Missing the "SPA" Gene

Hard to believe, but I'm in the 1% of women who are missing the SPA gene. Relax and read on---I'm not talking about new breast cancer research. No, I'm speaking about every woman's innate longing for relaxing, rejuvenating spa treatments to restore the body and de-stress the soul.

I am spa-challenged, but I'm wondering now if it's nature or nurture? Perhaps I just got off to a bad start with spas? Can I trace it all back to my first Nordstrom spa seaweed wrap? Many years ago, with 3 kids and the hectic suburban child-centered lifestyle, I remember being thrilled with my husband's gift of a spa adventure. The seaweed wrap seemed perfect-- I love the ocean! So, why not be painted with soothing green paste of mashed kelp and fragrant herbs, wrapped in a warm blanket and allowed some alone time to just breathe in and out without a care in the world? Alas, if only it were so. The green seaweed was fine, but I began to sweat in the cocoon-like wrap and worried about the green goo dripping into my eyes. I would have snuck my hand up for a quick wipe, but my Houdini skills failed me and I was unable to liberate my arm from my organic cotton strait jacket. It was too hot and the lingering, faint odor of lightly simmered seaweed was giving me a headache. My attendant finally returned and I gratefully followed her directions for the cleansing finale. I'm sure there was a shower involved, but my memory returns only one image--the attendant manning an elephant-sized hose aimed in my direction, blasting me sparkling clean, my body plastered against the wall.

I wrote all this off as beginner's bad luck, and persisted over the years in giving it "one more try." I learned to avoid Swedish massages, since they often involved a large Swedish-like woman who would comment on how tense my neck and shoulders were and then proceed to isolate a knot of muscle which she would "work" until it became rock hard, permanently ensuring that it would remain a proud emblem of my tenseness for all eternity. Perhaps this was part of the strategy for return visits?

I decided to switch to water cures. Sitting in a $120 hot bath of brownish cappucino-colored water, I thought: "Could I get the same results in my own tub at home by just not cleaning the tub?" Of course not!  

I progressed  from plain water cures to a hot mud bath. I knew I would never have the energy to drag bags of mud up to the 2nd floor bathroom of our house, so it was worth a try and, after all, we weren't just talking plain old ordinary backyard sandbox mud. I was in the Northern Napa Valley and this was primo Calistoga deep earth primordial ooze. My daughter and I shared a gloomy room with 2 huge metal tubs filled with bouncy oatmeal-laden mud. It was springy to the touch, warm and welcoming, until Beth asked: "How do you think they clean this mud between customers?"  Hmm... I pondered this as I sank deeper into the lumpy, chunky mud. Before leaving us alone for a half hour of slippery solitude, the attendant had covered our eyes with a soothing eye pillow--soothing?... or a way to discourage us from examining our muddy entrapment too closely?

"Beth," my lonely, disembodied voice floated over the tubs. "Have you stopped sinking in? Do you feel like the mud is creeping up your neck, your chin...?" Was I being pulled slowly downward to death by suffocation? "Don't struggle," I yelled, remembering the quicksand from the Tarzan movies of my youth and the admonition to stay calm. (not my strong suit!)   "Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm!"  I screamed, unable to free my arm to remove the sensory deprivation mask. Could the attendant not hear me? I finally pulled my arm out and pushed the mask back, tried to breathe slowly, until our attendant returned to liberate us from the black holes. Sucked out of the mud bath by the hefty arms of Shana of the Jungle (names have been changed to protect the guilty) we were momentarily relieved until Shana produced --- yes, you've guessed it --- the elephant-sized hose. 

All of this was valuable research for future experiences. We composed our guidelines for reading a spa menu, concentrating on red flag words to avoid: 

scrub -- being scoured with a brillo pad

removing dead skin -- (they neglect to tell you that live skin can go with it)

exfoliating -- same as above

pressure points -- see knot story above

petrissage--French for muscle torture

brisk friction -- see brillo pad 

grit  -- best left on dusty roads
sea salt -- best left in the ocean

invigorating, stimulating -- it will hurt, but you will rationalize that it was worth it.

I was beginning to get really worried. It was enough for me to be a spa-less outcast, but was I poisoning my daughter and relegating her to a life of misery when female friends suggested a "fun weekend getaway." Did Beth lack the SPA gene, too, or was I just starting her down my path of experience? I decided the second annual mother-daughter spa-cation at Mohonk Mountain House would be a test and my last ditch effort to let Beth happily join the 99% of women who love to spa.

It didn't start out well. Beth had to catch the NFC wildcard final of the Giants vs Atlanta, as soon as we arrived on Sunday. Can you say football and spa in the same breath? Luckily there was a tv room, filled with all males who looked like they had been reluctantly dragged by their wives to a romantic getaway vacation. The Giants won convincingly and Tebow and Denver won the 2nd game. After all those body slamming tackles and punishing falls, I hope the teams all got relaxing aromatherapy massages after the game. Yes, there is a football-spa connection!

Beth must have been identifying with her football heroes, because unlike her weaker mother, she successfully managed the Swedish massage. She did arrive at her appointment a little late, was whisked through the application process and spent the first few minutes of her stress free treatment wondering what she had signed and worrying about whether tips were included.

Her downfall came with the Moss Hydrating Body Mask with Exfoliating Body Glow. Had she not listened to the spa wisdom her mother had tried to convey over the years? Does moss hydrating mask not sound suspiciously like organic seaweed paste? Did she not fear the elephant hose? She had some choices for the exfoliating scrub, but I've bolded the red flag words:

• Rosemary Citron – a traditional stimulating sea salt scrub
• Espresso Mud Scrub – a rich, earthy mud scrub featuring ground Arabica beans    -- ground up beans? really? 
• Lemongrass Mimosa – micronized walnut shells and bamboo; remove dull, dry skin --Getting more serious now grinding up walnut shells and bamboo. Hope nothing goes under fingernails.
• Lemon Verbena -- the most gentle, yet effective exfoliation, for sensitive skin, with jojoba beads and oat proteins --Ah, not to worry . Here was the perfect choice.

Trouble was when Beth entered her treatment room, her 250 pound, ex-roller derby attendant said she was out of all those choices and substituted the Mohonk Fragrant Earth -- a melange of dandelion and pine essence mixed with Mohonk Preserve rock salt from the parking lot. To be fair, Organic Osama (names have been changed...) warned Beth the first part would be rough, but it would get better. Despite Beth's protests that it hurt and Organic Osama's attempts to ratchet down the intensity, OO really only knew one effort level--full speed ahead. That evening at dinner, I could see Beth was becoming a convert. She extended her arms out and proclaimed to our table: "Feel my skin- it's soft as a baby's butt!"  It got a little embarrassing when she got up and visited three other tables of strangers, exhorting them to stroke her soft skin.  "Beth," I said, maneuvering her gently back to her seat, "they just want to finish their dinners."

me and Beth

I'm glad there's hope for Beth and spas. As for me, I've identified the one foolproof treatment -- the hot stones massage. No probing fingers knotting and unknotting your muscles, just smooth pressure from warm stones and lots of moisturizing oils. Heavenly.

All kidding aside, it was a wonderful vacation-- relaxing with friends, enjoying fabulous food and good conversation in a beautiful mountain setting. Here are some pix:

Me and Carol

At the entrance

sitting room

on the trail

Nancy and Cindy

Nancy and Megan

Rocking chair pavilion

The shining?

Mohonk Mountain House and Lake

The green team