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Do you even sauna?
Jan 22, 2024
I forgot a towel, again. I rummage through the locker room’s dirty laundry hamper, next to the urinals, and fish out the driest of the bunch. I wrap the damp, white and blue striped cloth around my torso and check my watch. It’s 7:56pm. The glass door swings open and I skirt through the crack to keep the heat inside. I’m the only one in here tonight and feel bummed because it means no sauna convo with strangers. I’m pleased though, too, as the empty heat brings a welcomed solitude. Plus, as long as it stays this way, I get to lay and grunt and sprawl my legs up the dry wooden walls with no thought of judgment.
Frost from the snowy ride here still inhabits my bones and the arid convection brings goosebumps, at first. It’s only been a couple minutes, I think, but I already have an urge to check my watch. The urge is a gluttonous one, to time myself, to see how long I can stay in here. I don’t look though. I’d rather listen to my body than this piece of technology, even one as simple as a Casio.
I’ve started to sweat and now I long for the blustery coldness that, just some minutes ago, I was pedaling to escape. In search of reprieve, I unscrew the cap of my water bottle. The pressure relieves, hissing like a pinch flat, and I tilt my head back to take my first chugs. I swig and gulp and my nosey exhales blow hot air from inside the bottle onto my eyes. Everything is hot, too hot, and I like it because, well, it’s what I signed up for.
My heart rate is increasing and I feel the throb in my hands. And then in my mouth. My teeth start to ache. ‘Hmm, that’s interesting.’ The feeling is uncomfortable but it ain’t my first rodeo so I invite it deeper as I embody a Finnish word that I learned while sitting in this exact spot, last week: sisu. Something that in days of late I’ve been lacking.
Beads of sweat poof from the ether and drip down my slick skin. They graze and tickle my nerve endings and it takes all of me not to scratch. ‘Notice, notice, notice.’ Another impulse resurfaces– the one to check my watch– but I’m less reactive now and able to laugh at the whims of my mind. And another one: ‘What if the door was locked from the outside, in?’
I squirm a bit and a surge of cortisol spurts from my chest, outwards, through my shoulders then forearms then fingers. ‘This is probably what it’d feel like to burn alive.’ My head gets light and I take a big exhale. ‘Woah, that’s cool.’ I say again, to nobody, this time with a sense of pride for sitting in a feeling a couple clicks closer to death.
I’m not going to die though, not today, and for that I feel grateful. And for that, well, maybe that’s why I’m in here– for comfort and contrast and experience and challenge and insight and contentment and peace and, well, fun. Enough is enough is enough, however, and I grab my towel and bottle and softly move towards the door. My footsteps are quieter now, I’m walking like a cat. I no longer have the urge to peek at my watch and I can feel the pads of my feet press against the ripples on the hot tile floor. I unlatch the door with no wasted movements and stand in the new air.
I notice that I’m in front of the mirror. It’s large and bright and reflects my vision around the green lockers to a random guy who is preparing himself for what I just did. I can see his white ass and I’m not sure why, but it’s funny. Everything is funny. I am in my body and I need nothing more.
***
Unplugged Field Trips are regenerative and nourishing. And, kinda like a sauna, they are neither a vacation nor a sufferfest— though they have elements of both. We bet: those who join us on a field trip will return to the plugged-in world as if they, too, were stepping out of a sauna and into new air. With a bit more sisu as well.
Won’t you join us?
I forgot a towel, again. I rummage through the locker room’s dirty laundry hamper, next to the urinals, and fish out the driest of the bunch. I wrap the damp, white and blue striped cloth around my torso and check my watch. It’s 7:56pm. The glass door swings open and I skirt through the crack to keep the heat inside. I’m the only one in here tonight and feel bummed because it means no sauna convo with strangers. I’m pleased though, too, as the empty heat brings a welcomed solitude. Plus, as long as it stays this way, I get to lay and grunt and sprawl my legs up the dry wooden walls with no thought of judgment.
Frost from the snowy ride here still inhabits my bones and the arid convection brings goosebumps, at first. It’s only been a couple minutes, I think, but I already have an urge to check my watch. The urge is a gluttonous one, to time myself, to see how long I can stay in here. I don’t look though. I’d rather listen to my body than this piece of technology, even one as simple as a Casio.
