Lymphatic drainage anyone?

I‘m going on a diet. That’s not really news - I’ve been on a diet since about 1976, and I was only born in the eighties. But this time it’s serious. This time I’m accompanying my Ryvita, thrice (honestly!) weekly runs and those infamous yoga sessions with two extra measures: lymphatic drainage massages and I-Lipo sessions. And in a few months’ time I’m going to possess a svelte figure that Britain’s Next Top Model would be proud of.

I’ve started with the massage, intended to reduce toxins in my body through gentle, sweeping movements. I booked in for a Saturday treat and spent all week dreaming of relaxation in a warm, candle-lit room, accompanied by sounds of the seashore and a masseuse’s nimble fingers. However the reality turned out to be slightly different …

On arrival at the salon I was taken down to the therapy room and instructed to strip from the waist down. Once I was stood there in my knickers the therapist produced a pair of what appeared to be space pants and told me to get in. My face said it all.

‘I know, it looks a bit funny doesn’t it?’ She spoke to me in a similar manner to how I speak to four year old children, and I went straight into role. Nodding dumbly I glanced at the trousers she was shaking in my direction, then up at her encouraging grin, and tentatively lifted my leg. I was way too intimidated to risk a telling off.

A few minutes later I was lying out on the table, stomach and sweaty legs sticking to the spacesuit, whilst the therapist plugged a few leads into a technical-looking box. She offered my a pile of magazines, which I obligingly took, then grinned before walking away, with promises to return in half an hour. The child in me wanted to call her back and ask her to stay, but the sleek, suave young professional wouldn’t indulge it. And anyway, it was at that point that I got distracted by a mouse running up my in-leg and a breeze block being plonked on my belly.

Actually, once I got used to the seemingly random pulsations combined with the rising and falling of the sweeping strokes, the experience was rather pleasant. When my therapist came back I didn’t leap onto her crying and clinging (I couldn’t - I was still plugged in) but instead welcomed her with my career woman smile and graciously allowed her to unwrap me as I peered down at my previously wobbly bits. Ok so they were still wobbly - I hadn’t experienced an out-of-this-world miracle or anything - but I was sure they were looking slightly more sculpted. Which I have never noticed after a gym session. Hmm, interesting…

So did the lymphatic drainage really work? I believe so. Or was it just another case of the Emperor’s new clothes? I think not. In fact, I’m so confident in its success that I’ve booked up another couple of sessions to get into shape for my brother’s wedding. Move over Tiffany Pisani …