I'd unwind a bit, but I'm afraid that would set off the trip-wires.

A former friend of mine tried to give me a backrub once.
.... I know that's not exactly the stirring opening that you associate with most epics, but this story has actually stuck with me for longer than 5 years. (Almost literally).

We were on the indoor track and field team together for a season in high school - he sprinted / jumped, and I made my "white-girl-field-hockey/soccer-player" attempts at the 400 and 800 meter dashes of sheer-agony. (They put them with the smaller distances, but sprinting for 2 minutes?! Who the hell comes up with these things?!)
... (is it bad if I'd rather just push myself over 7 miles than kill myself over 1/2 of one?... don't answer that.)

In any case - sprinting, whether short term or cruelly prolonged, is the one part of running that I'll get worked up about. It is also - though my accidental 12.5 miler this summer proved me wrong - one of the few things involved with cardio/exercise that can make me literally ill. (That may, however, just be my mental block against it.) Therefore - after the completion of our first track meet of the season (!) in which yours truly managed to further along the argument for longer uniform shorts - the bus ride back was gradually becoming less and less comfortable. Ten minutes in, I'd given up on sitting as a normal human being should and was curled up in a fetal position upon the brown, elementary-school-broken-in leather.

[Enter the friend].

Notorious (such an ominous word) for his extremely-literal-deep-tissue back massages, my buddy took one look at my pathetic attempt to "work out kinks" by stretching absolutely nothing at all, almost literally pulled me back into a sitting position, and offered a trade. If I would give him a quick, superficial backrub (I was notorious for my extremely-awful-deep-tissue back-massages), then he'd spend the rest of the bus ride getting my back into typical human form.

Fair was fair - less-than-mediocre for what promised to be ridiculously thorough. I agreed, and quickly attacked his back, figuring that maybe the "open-assault" mindset would put more power into my impact.

... it was a good thought, at the least - one that could have been executed by someone more talented than I.

30 seconds later - after quite a bit of badly-masked laughing and a few "ow's!", the friend had had enough, and told me to twirl around and prepare to have my life changed.

10 seconds in: "Wow... Dani, you weren't kidding, you're really worked up back here..."
20 seconds in: "... I think this one is starting to come un- nope."
30 seconds: "... have you ever had ANYONE try this before?!"
1 minute: "Oh my God, why didn't you warn me?! It's like trying to knead concrete!"
2 minutes: "I can't... it's not... my hands... MY HANDS!!! MY HANDS ARE CRAMPING UP?!"




.... 10 minutes later - after having abandoned the mission at the 2. 5 minute mark:

"WHAT ARE YOU?! WHAT ARE YOU?!?! STEEL?!! I CAN'T CLOSE MY FISTS!!?!"

... How's that for built-up-tension?