Rasta Steve then points to my ankles and comments on how swollen they are and how bad that is. I look at my driver and wonder if he told him I was leaving. I reminded Rasta Steve that I wasn’t getting a massage.
He reached down and squeezed my left foot hard. Looked back at me and asked me to reconsider just having my feet massaged to reduce the swelling.
In my mind I was screaming “no”, but “ok” came out of my mouth.
It didn’t feel good. I was uncomfortable from the very first touch. But I stayed focused on the end result and hopefully that was no swelling so I could close the strap on my cute, brown sandals.
That first barely tolerable touch went from toes to my heels. From my heel to my ankles. From my ankles to my calves. From my calves to my thighs. From my thighs to…
Yeah, you get the picture.
35 minutes later, there I sit on the edge of this rock with my legs, arms, shoulders and a bit of my neck area covered with mineral mud and Rasta Steve’s own made mineral oil.