I’ve lived in Charlottesville for almost 20 years, and there’s still so much I’ve never seen or done. We moved here in 2003, had our first and only (lovely, high-needs) child four months later, and the rest has been a blur of going to and from work, the grocery store, doctors’ appointments, schools, and, occasionally, Brazos Tacos.
Now that I’m an empty-nester, and lockdown is behind us, I can finally check out all the stuff I’ve seen in peripheral vision these past many years—the places and activities you hear people mention, or that you spy as you drive by thinking, “How long has that been there, and what even is it?”–Mary Esselman
What and why
AquaFloat, because ever since it opened I’ve wondered how soaking in (what I imagined to be) a coffin-shaped pod full of salty water could possibly help anyone feel relaxed.
How it went
Big reveal: no coffin-shaped pod! More like a large, gleaming oyster shell, filled with a tranquil, turquoise bath. And in the float room, an inviting 8’x10′ pool, big enough for two.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Accompanied by my 19-year-old, I stepped out of the January gloom and into a Caribbean dream in the heart of downtown: aquamarine walls, lush plants, soothing music, a glass pitcher full of water with sliced lemons, and a warm greeting. I felt my shoulders drop down from their usual high clench.
First up, the massage.
Yes, AquaFloat offers massage, as well as infrared sauna and other services. Apparently, massage followed by a float maximizes stress reduction, pain relief, and muscle recovery. Considering all 2022 had served up, I went for it.
That’s how I found myself in the gentle, expert hands of AquaFloat’s Massage Manager Reggie Harrison, who carefully assessed my needs before working magic on my creaky, sore body. The kid, meanwhile, found massage a revelation, as therapist Ansley Brubaker released knots related to hunching over a computer, art canvas, and phone.
Goofy with relaxation, we made our way to the main event: the float.
Once Manager Alyson Abbate gave us clear instructions, the kid entered the one-person pod room (12 inches of body-temperature water mixed with 1,000 pounds of epsom salt), while I shuffled into the larger float room (18 inches of water and 3,000 pounds of epsom salt).
According to Abbate, many floaters—athletes, care providers, first responders—opt for a silent, closed-door, lights-out float. Fond of undeprived senses, I opted for the door open, lights on, and music just loud enough to lull.
“What in the world am I doing?” I thought as I sank into the warmth, and felt my body bob up gently. Wow. Weightless, warm, and safe. On the ceiling, sparkling white lights mimicked stars, and down below I laughed like a baby in its crib, watching a mobile go ’round. This was fun! In my mind I was 5 again, though in reality I’m sure I looked like Wilford Brimley in Cocoon. I steered myself one way, then another, closed my eyes, and let myself drift.
When time was up, I bade a lazy farewell to my pool, took a hazy shower, dressed in a trance, and went to meet the kid, who, it turns out, had soaked in sensory-deprivation bliss, and declared the entire AquaFloat experience “sick.” Usually nocturnal, the kid went to sleep at 8pm and woke late the next morning, relaxed and elated.
Low-key, (relatively) affordable, convenient stress relief. I loved it.
This column is not an endorsement. Do your own research, and choose what’s best for you when it comes to your health and wellness.
AquaFloat
925-A E. Jefferson St.
293-1143, aquafloatcville.com