Flash-Frozen on Easter

            Groupon can get you into all kinds of trouble.

            I was reminded of that this past weekend, when an alert popped up on my phone reminding me I had Groupons about to expire. I checked the app and saw I had a pass for a session of Cryotherapy. I had seen clips and articles about Cryotherapy for a while, and when a Groupon came up for a new business only three or so miles from the house, my curiosity got the better of me and I clicked “Buy.”

            It was time to be flash-frozen.

            Cryotherapy, in this case, is basically a big metal tank with a door and no top. There are other systems out there, some that are a whole room in which you stand, but this place just had the cylinders. That was good for me since it’s a bit more private. You stand inside this cylinder, wearing only mittens, slippers and boxers to protect the sensitive bits. Then, they start pumping nitrogen gas into the chamber, which drops the temperature inside the tank to levels that would give a polar bear pause. You stand in there for a maximum of three minutes. The cold in the tank drops your surface temperature to 20-30 degrees Fahrenheit. This allegedly promotes healing by drawing the blood in, reduces inflammation and releases endorphins to give you energy and make you feel fabulous. That’s what the website said, anyway. Another sign in the building said you can burn hundreds of calories in minutes doing this, but to the attendant’s credit (and I wish I had gotten his name but I didn’t), he told us without being asked that claim was not actually correct.

            Is it just a silly trend or are there real benefits to this? Well, I knew I wouldn’t find out the whole story with just one session, but I figured I could at least sample it and try something new on a Sunday.

            It was a good time to see its effects. The day before, I had been on my feet moving around on cement for about six consecutive hours without much of a break. I had a pain going from my hip to my knee, most likely an angry nerve, and the knees themselves were swollen and sore. If this could help make me feel better, then I’d call the whole thing worth it.

            Turns out it’s a pretty easy thing to set up. Since the sessions only last about three minutes, getting a timeslot was no problem, even on a weekend. First of course, you sign a waiver saying the business is absolved if you die of shock from the cold, basically. You also have to assure them you do not have a myriad of ailments, most of which involve your heart. It makes sense since the whole point of this is to shock your body, so perhaps it’s not the best move for folks with pacemakers.

            Once I had signed away any legal recourse, I was ushered into a changing room. I was provided with a fresh pair of socks and a robe. That along with a pair of undies was all I had on as I went in to the chamber that held the big tank. There were actually two of us there and the attendant explained how it all worked.

            I was first. He told me to stand in the tank, which was small enough you could only really keep your hands at your sides while in there, and closed the door. The height of the platform was set so my neck and head were sticking out. He told me to ditch the robe and hand it over the top of the tank to him. He traded it for the pair of mittens. It was brisk in the tank to start with, but nitrogen gas is very dry so it wasn’t too bad. He told me there was a timeclock over my right shoulder. Then he said there was a temperature gauge to my left, which at the time sat at a balmy -30 degrees Fahrenheit. “But you don’t want to look at that,” he said. Good advice. He then gave me a 10 second countdown and hit the button. The gas started pouring in.

            The blast of cold was intense. Immediately my skin began to tighten up. Every time I exhaled I blew nitrogen gas out of my face. The chill began to hit me, and out of instinct I looked over to the clock on the wall behind my right shoulder to see where I stood with my three-minute countdown: 2:35. Oh boy.

            The attendant was smart, though. He began asking me questions about how I found out about, the place, what did I think when I heard about it and what I was expecting to distract me. I did my best to answer his questions as eloquently as I could, hoping it would pass the time. It did. I was hanging in well as the clock reached 1:30. Then the pins and needles began. He told me that would happen. The moisture in my skin was beginning to freeze a bit and the nerves were registering it. It started with my arms and then hit my legs. It wasn’t painful, but there was a definite tingling feeling. I started moving my heels up and down to keep my legs moving a bit.

            As the clock kept ticking down, the chill became more pronounced. I couldn’t help but take a quick look, and the temperature read -160 degrees. I let out a bit of a gasp. It’s hard to explain, but I could feel the cold in what felt like the half-inch of flesh closest to the surface all over me. I found myself shivering a bit, but a glance over my shoulder again made me realize I was under 20 seconds. I was going to make it. As the clock hit zero, the gas stopped and the attendant immediately handed me the robe. I put it back on in record time, then opened the door to the chamber and stepped out. The cold radiated off of me.

