For those of you who don’t know, a foam roller is basically like a self-massager; it’s a solid cylinder of firm foam and, according to Wikipedia, foam rolling is a “self-myofascial release (SMR) technique that is used by athletes and physical therapists to inhibit overactive muscles. This form of stretching utilizes the concept of autogenic inhibition to improve soft tissue extensibility, thus relaxing the muscle and allowing the activation of the antagonist muscle blah blah blah blah”.
Still with me?
Basically, according to me, Liz, foam rolling is a necessary measure to massage my aching and tight muscles caused by all the running I have been doing; it helps me to still be able to walk the next day when I’ve run my butt off as part of my training schedule for my 4races4cities project. Without it, I am pretty sure that my posture will resemble that of a 90 year old lady with rickets, and this ain’t a good look for anyone. Well, unless you are a 90 year old lady with rickets, then you’re excused. Just.
When I received my foam roller through the post, I wasn’t entirely sure how to use it. I’d done some research, sure, but as I stood before it, in all its blue foam glory, I realised I hadn’t the first clue what I was supposed to actually do with it.
My cat, Lily, on the other hand, trotted over, as I looked on befuddled, and promptly proceeded to use it as a scratching post. Typical.
After finding a YouTube video demonstrating some basic techniques, I gingerly approached my foam roller and attempted to follow along.
And this is when it all went to shit.
Because, woah, you basically, have to simulate sex with it.
Check this out:
It appears that this man is humping his foam roller, and from the blissful expression on his face, it appears he is really enjoying it.
Ever-so-slightly discouraged and freaked out by the filthy foam roller, I nonetheless, for the sake of massaging my hip flexor, got on all fours, lowered my body over the foam roller and replicated the missionary position.
Cue dry humping.
At this point, already humiliated by myself, I stole a quick glance to my right, and noticed that the cat was perched on the side of the armchair, eying me with disdain, and most probably wishing her furry little thumbs were opposable so that she could ring the RSPCA and report me.
I figured that if my cat was judging me, hell knows what the neighbours would think if they saw me through the window. And so I ran around my flat, closing every curtain and blind with the air of someone who was about to commit a cardinal sin.
It only got worse.
This move is supposed to relieve muscle tension in your upper (ahem) leg.
How about you? Do you
simulate sex foam roll?