For Physical Reasons
After yesterday, I felt my body deserved some time to recover.
It’s not that I’m unused to getting pounded every now and then, but normally the impact is concentrated considerably lower down. This had been different. My face hurt, my nose hurt, walking remained a somewhat delicate operation and I decided that, for once, what my body needed was proper care. So a spa seemed like the responsible choice.
Unfortunately, anyone who has ever tried booking a spa treatment at the end of the workweek, knows that massages require the same amount of advance planning as major surgery. Unless you booked three weeks ago, you’re on your own.
And then I remembered The Continental. Weren’t they doing another Seven Sins event in the Roman Baths?
They were. Finally, healthcare that understands my physical needs.
I quickly left home, put on the smallest amount of black and gold I could find to satisfy the dress code and, not much later, lowered my battered body into the warmth of the pool. The water felt wonderful. Things stopped aching. Muscles relaxed. I could practically feel its healing properties at work.
Apparently I wasn’t the only one seeking treatment. All around me, couples were dancing, disappearing into secluded corners or deciding privacy was overrated and giving everyone else something to watch. The distinction between spa, nightclub and something that needs a very specific license was difficult to make.
Nobody seemed too concerned about that and neither was I.
I kept things simple. Monica was nearby, and she’s such a cutie. We’d been flirting for a while, so naturally I went over to investigate whether she too had come seeking the restorative benefits of Roman bathing. As it turned out, she had physical complaints of her own; she’d been having some trouble stretching.
Now, I’m not a licensed physiotherapist, but I am a caring person and I take the wellbeing of my friends extremely seriously. I didn’t need much more information before offering some hands-on assistance. I think I helped her stretch here and there.
Considerably as it turned out, because whatever I did, Monica seemed remarkably limber afterwards. Then, almost as quickly as she came, she was gone again.
Which left me on my own in the pool, feeling substantially better than when I arrived and with just enough time to remember that I had brought my camera. So I moved around a little and took some pictures while everyone was otherwise occupied.
Discreetly, obviously, or at least I hope so and seeing what some of them were doing, I suspect the camera was the least compromising thing happening in those baths anyway. All in all, I’d say the treatment worked beautifully.
My face still hurts.
The lower parts are doing much better.
Click them for a larger resolution and save.
This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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