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| - Remotely complaining about anything having to do with a spa really deserves a big fat #whitegirlproblems hashtag. I realize this. That said, I do enjoy Sanctuary's spa. I've found a great therapist, Bill, who puts the "therapeutic" in "therapeutic massage". He beats the shit out of me and his Chicago accent makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.
That said, I like to check in with Bill every six weeks or so because my driving-a-desk-but-highly-stressful-and-often-irritating job leaves me with my shoulders cranked up to my ears from tension. I don't go to sit in a whirlpool or so someone can soothingly rub lavender scented lotion on me, backed by some vaguely ethnic soundtrack involving a wind instrument made of a root. I go so someone strong can beat my rhomboids and trapezeii into submission. I don't need the spa experience.
Now, if I wanted a truly luxurious "spa experience", I would not come here. The locker rooms are cramped. The Jacuzzi is small. The layout is a little weird and awkward. There's the whole getting a locker/changing into a robe and rubber prison slippers experience that is largely superfluous if you're like me, just popping in for a massage. There's not a ton of room to just hang out if you really wanted to piss away a day at the spa. I've been other places within the same area whose "experience" blows Sanctuary's out of the water. As lovely as the surroundings may be, the experience is lacking, and you get Real Spa Experience prices.
If I hadn't found a therapist I liked, I doubt I'd be back once every couple years. But, I'm picky, so for now I'll keep trudging back to Sanctuary every now and then, until I can convince Bill to make house calls. (Bill, are you reading this? Call me!)
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