UV Rays in the Wintertime

I used a tanning bed for the first time the other day. It's not something I foresee myself doing often, but given I paid $40 on a package deal so I could use a coupon and get two free sessions, I'll at least go seven times.

The experience made me realize among other things that tanning by and large is a white-people problem, or more precisely a problem for people with a range of skin tones between brown and translucent. As the safety disclosure agreement I signed before I was allowed in read somewhere in the fine print, “if you don't tan in the sun, you won't tan in a tanning bed.”

If I were trying to get a tan, I have the perfect skin tone for it. I'm not so pigmentally-challenged that I burn easily and I'm not so dark that a tan would go unnoticed.

Given that it's December, I'm in my light time of the year.

The machines are hardwired not to run for more than 20 minutes, as a safety precaution to protect stupid people from baking themselves alive. As I was checking in, the receptionist said I could probably go in for 14 minutes since this was my first session.

The friend who'd convinced me to go had gone in for 14 minutes a few days before and come out just barely reddening. I think I could have gotten away with 16 minutes before I would have needed to worry about that, but with all the worry bandied about around skin cancer and UV radiation, it's probably for the best that I didn't.

Each tanning bed had it's own room. Throw in an intercom system, a few crying children and a six item limit, and we might as well have been in the dressing room of some department store.

The whole process was a little sterile. Metaphorically and literally, there was a little tri-fold placard sitting on the towel next to my tanning goggles that told me the tanning bed was sterilized. While business is light this time of year, I couldn't help but imagine the kind of horrors the smiling receptionists have had to clean up after in these tanning beds. Realistically, probably very little since there's a bathroom for your convenience and I imagine the kind of clientele that a tanning salon attracts would shower fairly regularly before considering climbing into one of these glass coffins.

I stripped down to my underwear before shutting myself into a glowing doom. I would say I was too shy to go naked, but here underwear means fashion jock so I might as well have been naked.

Hitting the blue button on the wall turned on the body-length tubes that buzzed faintly with the energy flowing through them. A fan at the foot of the bed whirred ominously the entire time. It made me feel like I was lying down in the eye of a small, strangely horizontal hurricane of light.

At first I was worried that I would get bored. I'd forgotten my mp3 player in my rush out the door and even had I brought it, I'm not sure I was ready to figure out the plug and play system somewhere in the vicinity above my head. But soon enough I let myself relax and fell into some of the deep breathing techniques I use during meditation.

After the first few minutes in this painfully bright, bluish light I started to feel a slight warmth on my skin. Once I relaxed I might as well have been laying on a beach. A beach where the light comes from beneath you as well as the sky, but sunny and warm and kind of pleasant to lay on if you don't plan on being there super long.

Fourteen minutes later everything shut off with a start. My session had come to an end. I climbed out of the machine and dressed, meeting my friends out in the lobby. As we walked away, I felt a smile inextricably pulling at the corner of my lips. This was an endorphin high of a different kind than you get from exercise or sex, it was more like a tall cup of yerbe mate on an empty stomach. For that first hour or two afterward life felt exceedingly good.