Destress your distress
Six dollars. Five minutes.
Best massage of my life.
by NUAZN Gathering Editors
After long days and nights working for nuAZN, the Gathering editors were in dire need of a rejuvenation day — but our salary of $0 an hour doesn’t cover much. Lucky for us, local Evanston business Art of Health claimed to “make us feel awesome” with a five-minute massage for only $6 — or at least, that’s what their storefront board said.The three of us took a trip to the mysterious shop to find out the truth.
Ellie
Everything about Art of Health is curated to make you relax. The air smells fresh, the workers speak in soft voices and the lights are dim, save for sunshine streaming through the window.
I was anything but relaxed. I couldn’t get over the barrier of having to be physically vulnerable in front of a stranger (and with two other editors watching just a few feet away).
The masseuse tugged down my shirt and grabbed a clip to put my hair up. She hated me, I was sure. But when the massage actually started, all the noise of my overthinking fell away. I closed my eyes and was transported to a different world — one with no thoughts, no worries, just the sweet, sweet feeling of tension released from my whole body as she massaged up and down my spine. Frankly, I felt awesome. And for only $6? Less than the overpriced boba I buy every weekend? Best money I’ve ever spent.
Medina
Who knew being punched could feel so good? I sunk forward into the chair as my back cracked under the masseuse’s skilled hands and balled fists. I strained to hear the faint piano music under the repetitive thuds, thinking about how I was going to perform in the biggest concert of my life next weekend, not to mention needing to start an essay that won’t write itself.
Each strike of the masseuse’s hands felt like a mallet on the taut skin of a timpani, a keystroke of a word for a paper due way too soon. Music notes and literary theories swirled under my eyelids, Britten and Barthes, both in rapid 16th-note succession. But the rhythm started to lull me, melting my stress away into a warm, glowing ball of —
“OK, you’re done,” the masseuse said, finished with a solo of her own. I straightened up, a bit taller than before. I almost clapped.
Jerry
I was a bit nervous, I’ll admit. As I stepped foot into the small storefront, the quiet humming of piano keys floated through the edges of the room. I tried to settle myself, but failed. So I sat down to my fate — the multi-purposed black massage chair waiting to tie me down.
From that point, my vision was lost. I soon felt a light sheet draped over my back followed by a pair of small hands dewrinkling the creases. To be honest, the next five minutes were a blur — a little tickle here, a warm tension release there. The masseuse worked quickly and skillfully.
When I think about it, those five minutes were something. I felt I was somewhere else. No longer in Evanston. No longer a college student. Almost divine. Art of Health, 10 out of 10.