I've got my ion you

MANILA, Philippines - Deficit spending on holiday gifts. Office parties involving a dance number performed to Justin Bieber’s Baby. Traffic on EDSA moving slower than continental plates.

Yes, this definitely was a Pinoy Christmas.

And my bad cholesterol levels and my receding hairline geometrically increased when I discovered that I had to pay off my credit cards with my credit cards. I was now officially on the hit list of several credit ratings agencies. So to give both my health and hair a break, I decided to use the P392 that I had left in my credit limit to take a post-Christmas bath.

A negative ion hot bath.

I was giddy with excitement at being exposed to a “negative ion bath,” because these experimental, scientific-sounding therapies offer the type of jargon that makes for great superhero origins. Bombarded by a cosmic storm after hijacking an experimental spacecraft. Caught in a gamma bomb explosion in the midst of a botched military experiment. Penetrated by a negative ion in a hot steam room. The stuff of blockbuster movie franchises and injury-plagued Broadway musicals.

Who knows? After I emerge from my “negative ion bath” therapy, I just might be able to shoot laser beams from my fingertips. Or sprout claws from my forearms. Or at least be able to overturn Supreme Court decisions. Then eventually I would have to find myself a skintight spandex outfit (it’s a good thing that I know some award-winning cosplayers), a male girdle (you hear me, Spanx? You hear me!?) and a cool superhero name (preferably with an “X” prefix for emphasis). But please note, my three female readers, I promise to use my powers to save the world from alien invaders, to develop a new fantaserye soap with GMA and to earn millions from merchandising deals based on my image and likeness (in no particular order).

And, apparently, the negative ion bath does give me some superpowers by getting rid of the kryptonite in my mild-mannered life — antioxidants. Antioxidants are the substances that scavenge free radicals and damage compounds in the body that can alter cell membranes, tamper with DNA and even cause cell death. In other words, it could turn me into a mutant — and not in the cool X-Men sort of way with bitchin’ jump suits, codenames and sexual charisma.

According to Eric Tan, manager of Zenyu Eco Spa at the new Hotel H20, they have a special hotbed made of a deoxidizing solution that produces negative ions. Negative ions are invisible air molecules that help ward off bacteria and viruses and reduce free radicals that may cause degenerative diseases (I will never be called a degenerate again).

Negative ions have the ability to rejuvenate and relax, improve blood circulation, metabolism and blood pressure, strengthen the immune system, reduce cholesterol and body toxins and relieve constipation (but hopefully it does not relieve constipation in the middle of the treatment). Once the negative ion treatment is over, there is a chance that my lifespan could extend to the point that I just might outlive Justin Bieber’s career.

“Do you know the most potent side-effect of negative ions?” Eric paused for melodramatic effect. “Negative ions in the bloodstream accelerate the delivery of oxygen to our cells and tissues and speed up the oxidation of serotonin in the blood.”

“And that will give me superpowers?”

“Yes,” he giggled megalomaniacally. “It will.” Apparently, these negative ions work on certain body parts in a way that no mechanical devices or special creams or bootleg videos possibly can. You see, aside from their far-reaching effects on pain relief and mood swings, they also affect your — ahem — nocturnal performance (or morning or lunchtime performance, depending on your schedule).

Once I intimated the procreational benefits of negative ions to my wife, she gleefully dragged me to the eco spa. “Let’s make this quick,” she said, poking Eric emphatically on the chest. “I need a head start on your New Year’s resolutions.”

When we arrived at Zenyu, the first thing the female consultant asked me to do was to put my “index finger” underneath a “microscope” so she could get a better look at my “capillaries.”

My jaw dropped. “And just what are you trying to imply in front of my wife!? I told her that this was a decent spa! I promised her that there would be no happy endings here!”

After I was slapped by both my wife and the therapist, I learned that the therapist really did want me to put my index finger under a microscope to get a better look at my blood circulation. Then my wife and the therapist slapped me again for sheer entertainment value.

The therapist lathered oil all over my index finger (no euphemism there, I promise) so it would be easier to view my capillaries using her microscope. As she zoomed in on my itty-bitty parts, thin red highways started to become visible. According to the therapist, healthy capillaries exhibit long strokes and fast-moving blood circulation. The longer the strokes, the better (advice that many 15-year-old male teenagers have already taken to hand, er, heart). 

“So, am I stroking my capillaries correctly?” I asked.

“Hmmm, Well your strokes aren’t too long.” She sighed (and after all that practice at being a 15-year-old teenager). “But at least your circulation is visible.” 

Then she placed a piece of cloth laced with negative ions over my hand. “Notice the difference?”

All of a sudden, my circulation picked up faster than colorum buses plying EDSA. 

My wife raised an eyebrow. “Can we put that cloth in my husband’s bikini briefs?”

CHANGE FOR THE BETTER

Lamenting my stroke performance, I lumbered into the locker room with a bikini brief full of negative ions to prepare for my hot bath. While I was disrobing and checking out my seven-inch-long chest hairs in front of the mirror, I noticed that the locker room had a full body fish spa. No, this full body fish spa is not some “code word” for a therapy with a happy ending. However, this spa could be a happy ending for people who relish having their calloused body parts nibbled at by zombie fish. (Several months ago, I had my toes nibbled away by these flesh eaters at the foot spa in Manila Ocean Park. After the treatment, I later found out that these fish were colloquially known as reddish log suckers. For this reason alone, I was wary of plunging anything below my ankles into the fish spa. Although the fish spa might be a safehouse for No Girlfriends Since Birth who want to absolved of their guilt.)

