I was in pain, and I had to move my entire classroom from one floor to another (see, this is going somewhere…).  If you know me, you know that I’m pretty even-tempered, and I don’t really have outbursts often unless stuff builds up a lot.  Which it had.  A lot.  I had borrowed a flat bed dolly to move furniture, and when it had a wobbly wheel, I shoved it into a wall and yelled the f-word.  Really?  Me?  I don’t talk like that, not even when some jerk hit my car in the parking lot at school (yet another thing I have to deal with this summer) and didn’t leave a note.  But I did.  I cursed in front of another teacher.  One who doesn’t know me at all (great witness for Jesus there, dd).  After wrangling the dolly onto the service elevator at the other end of the school  (because the one by my classrooms wasn’t big enough, another straw on the camel’s back), I apologized, made it to the third floor, and started towards my “old” classroom to load up.  And the wheel started wobbling again.  I shook the cart.  It stopped.  Then it wobbled.  I shook the cart.  It stopped.  Then it wobbled.  So I lifted the back wheels of the cart with the handle, slammed them onto the floor, and burst into tears.  In front of my assistant principal, our head counselor, and three or four other teachers.  Yep.  I lost it.  I wailed, “I can’t do this!  I don’t have a husband to come help me like everyone else does.  I have to do it all alone.  I have to do EVERYTHING alone!”  Hmm…dramatic maybe?  Fortunately, I work with some amazing people, and the next thing I knew, Jered and Drew and another teacher’s fiance had taken the dolly and moved all of the heavy stuff from my old room to my new room.  God bless them.

Maybe I should have written this earlier.  I seem to have sidetracked.  But back to Ollie.  I had a massage waiting for me because of Ollie, that sweet boy.  So after all was said and done and graduation was over and I was finally able to get started with my workouts that KD had sent me, I decided to get my massage.  Here are a few second-person highlights from the session:

1. You can explain all day how you have severe hypertonicity in your muscles, but no one understands it until they touch you.
2. You know they sort of get it when they recommend the massage therapist known as the “knot-melter” who gives deep tissue massages and isn’t afraid to dig in.
3. You know it’s bad when the “knot-melter’s” first word after starting on your back is “cement” and you can hardly tell that she’s digging in with her elbows or thumbs because you’re always in in pain, so this pain isn’t noticeable.  Yet she’s making noticeable grunts as she finds particularly challenging trigger points.
4. You’re fully aware of the tightness in your legs when there is an audible “pop” as the golf-ball knot in your left IT band releases.  I felt the pain on that one.  Ahh…
5. You know at the end that you’ve had an amazing massage, but you also know that you need another one soon and that one hour isn’t going to be enough.
6. You find out that you can use your flex spending account for a membership at Massage Envy.

And this is how I joined a new club that gives me a massage every month because of a sweet dog named Ollie.  The End.