            I also found I had tremendous energy. The attendant told me these were the endorphins and adrenaline being released, and that seems about right. I couldn’t stand still for a while, and even after changing back into my clothes (my skin stayed cold to the touch for an hour or so), I found I was barely able to keep in one spot for more than a few seconds.

            As for my hip and knee pain, both were totally gone. The swelling in my knee was gone and the nerves were calm. The aches I had been feeling in my legs had vanished, and in its place was an urge for activity. I really did feel great.

Of course that was temporary. Extreme cold isn’t going to cure you immediately, but for about an hour or so after that session I felt absolutely no pain, stiffness or soreness like I had before I arrived.

            So is it a cure-all? No. But it does give a burst of energy and temporary relief aches and pains. And it’s a bit of a rush. I can see myself getting flash frozen in the future. Heck in the middle of the Texas summertime, it will seem like even more of a treat. Just make sure to wear your undies. 

Something Educational, Then Something Alcoholic...Because Texas

               Texas is its own thing. Of this there can be no doubt. Texas flags are every bit as prevalent as the stars and stripes. Schoolkids here take a specific Texas history class to go with American history, for instance. With that in mind, the Bullock Texas State History Museum beckons to those interested in the state’s past, sitting just off the University of Texas campus. This past weekend, I decided to check it out.

                The main attraction there is also the one I found most interesting. It’s the recovered shipwreck from the ill-fated expedition of the explorer René-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de la Salle (try fitting that on a business card), La Belle. The ship sank off the coast of Texas when they were looking for the mouth of the Mississippi River. They had missed it due to an inaccurate map, which had the mouth of the Mississippi in Texas rather than Louisiana. That mapmaker’s descendants went on emigrate to America and go on to design Apple Maps (I may have made that last part up).

                Anyway, the wreck has been recovered and it being carefully reconstructed in the Bullock museum. It’s a pretty amazing sight, mostly because it’s simply not very big. The entire ship made it from France to Texas with 35 people on board and tons of supplies but was only 52 feet long. That’s not a lot of elbow room. These were some tough Frenchmen (a sentence I don’t write often).

                The rest of the museum is divided up by exhibits that take you through the different eras, including the revolution and secession from Mexico, the Civil War and the toll it took on the state, up through Reconstruction, the Dust Bowl, the Civil Rights era and even Houston’s enormous contribution to the space program.

                Other exhibits show artifacts and information regarding oil drilling, ranching and cotton farming, each having a lot to do with how Texans made their living over the years. There’s even a section on movies, and of course music. An ACL theatre shows films tracing the legacy of the Austin City Limits program which the town shows justifiable pride.

                So in short, the Bullock Museum is worth a visit. We got through the whole thing in about two hours, so it’s not an enormous time investment. It’s spacious and well-planned too. In the Texas history part, one section flows into another, so you can move from one era to another smoothly. You almost don’t realize just how much ground you are covering. There is also an additional exhibit hall for special visiting displays, so every few months there’s something different.

DEEP EDDY

                Austin is also a drinking town. Since I moved here I’ve said Austin is like a lot of other places, except you can do almost anything while drinking and you can bring your dog. The Deep Eddy Distillery, a 20-minute drive outside of town,

                Not long ago Deep Eddy debuted a new, peach-flavored Vodka. Peach is among my favorite flavors, so I was enthusiastic about trying it. On a Sunday we went out to the distillery, where you can get a sampler flight or drink a cocktail made from the various flavors. I can tell you the Arnold Palmer made with Deep Eddy Peach is very tasty, as is another cocktail made with soda and grenadine.

                The distillery was as crowded as I’d ever seen it. The seating area (tall tables, a few couches, a gift shop) was packed, and there were a lot of people out on the lawn area (picnic tables, Adirondack chairs, etc). There was cornhole to be played as well, and a group of younger vodka fans were already well into the revelry by the time we arrived. Fans might be an understatement. Let’s just put it out there: These people were totally in the bag.

                I knew the end for some of them were near when their attempts at playing cornhole degenerated into a game of dodgeball with bean bags. It ended when one of the women bent down to pick up a bag…and just kept on going. The first thing to hit the ground was her face. Her friends helped her to her feet between gales of laughter and got her back inside, where she sat on a stool and ate some ice and brushed the grass clippings off her shirt.

                They left soon after for a tour bus parked outside, but not before helping themselves to a few souvenirs from the gift shop via their large purses.

