Is the Theragun Worth It?

Back in the spring, after dragging my out-of-shape butt through a 10K, I went to the local massage spot down the block from my apartment, a small business I’m always happy to frequent. There was still snow on the ground and my body had taken a pounding, leaving my back stiff as an icicle. This time, the only therapist available was the owner—all 4-foot-11 of her—who I’d never met before and who was, I’d soon realize, something of a Final Boss in the massage game.

Anyway, I stripped down to my undies and lay face down on a table. She examined my back with her hands while a “My Heart Will Go On (Remix) feat. Wood Flutes” looped in the background. She shook her head, and asked what the hell I’d been doing to myself. The Boss removed her glasses, paused for a beat, and crouched down low to whisper something:

I’m sorry. I’m gonna have to fuck you up.

(This may or may not be a direct paraphrase.)

The next hour was a blur. In the darkness, I had failed to notice the two parallel bars directly over the table, which the Boss conveniently used to balance herself as she Chun-Li stomped my coiled back muscles into a pasty slurry. When she finished, the sanitation paper was crumpled and I was sweating like Paul Manafort on the witness stand, but my back felt fucking amazing. I felt 10 years younger, and like Tom Brady, I’ve become a convert to the Church of Soft Muscles ever since.

Watch:

Stretches to Have Mercy on Your Aching Lower Back

Riding that wave, I recently procured a Theragun, a therapy tool used by pro athletes and trainers that similarly pulverizes you. You may have seen the device being used on Kyrie Irving’s back in the middle of a game; Antonio Brown is also a huge fan. Invented by a chiropractor named Jason Wersland, the thing is basically a mini-jackhammer with a multitude of hard, sponge-y attachments that turn your muscles into jelly using “percussive therapy.” It feels like getting hundred-hand-slapped by a buff leprechaun.

“This therapy most definitely provides the secret sauce to your muscles that allows better blood flow and relaxation, when done at the correct time with the correct pressure,” Wersland explains in an email. He created the device a few years ago, after a motorcycle accident left him with a herniated a disc, and it has ballooned into a whole thing ever since.

The main advantage of the Theragun over, say, the stress knot-attenuating superpowers of a foam roller, is that you can target specific problem areas in miniature. Like the Boss, it packs a WALLOP—and even hurts a bit at first, when you don’t know what to expect—but after a few seconds, a small sense of euphoria washes over the problematic area like a warm bath. It is bliss. I like to use it before weekend basketball games, running it over my legs and back for 15 seconds per muscle group, to get everything nice and loose and (hopefully) prevent anything from tearing. Then I use it again afterward to recover.

There are a few downsides. First, this thing ain’t cheap. A Theragun 2.0 will set you back around $600. It’s also as loud as a power drill—to the point that I try not to use it after 9 P.M. so as not to disturb my apartment neighbors. (Wersland says it’s a problem they “have been working on for many years.”)

Still, there is something wonderfully addictive about it, especially as your joints get creakier and recovery days stretch out into weeks. I've seen the Boss a few times since, and she seems slightly less grouchy at the heap of tense garbage in front of her. It’s like the old song goes: “Your body is a wonderland / I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to fuck you up / da-da-dap / da-da-dap / da-da-dap / da-da-da-da.”