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"Why don't you hop up on the table. Lay on your stomach and let your feet dangle off."
I climbed up and got situated, and watched as Dr. Hart rolled out a thick cloth on the table adjacent to me. It reminded me of something artists used to hold their drawing pencils and such. He began removing the tools and placing them in a uniform line, six shiny instruments with rounded edges. I frowned as apprehension surged inside me.
"How long is this going to take," I asked wearily.
He shot me a glance then went back to what he was doing. "It should take no more than minutes, depending on the size of the injury."
I l
ooked back at the different instruments in worry. "All that for ten minutes, huh?"
"It's not as bad as it looks. You'll be sore the first time or two, but after that you should be good."
He looked over my head to Kova. "Ready?"
"Yes."
A minute or so later, Kova was rubbing some cream onto my calf and the back of my ankle.
"What your coach is doing is applying an emollient. He's going to rub it in from the top of your knee down to your foot. It's a lotion that will soften the skin and keep it from drying out, but more importantly, it helps with the friction."
Kova began running a dull-edged tool down the length of my calf. It was cool to the touch, but quickly warmed up after he repetitively moved in the same motion.
"Apply pressure and run the blade smoothly down her calf like you're doing now. Can you feel the sandy, gravel feel under it?"
"Yes," Kova said. "It is smooth in some areas, and others it feels like pebbles of dirt."
"Right. So, if you're feeling that grit, that's an area that's seen a lot of stress or has been injured before. Mind if I feel it?"
They switched places and the doctor ran a hand down my calf first before he started. "There's nice muscle definition here, but I can tell by touch it's tight and there are knots." He stroked the back of my leg with the tool, pressing much harder than Kova. I grunted and tensed up.
"Does that hurt, Adrianna?" he asked.
"A little bit," I grunted.
"More so than Kova?"
This time I pushed my butt in the air out of reflex. "Yes," I grunted.
"Relax." His voice was firm and demanding. I lowered my hips and he continued the raking as he spoke to Kova. "A lot of newbies are afraid to apply pressure. Don't be. You won't hurt her. The more you do this, the more you'll get a good feel for her and how much she can take."
"Hmm…" He hummed under his breath, like it was worse off than he expected. He ran the blade harder, trying to smooth out the bumps. It reminded me of when I was a kid and my mom wanted my hair in the perfect ponytail. She'd brush in the same spot over and over until it was smooth and perfectly leveled, not caring that my head was on fire from the impact of the bristles or that I had probably lost hair.
"That restriction you feel under the blade tells me this is an area that's seen a tremendous amount of stress, possibly an injury that has healed itself and has been reinjured." He applied more pressure. "There’s some tissue buildup as well. Since this is the first time for both of you, I suggest gradually increasing pressure with each session." He switched spots with Kova again and turned to me. "Adrianna, you'll notice red blotches on your calf, they’re nothing to be alarmed about. It's just blood flowing to the Achilles. It's great for stimulating circulation and healing."
"Okay," was all I said as I watched over my shoulder.
"How often do you suggest treatment," Kova asked. He was now working the blade midway down to my ankle, where there was more heat and an intense fiery burn but nothing I couldn't handle…yet.
"Treatments can be done regularly, or twice a week. I would suggest every other day for now, that way you give the inflammation time to heal before you start again."
Great. I'll just pencil blading into my schedule.
Kova hit the back of my ankle and I gasped, sucking in an audible breath as he held the back of my ankle steady. He paused, then resumed, and I gripped the blue table pad. My toes curled in response to the pain. Fucking hell!
"You feel more grit down by her ankle, don't you?" His friend asked and Kova nodded. "That’s where you need to focus on more now."
The blade was shaped like a concaved butter knife, and he used the tip to swipe up and down around the hollows of the back of my ankle, hitting between the little grooves as he held my heel in his hand.