                So the final conclusion was this: Deep Eddy Peach tastes good, but like any other hard liquor there’s a potential for public embarrassment and thievery.

                Sounds like a good party to me. 

Finally...

                Today it finally happened. And what a day for it. Since writing about wanting to run a 5K as a goal I had been trying and trying, plodding around a gravel walking/jogging track which rings a shopping center in South Austin. I dodged puddles, bikes and dogs and ran in the Austin summer heat. Still, the 5K distance proved elusive. Shin splints got me for a while, then a pulled calf muscle sidelined me.         

                Then even finding right time to run was challenging. Running around that unlit track in the dark wasn’t practical or safe since so much of it wove through thick trees and had no lighting. My hours at work plus the commute home kept me out after dark for the winter months, so I had to think of something else. I decided to sacrifice sleep and began running around my neighborhood. My alarm went off at 5:15 am on running days. Thankfully my girlfriend and dog made the 2-3 morning-per-week decision not to kill me for doing this (mostly due to drowsiness on their part more than, you know, not wanting to kill me). The streets here are lit at night, so in the wee hours I was able to see as I went about hauling my 215-pound ass around while the sane people slept.

                I was getting close. A week earlier I had made 2.8 miles, less than a half mile from the goal of what translated into metric as five kilometers (I use a Fitbit pedometer app on my phone strapped to my arm to measure the distance). I felt I could get the whole thing in a week or so, and this morning I wanted to equal that 2.8 again before moving up.

                As I plodded (let me say again that I am much more likely to be mistaken for Sid Bream than Usain Bolt), I found myself feeling pretty good. The temperature was in the low 40s, which works for me as I don’t overheat and the briskness of the air keep me moving on the principle of “the sooner I get the distance in, the sooner I can freakin’ stop, go inside and take a hot shower.” So when I hit two miles, I felt tired, I was breathing heavily, but I was also confident I could get that last .8 in.

                Then one thing happened that hadn’t happened at all in all my mornings, afternoons or nights of jogging leading up to this. I was heading up the sidewalk on Westgate, the only semi-busy street on my route (the rest is done on nearly deserted neighborhood streets between 5:15 and around 6 am), when a series of early-morning commuters came the other way up the road. Now the sidewalks on Westgate are in pretty good shape. Note that I wrote “pretty good” and not “perfect.” That’s because there are some uneven areas. Normally that’s not a problem as the streetlights illuminate them effectively, but when a car comes the opposite way the bright headlights cast pitch black shadows over the ground. Naturally, just then, I didn’t see a driveway seam that was raised a bit and I clipped it with the front of my foot. The Wednesday commuter was then treated to the site of a white-jacketed jogger going tumbling to the concrete, which I’m sure drew a drowsy laugh since I’m sure that would have been my reaction had it been me behind the wheel.

                But I picked myself up, made sure my phone and pedometer app were fine and set off again.

                I approached my goal of 2.8 miles, and I was hurting. I was gasping, but something was telling me to just keep going. I had made it this far, just keep on going. So I did. I put my head down, I stopped looking at my arm and focused on the podcast. The next time I looked it read 3.05. I had run three miles at a time for the first time in my life. At that point, it was easy to motivate myself to continue, and despite breathing so hard I was literally grunting every exhale, I pounded out the final steps until it read 3.2, more than five kilometers. I had reached my goal.

                I returned to the house and sat on the porch, the cool air dropping my body temperature slowly as I looked down on the screen of my phone. 3.21 miles. I thought of my girlfriend and how proud she would be of me. She has been amazingly supportive, as have my cardio-American friends who gave me running tips and my best friend who had bought me a gift certificate for real running shoes when I first talked about doing this. With a support system like that I knew I had to finish the job, and I had.

                Later, I mentioned to my girlfriend how I wanted to get that 5K in before the two-year anniversary of being hit by a car, the accident that set me off toward this goal as a way to exorcise the memory of it. For months every time I closed my eyes I saw that car’s headlights coming at me. Running this distance helped exorcise a lot of that through exercise. She said my timing was better than I thought. The accident happened exactly two years ago today. Perhaps that’s why my body pushed a little harder. Could be.

                Whatever reason, today was the day I felt I had completed my recovery, both mentally and physically. Two years after one of my worst days, I had one of my better ones. Take that, oblivious driver! 

Here is the original post I wrote on running back in March:

http://mostlycombobulated.blogspot.com/2015_03_01_archive.html