A colon cleanse behind the scenes 0
Kayla McLean, an assistant at The Colon Clinic, just outside of Toronto, readies the room for Try Guy's colonic. (Supplied)
My good friend, comedian Mike Bullard, is the new-age health hypocrite, the type of person who chain-smokes while lecturing you about your misplaced "chi energy."
A devout lover of colon hydrotherapy, Bullard has convinced me that I need saving via 2 PSI of pressure, 30 gallons of water, petroleum jelly and his holy grail, coffee enemas. It's literally a coffee break in the middle of your day.
-¦ And if you're good", says Bullard "she might even put a Timbit up there."
We set out to see the team at The Colon Clinic, several kilometres outside of Toronto.
I meet Tracy, who is overwhelmingly warm, a criterion I generally like to see before someone "laundromats" my colon -- non-front loading so to speak.
Colon cleansing is regarded as an internal bath, which dispels toxins addressing ailments such as depression, attention deficit disorder (you'll be more focused), brain fog and even heartburn.
Celebrities known to have dabbled in colonics include Sylvester Stallone, Pamela Anderson, Janet Jackson and the late Michael Jackson.
I remove my clothing below the waist and slip into something a little less comfortable, cloth shorts with a 3-inch circle removed at the back.
Since they were running low on my favourite Spanish roast, I opt for water only.
The water is UV treated, warmed to 38 degrees and according to Tracy enters the body with the steady pace of a whistle. As the release takes place I begrudgingly look into the clear tube to see what looks like nothing I've ever consumed. Something flashes by that looks like it has escaped from the catacombs of hell and I gasp.
"Oh dear, that has been in there for probably years," Tracy says. "Vintage!" I reply.
I ask Tracy about the craziest things that have expelled from clients over the years and her assistant chimes in "a Barbie shoe from when a client was a toddler." Frantically, I flash back to my pre-pubescent overeating problems and wonder if we're about to witness the remnants of my yellow Tamagotchi or at least the batteries.
Several minutes later, Tracy begins a relaxing lower stomach massage while introducing bentonite clay for my "candida." It's intimate, like the scene in the movie Ghost except we're not exactly making ceramics and I'm not as pretty as Patrick Swayze.
After 35 minutes sans mementos from my early childhood I saunter into the waiting room for a glass of probiotics. I feel light as a feather, my stomach has never looked tighter and I may just sing Kumbaya.
We chat about my colon -- behind its back so to speak -- and we laugh and laugh like the best of friends. She hands me her card but like most of my one-session encounters I know I likely won't call.
Call me old fashioned but when it comes to my number twos, I opt for a party of one.
Try Guy writes biweekly. What will he try next?