I'M LYING ON on a hospital bed, drenched in sweat. My body feels like it is burning up from the inside. I want that to stop.
Outside, it is a lovely summer day in the resort town of Vail, Colorado, with tourists whizzing around on e-bikes or heading off on relaxing mountain hikes. In this sterile, fluorescent-lit room, machines beep and staffers hover anxiously about, watching me suffer. A kind woman named Ashley Mason presses chilled cloths and ice cubes to my forehead and temples, trying to keep me cool. You’re doing great, she murmurs.
There is no hope of escape, because I am encased in a green metal cylinder that looks like part of a rocket fuselage but is in fact a personal-sized infrared sauna. My head is exposed, but the rest of me is tucked inside this tube, which is lined with heating elements that are slow roasting me with 1,000 watts of power.
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