In the hours leading up to my first whole-body cryotherapy session, one image replayed in my mind - that scene from "Austin Powers" where the protagonist has been cryogenically frozen. His frosted-over body roils in blue nitrogen vapor, waiting to be revived in order to fight Dr. Evil.
Of course, cryotherapy is not the same as cryopreservation. Rather, cryotherapy is a form of alternative healing where the whole body is exposed to temperatures between minus-166 and minus-202 degrees Fahrenheit. The treatment commonly lasts between one and a half to three minutes, which, according to some research, is not long enough to cause damage.
Comprehensive research on all of cryotherapy's risks and benefits is inconclusive. Still, people swear by it. Proponents say cold-therapy helps burn calories, increase energy, reduce inflammation, heal injuries, improve sleep and more. Celebrities tout its anti-aging benefits; athletes say it alleviates muscle pain.
While cryotherapy was first introduced in Japan in the 1970s, it is just now gaining popularity in the Scenic City. In 2017, two separate local salons opened to offer the cool, new-age treatment: Norspring Center for Rejuvenation, located in the Southside, and Glace Cryotherapy, on the North Shore.
The two experiences differ slightly. Norspring offers a walk-in cryo chamber. Glace, where I had my appointment, offers a cryosauna, which resembles a stand-up tanning bed but targets only below the neck.
I was relieved to learn that my head would not be submerged in subzero temperatures. Still, having no concept of how negative triple-digit temperatures would feel, I was nervous. Luckily, the process leading up to my first deep-freeze was stress-free.
I arrived at Glace, located - ironically - behind The Big Chill, to find owner Amy Lokken leaning against the front desk.
"You must be Sunny," she said warmly, and offered me a bottled water. The space smelled of fresh lemon balm.
I was handed a clipboard and questionnaire, which asked for contact information and a brief medical history. Less than 10 minutes later, Lokken led me through the lobby door, into an open room where it was noticeably cooler.
There stood the cryosauna. Behind a black partition were half a dozen nitrogen tanks. Liquid nitrogen, capable of reaching minus-400 degrees Fahrenheit, is the coldest substance on Earth, and is essential in reaching cryotherapy's low, low temperatures.
As Lokken explained the machine and the process, the room hissed and hummed. The cryosauna has three settings, she said: minus-166 degrees Fahrenheit, minus-187 degrees Fahrenheit and minus-202 degrees Fahrenheit.
Amy Lokken opens the Cryosauna door to let Sunny Montgomery out after a session. Sessions can last from a minute and a half to three minutes. To feel the full effect of the therapy, Lokken recommends 5-7 sessions over a two-week period. Though, she added, I might feel the "cryo-rush" after just one.
"When you're in there, your body will go into fight or flight mode. Your body knows it can live without fingers or toes, so it sucks all the blood to your core. Then, when you come out, the blood rushes back. It's a great endorphin release," she explained.
Each cryo session lasts up to three minutes, though, according to Lokken, healing benefits begin after just one and a half.
"So don't force three minutes," Lokken told me. "Nothing magical is going to happen. Listen to your body. Tingling, shivering, teeth chattering - that's normal. But stinging or burning is your skin's way of saying it's done with the session. It's not like a roller coaster. You can stop it whenever you want."
Lokken then showed me the dressing room, where I was to undress, remove any jewelry below my neck and put on a provided pair of gloves, socks and rubber slip-on shoes. Guests can opt to leave on their underwear - sans metal clasps, of course. Moreover, "Be careful with lotions. Any moisture will freeze fast," Lokken had warned.
For the full experience, I went in the buff. Wearing one of Glace's terrycloth robes, I exited the dressing room and climbed into the cryosauna. Lokken closed its door behind me. I passed my robe to her over the top of the sauna.
"Ready?" she asked.
I took a deep breath and nodded.
The tank began to whir loudly, and just like in "Austin Powers," blue smoke enveloped my body.
My initial emotions were simple: I felt very naked and very cold. But the sensation soon became more complex. The cold was all-encompassing. As if I were floating in ice water, unable to determine where the nitrogen vapor ended and my skin began.
Times Free Press writer Sunny Montgomery wears a nervous expression during her first cryotherapy session. She lasted only one minute and 40 seconds in the cryosauna, set at minus-166 degrees Fahrenheit. / Staff photos by Erin O. Smith"You OK?" Lokken asked. I became doubly grateful to be in an open tank where she could distract me with conversation.
"I think so," I said. "But I'm starting to feel lightheaded. Is that normal?"
"Try not to breathe in too much nitrogen," Lokken said.
I lifted my head and tried to take deep, even breaths.
"You're at a minute and a half. Want me to stop?" Lokken asked.
"No," I said, but I felt woozy. In fact, I was so fixated on my shortness of breath, the Arctic air was secondary. I tried another deep breath, then blurted, "I want out!"
Lokken passed me the robe, and within seconds, I was out of the sauna. Using a laser thermometer, she measured my skin's temperature: 63 degrees Fahrenheit. The skin's normal range is between 90-94 degrees Fahrenheit.
"Do you feel the rush?" Lokken asked.
I didn't. Though, I was happy to be alive.
Lokken had told me that real results take more than one session. She had also told me that cryotherapy may not be for everybody.
It was a unique experience, and I am glad that I tried it. But would I try it again? Perhaps When hell freezes over.
Ready to embrace the cold yourself? At Glace Cryotherapy, the first appointment is free. Then, a single session costs $35, or a package of three sessions costs $89. To learn more, visit glacecryotherapy.com.