Since I did not wish to be part of the fishes’ protein requirements for the day, I donned the intimate hot bed pajama attire and scampered into the couples’ hot therapy room. Unlike other couples’ rooms, this one had no television, no intimate lighting and no thematic atmosphere. Instead, it was a room walled with romantic yellow brick cladding and a floor of red ceramic tiles that was maintained at a constant temperature of 45 degrees. 

I quickly scanned the room. “So, where’s the bed?”

“You are standing on it, Sir.” The therapist replied. The ceramic floor, she informed me, was impregnated with negative ions.

“And how exactly should I lie on the hot bed?”

“Any position you want, Sir” she replied. (What a feeble-minded question, I thought. Of course any position would do. This is a couples’ room after all). But the therapist recommended that I recline flat on my back to make sure the negative ions could penetrate to my back problems as well.

I sat and slid my legs and back onto the tiles, resting my head on a small wooden board. I took a whiff of the hot air and felt a globule of sweat forming on my brow.

“How long do I have to stay in this room?”

“Until you shoot laser beams from your fingers.” I wish she had said that. What she actually said was, “Thirty minutes.” Thirty minutes!? I might be ready as a main course in 30 minutes!

“Can you try to relax, please?” my wife said while settling onto her hot bed. “Or else I will be the one doing the shooting.”

I wiped away the sweat forming on my brow with the back of my hand and closed my eyes.

“And for the sake of all those who are below 18 years old and reading this column, why aren’t you wearing any underwear?”

“Because I didn’t want my bikini briefs to get all soaked in my sweat,” I sheepishly replied.

“That’s why they have disposable underwear in the locker room!”

“Ah disposable ba? Akala ko edible. Nakabalot na parang lumpia e (Disposable? I thought it was edible. It was wrapped up like a lumpia).”

After a few minutes (which in a third-level dream is equivalent to several months), the negative ion-impregnated heat felt like it was permeating my very core. It was either that or the heat was baking my internal organs. I didn’t realize the type of long, drawn-out sacrifices that a superhero had to undergo. In a comic book, it only takes a page or two to explain how a superhero acquires his superpowers.

Several minutes into the treatment, I could feel the sweat dripping down from my forehead, lower back, thighs and inaccessible body parts and forming a pool around me that threatened to submerge the therapy room. As I was drowning in my own sweat, I swear I could hear the sound of chirping birds emanating from the tiles. It was either the sound of piped-in music or I was hallucinating.

Any thoughts I initially had of using the couples’ room inappropriately with my wife to field-test my negative ion-powered serotonin evaporated when I began to worry that my wife and I might melt into each other’s inappropriate parts. By the time this treatment was over, I might be reduced to a puddle of sweat and sinew. But at least I would be a healthy puddle of sweat and sinew. With super powers pa!

SOUPER POWERED

When the hot bed therapy was finally over, the therapist mopped my body off the ceramic floor, poured me into a pail, then brought me back into and gave me a couple of minutes to congeal back into a recognizable shape.

“Did you enjoy the treatment?” Eric asked me.

“Rdjlrularudhdlyp,” I replied. (My mouth had not yet congealed back into shape. Translation: “Actually, I did! Especially since the heat helped the negative ions make their way to my itty-bitty parts.”)

(Fortunately, Eric can understand mush-mouth talk.) “Actually, the negative ions need not be driven by the heat. The manufacturers decided to incorporate the heating element to the negative ion effect.”

“Wleirjdlsrpk?” (I’d rather leave this untranslatable.)

“The hot bed is more of the Japanese fascination with heat and its detoxification effects. The perspiration from the heat also helps detoxify our bodies.”

I felt my left nipple droop back into shapelessness. So this hot spa that spewing negative ions was probably another one of those Japanese quirks that they export to the rest of the world like raw fish, anime cartoons and vending machines that sell soiled underwear.

“And smell your pawis (sweat). It doesn’t smell panis (reek).”

“Qrtfghjkyld.” (Translation: “Sige, just wait a bit until my nose forms back into place.”)

And, by golly, Eric was more right than the Supreme Court en banc! Them negative ions had given a fatal karate chop to all the stink-swilling bacteria that once inhabited my sweat. In fact, my sweat smelled so good that I considered bottling it and passing it off as cologne or massage oil, or possibly a mosquito repellent. I could make millions from my bodily fluids and still meet one of my objectives in becoming a superhero.

But my most pressing concern was: Were the effects of the negative ions palpable?

I pointed my index and middle finger towards the wall. No laser beams. I balled up my fist and clenched my teeth. No claws were popping out of my forearms. I checked the news and Mikey Arroyo was still congressman. So I couldn’t overturn SC decisions. Oh, well. 

Looks like I will have to find other ways to gauge the effects of negative ions on my anatomy. Perhaps the ions did strengthen my internal plumbing, but the effects just might not be that obvious. Unless my wife sires an army of RJ Ledesmas.

In the meantime, I will have to find a way to properly dispose of that underwear.

* * *

Check out the Zenyu Eco Spa or visit their website at www.hotelh2o.com.