I tried the lymphatic boots the A-list use to get lean legs

Jennifer Aniston and J-Lo are using supercharged full-length boots to energise heavy legs. But do they actually work?

I am writing this from my sofa, laptop in its rightful place, on my lap, gently undulating in time with the inflation and deflation of the bright blue boot-suit that is compressing my lower half in waves. 
I am wearing a zip-in, medical-grade compression-therapy “suit” – the Body Ballancer Pro – that inflates and deflates, using compression and decompression technology to stimulate my lymphatic system. I am testing it over a period of time to see if this tech – designed to increase blood flow, aid recovery, improve skin health and reduce swelling – can make me love my legs again. 
Alongside cryotherapy chambers and ice baths in the garden, lymphatic boots are among the latest health trends made popular by celebrities. They come recommended by a lot of highly influential people, not least Jennifer Aniston who was pictured wearing them on the gym floor, mid recovery. There are also a slew of elite athletes, Olympians and sports stars who swear by them to lessen muscle ache and boost recovery too. Names using the device as part of their training and recovery include two recent British Olympic gold medal winners, Keely Hodgkinson and Bryony Page, NBA superstar LeBron James, and England captain Harry Kane.
I fell out with my legs aged 43. I was diagnosed with breast cancer and due to arthritic damage caused by chemotherapy, I underwent a double hip replacement. While I was unlucky enough to have been struck by cancer, I have been blessed in other ways. My height and fast metabolism for one, the combination of which has meant I haven’t really worried about my body shape until recent years. I’ve enjoyed a few decades of longish, leanish legs and by some miracle my pale milky skin has maintained an even tone and youthful tautness.
Hip surgery changed everything. Despite completing the physio exercises I was encouraged to do, a year on, my legs still feel “lazy”. They’re heavy, particularly in the mornings or after a period of rest. Walking is fine, but my gait is a bit off, so my alignment is too, and this makes the muscles in the “off” leg overcompensate elsewhere. I have achy knees and ankles and minimised joint movement. It makes me feel old. Remembering or re-learning to walk “properly” is a bit like remembering to breathe. As soon as you focus on doing it correctly, it feels arduous rather than instinctive.
I am self-conscious, lazier than I should be about exercise, and just generally a bit pissed off with my entire lower half. My crumbling hips have now been replaced by bionic ones that hurt much less, but don’t function that much better. I would kill for someone else’s legs at this point. Runners legs, or dancers legs. Long lean muscles, a defined shape, strength and tone to carry me long distances or flexibility to manoeuvre in all imaginable directions rather than the limited ones I currently have access to. But I’ll take a compression-suit shortcut for starters.
I asked my physiotherapist, whose expertise focuses on muscles, joints, posture and movement. She told me that the theory is sound. “Compression devices work to push the venous blood back up the legs, and generally speaking anything that increases blood flow to a muscle will be a beneficial intervention, because with increased blood flow comes more oxygen and cells to help repair the injured soft tissue. Plus, the blood will carry away the cells that are no longer needed – the ‘waste’ of the repair process.” 
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I slip on the huge heavy pair of extremely high-waisted trousers that you zip yourself into before connecting to a machine that will programme the treatment cycle. There’s a choice of Balance or Intense massage, and I go for the latter, because it sounds like it will be more effective rather than relaxing. The trousers are fitted with 24 overlapping air chambers that are then inflated and deflated in a computerised sequence to deliver fluent compression strokes up your body. I can adjust the level of pressure I am comfortable with, so I do a little research for maximum efficacy before I lie down and press start.
Pressures below 45mmHg are what is needed to activate the lymphatic system, giving the optimal slimming and toning effects by reducing excess fluid and toxins. Adjusting the pressure above 45 feels more like a deeper tissue or sports massage, but the lymphatics are constricted at higher pressures, so the removal of excess fluid is compromised.
