Pulling Muscles From My Shell By Erik Jackson

    For years, I'd heard rumors about Rolfing®, a process wherein the connective tissue network- known as the myofascial system- is smoothed and manipulated to free any fasciae that have been shortened due to injury and stress. Imagine having your muscles ironed through a combination of friction and intense pressure. Sound scary? Rolfing® horror stories are legion ("It felt like he was stripping the muscles off my body!" " I was black and blue"). Like EST, Rolfing® was de rigueur '70s experience, and tales of acute pain and subsequent psychological repercussions became disco-party highlights.

    While Rolfing® is still far more rigorous than most spa treatments, the 50-year-old process has been refined- or so say it's enthusiasts. Early Rolfers used nothing but elbow grease between their hands and their client's skin, which probably felt something like a full body rug burn. Today they lubricate with cocoa butter.

    I began my quest for a Rolfer® by making a few calls. One female practitioner told me that her first series- as the Rolfee- drove her into psychotherapy. (Apparently, some people believe that muscles are repositories for memories and that this kind of manipulation can release all kinds of emotions.) Another practitioner, when asked about the rumor of high levels of pain, said cryptically, "We try to minimize the pain."

    I eventually settled on a Rolfer® named Samuel Adams who'd received a glowing recommendation from a friend. I also figured that a guy named after a beer couldn't be all that maniacal - right?

    Dressed in scrub pants and a T-shirt, Adams proved to be the kind of wholesome- looking, attentive listener with whom mothers instantly bond.  (Incidentally, Rolfing® was the brain child of a mother, Ida Rolf, who developed it to relieve her sickly, withdrawn son.) In the study of his West Village apartment, which is adorned with anatomical figures and photos of jazz musicians, Adams told me that Rolfing® usually requires a series of ten sessions, each lasting about an hour and a half.

    I stripped to my skivvies, and Adams looked me over, eyeing my posture, the rotation of my legs- anything, he told me, that would suggest where the fasciaewere constricting. Once on the padded table, a mobile of colored opaque discs spinning above me, I realized that my fears were unfounded. To the soft accompaniment of an early Herbie Hancock album, Adams gave me an intense but not unpleasant once-over, using his hands and forearms like a rolling pin to slowly iron out my muscles.

    As the session progressed, Adams began to "riff" on specific areas, such as the hip flexors and the shoulders. I won't lie- oftentimes, it was damn-near excruciating, with the words Rolfing® and ralphing blurring together. But you're in charge, and a Rolfer worth his salt will pay attention to your feedback and ease up accordingly. When I mentioned that sometimes I grind my teeth in my sleep. Adams even donned latex gloves and Rolfed my jaw- from the inside. As tears streamed down my face, he gently stretched and prodded my jaw muscles and palette; the mixture of pain and relief made me almost euphoric.

    By the end of the session, my flexibility had increased, and my body had begun to realign. As I left Adams's apartment, I felt centered, focused and totally solid- a far cry from the tense, frazzled guy who scurried in earlier.

    Clearly Rolfing® isn't for everyone. The sessions, which become more intense as they progress, can border on the surreal. (At one point, Adams had me pinned in a World Wrestling Federation grip, his knee digging into the back of my thigh, as  "The Girl from Ipanema" bopped from the speakers.) Rolfing® didn't drive me to a shrink. But perhaps I should consider it: Lately I've been looking forward to the session in which Adams will stick his finger up my nose to Rolf® my sinuses.

    Should I be worried?

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