The room

Three knocks on the plain wooden door off the narrow landing. Nothing happens. I check the nameplate beside the door and it is correct. I wonder how many other people living in the flat can have the same name. It's already taken me a good twenty minutes to find the block of flats in a maze of urban construction just south of Paris. No, this has to be the place.

The door opens and an old man with grey hair lets me enter.

"I thought I would get up and let you in. I don't know how long he'll be".

So, apparently the man is not the person I've come to see and I enter the flat following my doorman as he enters what must be the waiting room. I sit down on one of the chairs lining the walls of the small room and examine my surroundings. The decoration is mid-seventies with previously garish wallpaper now faded and starting to peel off the walls in places. The light switch is coming away from the wall too with the wiring just visible behind the beige bakelite casing. The only natural light comes into the room from a small window at the far end of the room with a view out over the concrete jungle outside.

Several cycling shirts have been pinned to the wall, their bright colours in direct contrast with the faded wallpaper. All have been signed by local or national cyclists expressing their thanks to the osteopath: "Many thanks to Max and his magic fingers" is a typical comment and encourages me. I ask myself if he'll be able to work wonders on me and enable me to start training again after almost a month of rest now.

A very short man about 60 years old comes out from a room, helping an old lady to one of the seats. My doorman appears to be her husband and listens carefully as the osteo explains that the neck problem she suffers from was probably caused at birth from a forceps delivery. I can't help but feel that the 120 kilograms of fat that she has to carry every day aren't doing anything to help her condition. A last word of encouragement from Max to the woman and it's my turn to to be treated.

I enter the room with Max and tell him about the achilles problem I have. He makes me lie down on the bench and grabs my left leg in both hands massaging first the achilles and then the calf. He pulls the skin away from the achilles and pinches down the back of the calf and along the tendon to the ankle. He might have magic fingers but this is really hurting. He holds my left foot down with one hand as he treats the ankle and calf with the other. The temptation to fight back and kick out is strong hence the footholding.

The treatment continues for half an hour and by the end my left leg feels that it has been bruised into submission. He explains that the problem with the achilles is the lack of blood supply and that his treatment encourages the circulation to that area. This is his version of chinese acupuncture using a pinching technique. I'm ready to take the pain as long as I know that it'll succeed in enabling me to run shortly. He tells me to rest for a couple of days and then to start running easily again afterwards. Relieved of my cash and my calf and ankle bruised to hell, I leave the room and walk downstairs to go outside. Was it worth the bother ?