I work with what's doable.

Not the damage — that's the doctor's. Mine is what you actually do with your days: turn, lift, sleep, carry, get up off the floor.

The doable is a tricky target. It looks like the damage decides it — and it doesn't, quite.

Let's outsmart it together.

My hands do the work. But none of it happens over your head — you'll say what you notice, tell me to ease off or stay. And you don't have to be good at describing it. "That's too much" is enough.

Something in the doable shifts. People often notice it a day or two later, doing something they'd stopped thinking about.

An hour, and what's in it

You keep your clothes on. Loose is best — track pants, a T-shirt, anything you can move in.

Mostly you'll be on the table. Sometimes we end up on a mat on the floor, or just sitting in a chair — it depends on the day. About an hour: sometimes fifty minutes, sometimes a bit more. If you've got somewhere to be after, tell me and we'll keep to the clock.

We start slow. A few words about how you are today, a minute to arrive. Nothing begins while you're still out on the street.

Talking is welcome — what you notice, what changed, what's odd. None of it is required, and the quiet doesn't need filling.

Then unhurried movement — joints, limbs, slow passive stretching. Not a warm-up. It's the part where it gets through to you that nothing is being asked of you right now.

A hand resting on a shoulder during a session

After that, closer work: steady pressure, sometimes on one small spot for a long time, where you've been holding. Worth knowing in advance so it doesn't come as a surprise — I often don't start where it hurts. What pulls tends to pull from somewhere else.

Some of it is firm. None of it is a fight. "That's too much" stops it right there, and we go on from somewhere else.

And sometimes something comes up — a laugh, or tears out of nowhere. It tends to happen right when someone stops holding it all together. Say something about it if you want to. I won't ask if you don't.

Then tea, and a few quiet minutes before you go back out. Not a courtesy — it's where the hour settles.

Who's doing this

Eighteen years, somewhere over nine thousand hours of it — training, teaching and hands-on work, in several countries. Not a course I took; a thing I've been doing.

It's a craft, and crafts are learned the slow way: you spend years under someone who already does it, and then years doing it, until your hands have their own judgement.

It's all been through me first.

What changes

I'm not aiming at the pain. I'm aiming at what you can do — and that's what moves first.

You get steadier. The things that used to knock you sideways for days turn into a rough afternoon.
More awake. Less static in the background, more of you actually in your own day.
In one piece. Less like a set of parts that each need managing, more like one person.

Pain tends to follow what you start doing again, rather than the other way round.

Where, when, what it costs

A private studio in Cuenca, on Alfonso Moreno Mora — a quiet street with parking right outside, a block and a half from Italdeli on Fray Vicente Solano. Open in Google Maps →

$40 a session, paid after, cash or transfer. One session, one payment — no packages, no course to sign up for. Most people come back; some don't, and that's fine either way. Come once and see how it sits.

Days and times we agree between us — message me and we'll find one. English, Spanish and Russian all work.

Message me on WhatsApp

A short message is enough. Tell me roughly what's going on if you want to, or don't — we can sort that out when you're here.