Matthew's Back - [Matthew]

Yesterday a diminutive Russian woman named Elena poked surgically sharp needles into me, then left my back tattooed with bruises. It was the most relaxing experience of my life.

I've been researching spas for an article I'm writing for one of my magazine clients. The article focuses on unusual, exotic, expensive, and unique treatments. Now, I am a non-recovering experience junkie, so when the lady at the spa I called said ‘why don’t you come in and try it’, I was there before she had finished her sentence.

At the spa I met Elena, a 5’ tall 50-something woman from Russia. When I mentioned I had visited her homeland last year, she was in no small way pleased, even more so that I visited a completely non-tourist city (“Samara, that’s the real Russia”).

I filled out a form with a long list of general medical questions. Then we talked. I explained that I hoped she could make my back feel better. After a mountain biking incident eight years ago, I wake up each morning with my lower back very tight.

Elena was a sweet woman who sincerely believed in her practice, but the Q + A was pure hippy, new age wellness drivel…

“In what season of the year are you happiest?”

“Well, Elena, to tell you the truth, I never gave it much thought.”

We chatted for a little while longer before she arrived at her conclusions:

1. I need to drink more water (what’s the Russian word for ‘duh’?)
2. I spend a lot of time at the computer, which isn’t good for my back (I actually never put the two together, but it makes sense).
3. I should eat better (hmmm, what tipped you off? Was it my increasingly Poppin’ Fresh profile or my nametag that reads ‘Chubby McBackFat’?)

After this enlightening exchange, it was time for less jokin’ and more pokin’. She said she would do acupuncture and if I liked, something called ‘cupping’, which for some reason sounds dirty, but isn’t.

In my skivvies, towel draped over me, I lay face down on the table.

She put oil (or lotion or Pam™ or something, I don’t know, I couldn’t see anything) on my back, then set fire to a small glass cup and quickly clapped it down onto my soft, white hide. After the fire goes out, the lack of oxygen in the cup sucks up the skin. Kind of a big hickey. She placed a dozen of these things all along both sides of my spine.

According to Elena, the idea is to create ‘microtrauma’ in the areas of concern. The blood travels to that site and reinvigorates it. Or something. I can tell you there was nothing ‘micro’ about the trauma (stay tuned).

Then it was time for the big show. Acupuncture.

Now, there are two types of needles, Japanese and Chinese. Here’s the difference in layman’s terms:

Japanese = smaller needle = less hurt
Chinese = bigger needle = more hurt

Elena hit me with an array of Japanese needles, which I could hardly feel, then asked if I wanted to try the Chinese. Yeah, I felt those Chinese needles. She put the first one near my Achilles’ tendon, then asked what kind I preferred. I said ‘stay with those chopsticks you’re using.’ Did it hurt? A little, but criminy, if you’re going to do something, do it.

Before it was over, I had needles in my arms, wrists, legs, ankles, top of my head, ears, base of my neck, and right between my eyebrows (to invigorate my chi or prevent monobrow, I don’t know).

Next, Elena removed the needles and all but one cup. Then she worked that sucky cup all over my back. She finished up with a variety of massage and stretching stuff. It went for an hour or more, but as Elena explained ‘You been to Russia, I treat you like prince.’ I even got to dip into my Russian language skills to say ‘Спасибо, Elena.’ (“thank you”) before saying goodbye (“до свидания”).

My back felt like a million rubles, but then I got home and checked Elena’s work: that Red had turned my back black and blue (see pics below, if you dare). My wife’s jaw dropped.

She asked what happened and I told her the truth: Well, today I went to this place on the other side of town, met this strange lady, shucked down to my underpants, and let her torture me for an hour.

Then finally, bravely, she asked the most important question of all: “Huh. So, what do you want for dinner?”

I love my wife. She’s the one who gives me strength when my back is up against the wall. Or just being peppered with needles by short Russian women.

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