It is hard to begin this week’s review, because I don’t know exactly what I am looking at. It resembles the trunk of a young palm tree, but is a nauseous yellow. Could it be an elephantine tube of calamari? Or a rotating spit of alien corn? Or a California roll made of rubber bogeys? It looks as if Shrek has attempted to treat some variety of ogre lupus by cutting off his forearm. You wouldn’t feel compelled to rub any of these on your body, but I discover, with a sense of lumbering, Boris-Johnson-like inevitability, that this is exactly what I must do.
Opti’s vibrating foam roller (£39.99, argos.co.uk) is a post-exercise muscle relief tool. You will have seen odd bods in the gym sliding their thighs along things like this, or using them to stretch their muscles. Other rollers, devices and techniques aim to do the same thing and all are ridiculous. (I have even seen people rolling around on a squash ball, like a dog in need of worming.) But I am not here to judge. Actually, I am. So, is it any good?
The USP is that it vibrates. Hard. When I switch on the dismembered croc leg, it starts shifting eerily across the floor. Occasionally turning over, mostly it slides laterally, as if a poltergeist cat is toying with it. It has LEDs that correspond to three strength settings, a mini USB port to charge and … that’s it. I like that it doesn’t tack on any extras: no app that tracks you via satellite; no default connectivity that lets it post trash on your Facebook wall. It does what it says on the tin – the tin being a pineapple-textured pipe of lime eyesore.
And it does it well, if a spleen-juddering blood-shake is what you are after. Its most powerful setting is so immense that, when I roll my waist over it, my ears feel tickly. Resting my weight on it, the amplifications transmitted through the floor vibrate glasses on a table on the other side of the room. I try thigh rolls and shoulder presses from the handbook. The vibrations travel through my back, rippling the muscles across a large area. The motor keeps pumping robustly under my weight without slowing. It is uncomfortable, and difficult to endure for long, but that is how I feel about exercise generally. One of the exercises details a happy man sitting on his vibrating log. When I recreate the pose, it is an experience I find ... most interesting. I could imagine staying there a while.
The “utilisation effects” section of the handbook claims the device can improve “poor postural positioning”. Weird how the sillier an item is, the more serious its copywriters get. If poetry is the simple expression of weighty matter, handbook jargon is the opposite. To quote another example: “Slide ON/OFF switch to OFF to isoliates [sic] the unit from power circuitry.” Do you mean switch it off, mate? Not that I am being snobby about spelling mistakes and their ability to add a dash of spontaneity, but they are hardly welcome when connecting an ogre’s forearm to the mains.
After I have finished rolling my legs, sides and other parts, my fingers feel tingly and my brain takes a while to regain equilibrium, like a rattled blancmange. I feel less stressed out by the state of the world, which is handy. I could have a long nap. Exercise is great, isn’t it? I try using the roller after a few long swims, but eventually I stop applying it to sore muscles and leave it to slither around on the floor. It is hypnotic to watch it hide under the sofa and jimmy into nooks like a long terrapin.
I don’t do enough hard exercise to justify this chartreuse battery. Those who do will find it a balm for the bigger muscles and cheaper than a massage, if less precise. But they could also use a squash ball. Not that I am throwing my roller away, you understand. I don’t have much use for it, but I have enough. It is interesting.
Handbook typo a-go-go
“These exercises have the effect of a port [sic] massage.” Shiatzu with a glass of fortified wine? Now we’re talking.
Wellness or hellness?
Fights sore thighs. Not a sight for sore eyes. 3/5
I Never Said I Loved You by Rhik Samadder (Headline, £14.99) is published on 8 August. To order a copy for £13.19, go to guardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK P&P over £15, online orders only. Phone orders minimum P&P of £1.99.
