I tried it! Willingly freezing my buns off to reduce muscle soreness and anxiety

Welcome to ‘I tried it!’ a series where our reporters try new and trending experiences in New York — so you can decide if you want to.

As I approached Kollectiv, a wellness spa on East First Street in NoHo, there was a vague waddle in my stride.

I’d signed up to try whole-body cryotherapy — “WBC” for short — rumored to be a magic bullet for exercise-induced pain, joint inflammation, and even depression and anxiety. So I’d purposely engaged in a crushing workout that morning: Let’s see if cryo is really the physiological wizardry people make it out to be.

Some heavy hip thrusters, hip hinges and deadlifts later, my hamstrings and glutes behaved more like lead than legs as I navigated my way to the appointment. Phase one of the mission: accomplished.

What made me want to try whole-body cryotherapy

Over the past 15 years I’ve seen wellness fads peak and fade: Remember acai (2010), Bulletproof coffee (2015), and activated charcoal (2017)?

But cryotherapy, which is an umbrella term encompassing cold-water immersion, whole-body cryotherapy, ice application and other specialized services such as the “cryofacial,” is a hot topic with seeming staying power.

Proponents — perhaps none of whom are your trusted sources of medical advice – include ancient Egyptians around 3,500 B.C. to mega-podcaster Joe Rogan in 2015 to Lizzo and Hailey Bieber, like, yesterday. They all assert it relieves inflammation, anxiety and pain, among other salutary effects.

A 2017 review of literature indicates cryotherapy may help with pain and post-exercise recovery but states that controlled studies are needed.

The whole-body cryotherapy treatments offered at spas usually are not of the ice-bath variety; rather, they use liquid nitrogen vapors to blast you with temperatures in the -250 degrees Fahrenheit range for a few minutes at a time. These procedures have not been extensively studied or proven to help with the ills mentioned above, and they are not FDA-approved as safe or effective.

“I’m quite comfortable with the safety of the treatment,” says Kollectiv co-owner Alain Palinsky, pointing out that their clients must sign a waiver that lays out health risks. “We encourage people to consult their doctor, just as you might before you use a hot tub.”

I’m often among the first to plunge into the glacial ocean in late spring — I really love the rush. But I’d never tried freezing my buns off with therapeutic intentions.

Kollectiv’s website mentioned reduced pain and increased energy as benefits; I could use both. My curiosity got the best of me, and I sprung for the $45 introductory session.

What the process was like

In the waiting area at Kollectiv, I had a good view of the whole-body cryotherapy equipment I was about to endure.

To my left was the cryo chamber: a metal cylinder perhaps 3 feet in diameter and about 5 feet tall. I was relieved to see it was open at the top — I’d nervously imagined being alone in a completely closed room for the treatment. I realized now that I’d be standing and able to communicate and (crucially) breathe fresh air.

To my right was a private bathroom where I was about to strip down to my skivvies. And straight ahead were three very large, serious-looking nitrogen tanks that didn’t exactly scream “spa.” They conjured a thought of my seventh grade science teacher, Mr. Hansen, and how much he loved his safety goggles.

Predictably, I was given an extensive waiver to sign, and there was much focus on my cardiovascular health. I thought, ‘How much can a healthy person actually know about their heart?’ If I wasn’t nervous before, I was now. Figuring this was as good a time as any to be direct, as I handed the iPad back to the attendant (who was as fit as a Greek statue himself) I said, earnestly: “I’m nervous.”

He assured me he would stay close during the treatment and shut down the vapors if I freaked out. Then he handed me a neat pile of provisions for my journey: black waffle robe, thick and fluffy socks, and some black Crocs — Catskills chic, but make it weird.

So I got in my undies, layered on the cozies, and was ushered to the whole-body cryotherapy chamber. I stepped up and in, and after the attendant closed and sealed the door, I slipped off my robe and handed it to him over the wall.

As the vapors got progressively colder, I enjoyed how my body and brain came alive. The sensation on my skin — mild to moderate tingling and aching — made me think of what it might be like to lie in a bathing suit in the snow. By the end of the three minutes, I was in full fidget, rocking on my feet, bouncing my knees and clutching forearm to forearm. It was very cold, but not unbearable.

After the treatment, I was in a great mood and my legs felt lighter as I made my way home — but it was impossible to know if it was the result of the treatment, because, once again, these “cryosaunas” have not been cleared or approved for therapeutic use, according to the FDA.

It occurred to me that the simple act of trying something new, of getting through an experience I was nervous about, the rush of feeling fairly uncomfortable for three minutes and the contrasting relief afterward … all could have contributed to my post-cryo buzz.

Palinsky suggested it was endorphins: “Come in when you’re in a bad mood. You’ll leave feeling great.”

What to know before you go

It takes about 20 minutes.

I was in and out of Kollectiv in under a half hour. My hair and makeup were un-mussed and I was back on, the streets of NoHo none the wiser.

It’s about $45.

Initially the price tag didn’t rattle me. Whole-body cryotherapy is marketed as a spa treatment, after all, and facials and massages are way more expensive. But now that I’ve tried it, $45 seems steep for a three-minute procedure that offers questionable benefits. It’s hard to envision doing it again.

It might feel awkward to freeze half-naked near a stranger.

As promised, the attendant did stay nearby during my treatment, and I proceeded to live-narrate my experience, because it feels weird to not talk to someone standing 36 inches from you. I’m a people person and love chatting up strangers (it’s why my kids roll their eyes so much when I bring them to Target). For others, the whole handing-your-robe-to-someone-you-just-met thing might be a little ick.

I’m skeptical.

Look, if someone loves whole-body cryotherapy, and it makes them feel good, and they’ve got the funds for it… I’m not judging. But I think there are more effective recovery tools, like walking, stretching and hydration. Kollectiv’s other co-owner, Indira Persaud, says plenty of folks are willing to pony up on a regular basis — mainly athletes and people looking for relief from pain.

Next time, I’ll go analog.

My whole-body cryotherapy experiment did teach me something: Cold is fun, and it can make you feel good. But I don’t need a spa (or the price tag) to enjoy that exhilaration again. Moving forward, I’ll be looking out for free ways to get it, like jumping into the ocean when I can, or maybe even by doing snow angels in a bikini.