Medical studies show that “intermittent pneumatic compression” like this delivers the proven benefits of lymphatic manual drainage, increasing blood flow and the elimination of toxins. Better blood flow to the muscles means better joint mobility, range of movement, quicker recovery from injury and less inflammation, while the removal of a build-up of waste can reduce muscle soreness and fatigue too.
There are also aesthetic benefits. Improved circulation is known to lead to a reduction in cellulite, skin toning, better processing of toxins leads to more radiant skin, eyes and hair, debloating, maybe even inch loss via removal of water weight. if the manufacturer’s data is to be believed. 
Scientific research also links regular lymphatic massage like this to a stronger immune system and better sleep. You start to see why “ordinary” people are spending upwards of £12,500 on the at-home device Jennifer Aniston uses. (Less high-tech compression boots start somewhere around the £500 mark). 
Logic and medical science tell me that the health benefits outweigh the aesthetic, with many auto-immune conditions such as eczema and hayfever also said to be calmed by lymphatic drainage, so, if these world-class athletes are incorporating compression suits into their regimes, I wonder if I can reap similar benefits and aid my own mental and physical recovery from surgery. And maybe even turn back the aesthetic-ageing clock on my legs just a couple of those 43 years too. One can dare to dream.
They couldn’t be easier to operate. Zip them up, plug them in and then it’s a case of lying back and waiting for the cycle to finish. When the suit inflates there’s a strange total-hugging sensation. I imagine this is what it might feel like to be gently constricted by a python – but a friendly one who you trust whole-heartedly – and that, coupled with the reclining position you’re forced into, makes the whole treatment incredibly relaxing. There is nothing to be done except lie still and be massaged. After 45 minutes, the suit deflates and I can unzip and step out. 
I feel good. Like I’ve cheated on exercise somehow. There isn’t the familiar lactic-acid-ache of course, nor the cardio wind down, since I was prone the whole time, but I feel somewhat energised all the same. The heavy, lazy feeling in my legs is definitely lifted; they feel lighter. Wait, they feel normal. 
Feeling lighter has definite advantages when it comes to mothering a one- and a four-year-old in my mid-40s. I’d noticed before an involuntary ‘middle aged grunt’ whenever I had to squat down to pick them or something they’d dropped up. And I’m finding my range of movement a little more fluid, there’s an ease to running around after them that I hadn’t even noticed was missing. It seems like a small change but it makes such a welcome difference to my every day.
Over the next few weeks I stick to my relaxing regime and use the Body Ballancer every other day for at least 45 minutes a session. I can feel a more positive mental shift, the more I use it – the psychological benefits of focusing attention on a problem area always feels good, so even the pursuit of positive change works to motivate me. 
I can’t say I am healed – this machine is not a quick-fix replacement for musculoskeletal physiotherapy or actual physical exercise. But the feeling of lightness is making me more inclined to focus on my recovery and walk more, easily managing two hours with no pain during or after. And my gait is improved – I’m “hitching” less, so my pelvis seems to have evened out somewhat (I would walk as if my legs were two different lengths before this). 
Research tells me it’s the better flow of oxygenated blood to the muscles there – the ones I’ve been trying to train to cooperate by loosening up, being more mobile, responding to my physio exercises as I need them to. I’ve noticed a couple of other changes too: one is better quality sleep, but interrupted sleep. Because I am weeing more, a side effect of waste and toxins being eliminated from my body more quickly and effectively. Before I started using the machine I measured the circumference of my upper thigh just to get a base point: 54cm. 
My legs feel stronger. My skin feels strong – not dancer or runner strong, but there is improvement, a certain tautness that I would describe as subliminal. Like the ordinary state of being pain-free – you never acknowledge when you don’t have a headache, right? It’s much like that, and it is this lack of awareness where my legs are concerned that feels like a shift for me. For someone who has been so hyperaware of their hips for so long, this is the most positive outcome I could have hoped for. Oh, and they were 53cm when I last measured. So there’s that, too.