I’ve started to sweat and now I long for the blustery coldness that, just some minutes ago, I was pedaling to escape. In search of reprieve, I unscrew the cap of my water bottle. The pressure relieves, hissing like a pinch flat, and I tilt my head back to take my first chugs. I swig and gulp and my nosey exhales blow hot air from inside the bottle onto my eyes. Everything is hot, too hot, and I like it because, well, it’s what I signed up for.
My heart rate is increasing and I feel the throb in my hands. And then in my mouth. My teeth start to ache. ‘Hmm, that’s interesting.’ The feeling is uncomfortable but it ain’t my first rodeo so I invite it deeper as I embody a Finnish word that I learned while sitting in this exact spot, last week: sisu. Something that in days of late I’ve been lacking.
Beads of sweat poof from the ether and drip down my slick skin. They graze and tickle my nerve endings and it takes all of me not to scratch. ‘Notice, notice, notice.’ Another impulse resurfaces– the one to check my watch– but I’m less reactive now and able to laugh at the whims of my mind. And another one: ‘What if the door was locked from the outside, in?’
I squirm a bit and a surge of cortisol spurts from my chest, outwards, through my shoulders then forearms then fingers. ‘This is probably what it’d feel like to burn alive.’ My head gets light and I take a big exhale. ‘Woah, that’s cool.’ I say again, to nobody, this time with a sense of pride for sitting in a feeling a couple clicks closer to death.
I’m not going to die though, not today, and for that I feel grateful. And for that, well, maybe that’s why I’m in here– for comfort and contrast and experience and challenge and insight and contentment and peace and, well, fun. Enough is enough is enough, however, and I grab my towel and bottle and softly move towards the door. My footsteps are quieter now, I’m walking like a cat. I no longer have the urge to peek at my watch and I can feel the pads of my feet press against the ripples on the hot tile floor. I unlatch the door with no wasted movements and stand in the new air.
I notice that I’m in front of the mirror. It’s large and bright and reflects my vision around the green lockers to a random guy who is preparing himself for what I just did. I can see his white ass and I’m not sure why, but it’s funny. Everything is funny. I am in my body and I need nothing more.
***
Unplugged Field Trips are regenerative and nourishing. And, kinda like a sauna, they are neither a vacation nor a sufferfest— though they have elements of both. We bet: those who join us on a field trip will return to the plugged-in world as if they, too, were stepping out of a sauna and into new air. With a bit more sisu as well.
Won’t you join us?
I forgot a towel, again. I rummage through the locker room’s dirty laundry hamper, next to the urinals, and fish out the driest of the bunch. I wrap the damp, white and blue striped cloth around my torso and check my watch. It’s 7:56pm. The glass door swings open and I skirt through the crack to keep the heat inside. I’m the only one in here tonight and feel bummed because it means no sauna convo with strangers. I’m pleased though, too, as the empty heat brings a welcomed solitude. Plus, as long as it stays this way, I get to lay and grunt and sprawl my legs up the dry wooden walls with no thought of judgment.
Frost from the snowy ride here still inhabits my bones and the arid convection brings goosebumps, at first. It’s only been a couple minutes, I think, but I already have an urge to check my watch. The urge is a gluttonous one, to time myself, to see how long I can stay in here. I don’t look though. I’d rather listen to my body than this piece of technology, even one as simple as a Casio.
I’ve started to sweat and now I long for the blustery coldness that, just some minutes ago, I was pedaling to escape. In search of reprieve, I unscrew the cap of my water bottle. The pressure relieves, hissing like a pinch flat, and I tilt my head back to take my first chugs. I swig and gulp and my nosey exhales blow hot air from inside the bottle onto my eyes. Everything is hot, too hot, and I like it because, well, it’s what I signed up for.
My heart rate is increasing and I feel the throb in my hands. And then in my mouth. My teeth start to ache. ‘Hmm, that’s interesting.’ The feeling is uncomfortable but it ain’t my first rodeo so I invite it deeper as I embody a Finnish word that I learned while sitting in this exact spot, last week: sisu. Something that in days of late I’ve been lacking.
Beads of sweat poof from the ether and drip down my slick skin. They graze and tickle my nerve endings and it takes all of me not to scratch. ‘Notice, notice, notice.’ Another impulse resurfaces– the one to check my watch– but I’m less reactive now and able to laugh at the whims of my mind. And another one: ‘What if the door was locked from the outside, in?’
I squirm a bit and a surge of cortisol spurts from my chest, outwards, through my shoulders then forearms then fingers. ‘This is probably what it’d feel like to burn alive.’ My head gets light and I take a big exhale. ‘Woah, that’s cool.’ I say again, to nobody, this time with a sense of pride for sitting in a feeling a couple clicks closer to death.
