Rolfing and Me: Say What?

The New York Times recently wrote about a rolfing renaissance, apparently fueled by burnt out yogi. I'm not burnt out, but yes, it was yoga that brought me to investigate rolfing.

Rolfing is meant to bring the body into alignment so it can function the way it is supposed to--efficiently and without undue stress due to imbalances. That is very similar--if not exactly like what Iyengar yogi aspire to achieve. The obsessive adjustment of body parts by teachers in an Iyengar yoga class is all in the name of attaining symmetry and balance.

In fact, it was Iyengar yoga that made me realize how lopsided my body really is. During tadasana (mountain pose), my teachers would note how my left hip would jut out. In adho mukha svanasana (downward facing dog), in whatever class or city I go, I wait for about a minute for the teacher to come over and tell me, 'Your left butt is too low, dear, bring it up."

I love yoga--but it offered no way to solve this imbalance except by adjusting myself constantly during poses that highlighted my lopsidedness.

It was a boot camp, however, that brought home the message that imbalance is more than just an aesthetic issue. After about a month of high intensity and high impact training, I started feeling pain in my left hip. Immediately, I knew my assymetrical, one-short-leg body was to blame. I knew it was time to try rolfing.

SESSION ONE:

Paul Fitzgerald, certified advanced rolfer in the San Francisco peninsula, looks me over. I'm wearing gym shorts and a sports bra. He asks me to walk, raise my arms, drop my shoulders. I show him my jutting hip, the unevenly worn out soles of my Uggs. Paul shows me a skeleton model of a perfectly symmetrical pelvis. "No one is exactly like this," he said simply. "But we will try to bring you here as closely as possible." I ask Paul about rolfing's reputation for being painful. Paul's reply is less than assuring: "I have heavy hands, so we'll just work with each other."

What followed is anti-climactic. Rolfing is not really painful. In fact, it makes me drowsy. A Chinese-style massage, where the masseur uses knees to knead my sore lower back is more painful.

The highlight of this first rolfing session: Amazingly, Paul zeroes in on a tiny point around my left lower back--he says it is the gluteus medius--that I instinctively know is the source of my misery. Paul presses down on this point and produces an inexplicable mix of pain, pleasure, agony and relief. He recommends pressing and rolling a tennis ball on that spot as self-care. For the rest of the 75 minute session, Paul twists, pokes, pulls various muscles, primarily around the hip, thigh neck and shoulders. He is manipulating fascia, the sheath that holds the muscle together, and creating space between muscles, he says. He found this tiny strip of muscle on my right shoulder that has confounded many masseurs with its hardness and definition--a strip of pure unadulterated stress. He massages it, and says I need to train myself to drop my shoulders more. After the session, I am blissed out, not unlike the feeling I have after a good yoga class.

Two days later, I notice something miraculous. As I stand, feet hip-width apart, my left hip no longer juts inward! I don't need to push my hip bone in to align my pelvis. And no more pain! Just one session, and the results are dramatic. I'm looking forward to the next one. I am unequivocally sold.