A Face In The Crowd
Juliana Trotman has no patience for people who believe that a massage should be as soothing as a warm bath. She believes a massage should instead be a workout. With the strongest hands this side of Jevon Kearse, Trotman, a licensed massage therapist, often squeezes sore muscles with the subtlety of a boa constrictor. But after just a few years in Nashville, she’s earned a reputation as the massage therapist who fixes injuries no one else can. Even among runners, who entertain more than their share of stubborn strains, pulls and tears, Trotman’s brand of corrective massage works where physical therapy and Advil have failed. “When the muscle is damaged, working it over creates pain because it’s already traumatized,” she says. As a child in Trinidad, Trotman gave massages to people who came to see her father, a Baptist minister. To avoid becoming a field hand like so many of her friends, Trotman moved to Brooklyn hoping to become a massage therapist. She discovered, though, that in New York that occupation evoked sexual connotations. So, in an improbable career detour, Trotman went to work for Chase Manhattan Bank, where she had a desk job for 20 years. Bored with the corporate life, Trotman enrolled at the Swedish Institute for Massage and later went into private practice. She moved to Florida and became so successful that clients would fly in to see her. Eventually, she found her way to Nashville, where her clients have included Waylon Jennings and a few Tennessee Titans. Like a jazz musician who thrives on spontaneity, Trotman never knows how a massage is going to go. “Most of the time, I go off intuition,” she says. “I kind of let my hand flow over a muscle and it feels what I need to do.”
— By Matt Pulle
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