I’m not going to die though, not today, and for that I feel grateful. And for that, well, maybe that’s why I’m in here– for comfort and contrast and experience and challenge and insight and contentment and peace and, well, fun. Enough is enough is enough, however, and I grab my towel and bottle and softly move towards the door. My footsteps are quieter now, I’m walking like a cat. I no longer have the urge to peek at my watch and I can feel the pads of my feet press against the ripples on the hot tile floor. I unlatch the door with no wasted movements and stand in the new air.
I notice that I’m in front of the mirror. It’s large and bright and reflects my vision around the green lockers to a random guy who is preparing himself for what I just did. I can see his white ass and I’m not sure why, but it’s funny. Everything is funny. I am in my body and I need nothing more.
***
Unplugged Field Trips are regenerative and nourishing. And, kinda like a sauna, they are neither a vacation nor a sufferfest— though they have elements of both. We bet: those who join us on a field trip will return to the plugged-in world as if they, too, were stepping out of a sauna and into new air. With a bit more sisu as well.
Won’t you join us?
I forgot a towel, again. I rummage through the locker room’s dirty laundry hamper, next to the urinals, and fish out the driest of the bunch. I wrap the damp, white and blue striped cloth around my torso and check my watch. It’s 7:56pm. The glass door swings open and I skirt through the crack to keep the heat inside. I’m the only one in here tonight and feel bummed because it means no sauna convo with strangers. I’m pleased though, too, as the empty heat brings a welcomed solitude. Plus, as long as it stays this way, I get to lay and grunt and sprawl my legs up the dry wooden walls with no thought of judgment.
Frost from the snowy ride here still inhabits my bones and the arid convection brings goosebumps, at first. It’s only been a couple minutes, I think, but I already have an urge to check my watch. The urge is a gluttonous one, to time myself, to see how long I can stay in here. I don’t look though. I’d rather listen to my body than this piece of technology, even one as simple as a Casio.
I’ve started to sweat and now I long for the blustery coldness that, just some minutes ago, I was pedaling to escape. In search of reprieve, I unscrew the cap of my water bottle. The pressure relieves, hissing like a pinch flat, and I tilt my head back to take my first chugs. I swig and gulp and my nosey exhales blow hot air from inside the bottle onto my eyes. Everything is hot, too hot, and I like it because, well, it’s what I signed up for.
My heart rate is increasing and I feel the throb in my hands. And then in my mouth. My teeth start to ache. ‘Hmm, that’s interesting.’ The feeling is uncomfortable but it ain’t my first rodeo so I invite it deeper as I embody a Finnish word that I learned while sitting in this exact spot, last week: sisu. Something that in days of late I’ve been lacking.
Beads of sweat poof from the ether and drip down my slick skin. They graze and tickle my nerve endings and it takes all of me not to scratch. ‘Notice, notice, notice.’ Another impulse resurfaces– the one to check my watch– but I’m less reactive now and able to laugh at the whims of my mind. And another one: ‘What if the door was locked from the outside, in?’
I squirm a bit and a surge of cortisol spurts from my chest, outwards, through my shoulders then forearms then fingers. ‘This is probably what it’d feel like to burn alive.’ My head gets light and I take a big exhale. ‘Woah, that’s cool.’ I say again, to nobody, this time with a sense of pride for sitting in a feeling a couple clicks closer to death.
I’m not going to die though, not today, and for that I feel grateful. And for that, well, maybe that’s why I’m in here– for comfort and contrast and experience and challenge and insight and contentment and peace and, well, fun. Enough is enough is enough, however, and I grab my towel and bottle and softly move towards the door. My footsteps are quieter now, I’m walking like a cat. I no longer have the urge to peek at my watch and I can feel the pads of my feet press against the ripples on the hot tile floor. I unlatch the door with no wasted movements and stand in the new air.
I notice that I’m in front of the mirror. It’s large and bright and reflects my vision around the green lockers to a random guy who is preparing himself for what I just did. I can see his white ass and I’m not sure why, but it’s funny. Everything is funny. I am in my body and I need nothing more.
***
Unplugged Field Trips are regenerative and nourishing. And, kinda like a sauna, they are neither a vacation nor a sufferfest— though they have elements of both. We bet: those who join us on a field trip will return to the plugged-in world as if they, too, were stepping out of a sauna and into new air. With a bit more sisu as well.
Won’t you join us?