Moore Massage

The knead for speed

By CHRISTINE LIU

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Expecting touchy-feely smelly spa floof? Burn your waffle robe and look elsewhere. Facedown on Michael Moore's massage table, with his knowledgable fingers intensely working steadily along my gristle (oh yeah) and sending pain-pleasure pangs through trigger points, I feel like a piece of chewy meat being tenderized for steak. The analogy's not too far off: "Please let me know if it hurts; I don't want you to leave here saying that I beat you up," kids Michael Moore. But I persist, feeling layers of muscles slowly stretch and yield. Meticulous deep tissue work is intense, yet rewarding—much like an exhaustive workout, the session feels authentically therapeutic. With over a decade of experience, the man behind Moore Massage likens his work to "dancing with the body." It's a dance with purposeful consequence; you feel hammered out for health, having undergone the human version of Jiffy Lube.

Moore demurs whether Tom Brady is one of his clients, only offering the coy response, "Yeah, I see him around sometimes," but his manipulations have touched the likes of former Olympic athletes, masochistic marathon runners and even the Boston Militia, the women's tackle football team—surely one the city's most daunting set of rippling flesh. (Mommy!)

[575 Boylston St. 4th Flr., Boston and 1678 Beacon St., Washington Sq., Brookline. 617.424.4000. mooremassage.com]