You know when an idea gets out of hand?
Before I moved to Australia, I had a vision of massaging surfers on Noosa’s beach. It would be great because I’ll be tanning whilst getting paid, and Chris Hemsworth (or whatever) will be happy because all those knots from surfing will be kneaded away – by me.
It was a vivid vision and one that could only come true if – I knew how to massage.
As soon as I signed up for the course, it became apparent that I had not appreciated how much work was involved to be able to rub a surfer’s back. A list was sent before the course began of all the tools required; oil (not cooking), holsters, towels and a massage table.
So I went onto Amazon; got some coconut oil, a plastic holster that made me feel like Lara Croft (but with an oil dispenser), and a massage table that I squeezed into my 18 square metre flat.
The course was spread across two weeks; the mornings were theory classes where we had to learn each muscle. I was never one for biology, and the diagrams of the muscles with all their twists made me feel a little queasy. In the afternoons, we were put into pairs to do the practical, and every day, we would learn a new body part.
The teacher, a man who looked like one of those dad soccer coaches seen on Nickelodeon was the most passionate teacher I had ever encountered. If there was a massage in the world, he knew how to do it. He spoke a lot about ‘the trust.’
“You need to tell your client EXACTLY what you are about to do, or you will lose the trust!”
“You do NOT want to move the towel the wrong way or you will lose the trust!”
The towel was a whole element; the way it was folded and tucked around the body was not something I had even thought about during my Elemis spa day, but suddenly, it was an artwork to master.
The first afternoon was legs and I was put with a fashion influencer who had the LONGEST LEGS IN THE WORLD.
I was doing an effleurage on her calf when she jolted violently from the pressure, just as the teacher walked past.
“Do NOT press too hard like that Mary, you will lose the trust!”
Even though my towel movements were not the most elegant, and I had a hard time not feeling dizzy when learning about tendons, I persisted with the week. I learned how to do the back and the arms, but then Thursday came – belly day. The influencer no longer wanted me near her (I lost the trust), so I was paired with a stumpy, dark-haired man.
“Harder! Harder!” he demanded, as I gingerly rubbed around his belly hole.
I closed my eyes and did as instructed, the oily-long hair swirl under my fingertips felt like seaweed.
No tanned Australian surfer was worth it – even Thor.
I ended up on Noosa’s beach without a massage qualification, so I could only watch the surfers from a distance. I’m not a fan of the beach, hot weather, or spiders, so in hindsight, the move to the East Coast of Australia was probably another idea that got out of hand –
but hey, what’s a life without runaway ideas?
THE QUACK 