I'm a sweaty girl. I sweat easily and often. I was sort of hoping that losing 90ish pounds would have some effect on my perspirative prowess, but...still sweaty. As such, I've never felt a need to use a sauna. Ever. Until this trip. I think I was perhaps seduced by all the spa-ishness, or maybe there was something in the cucumber water, but for whatever reason I decided to try it.
So as Mark walked off to the uncharted territory of massages, I worked up my courage to figure out the sauna. This led to a series of awkward passes through the locker room while I tried to make sense of the sauna protocol without looking like a clueless idiot. What do I wear? What do I do with what I'm not wearing? Are the lights on in there? Is it on, or do I have to turn it on? Do I sit or lie down? How long do I stay? Each question required one nonchalant pass by the sauna door. I suspect I fooled no one.
Eventually I managed to get in there. I was alone, thank God, because as I walked into the thing I blurted out, "Hey, it's like a sauna in here!" Dur. It took me a few minutes to adjust all my towelage, start the 15-minute egg timer, and (out of a sense of obligation) pour hot water on hot rocks (the point of which I do not get). And then I sat there and dripped for the duration of my stay, thinking about how weird it is to breathe in crazy hot air, willing the grains of sand to fall faster through the timer. Mostly, though, I stared at the thermometer, which was registering 170 degrees. Let me say that again. A hundred and seventy degrees. And as I stared at it, I kept thinking, 170 degrees is when a chicken breast is done.
But here's the thing. When the last grain of sand fell, I peeled myself off the bench and stepped out of the sauna, and I felt GREAT. Cool and energized and oddly clean. Maybe it was because my brain was medium-rare, but it really felt wonderful.
I went looking for Mark, who by this time was done with his massage. I found him back in the relaxation room, sitting in a chair and looking around with an air of slight confusion, like someone who just woke up and doesn't know where he is.
"Are you ok?" I asked.
He looked at me with a vaguely distant expression. "Yeah."
"Was it good?"
"Yeah."
"Good, like, it was nice, or like you didn't want it to end?"
"Heck no I didn't want it to end!" Pause, then, perplexed..."I've never felt like this before. I don't know what to do."
"I was in the sauna."
"Why?"
"It's supposed to get out impurities or something, I think."
"What kind of impurities?"
"I don't know. Dirt? Dead skin cells?"
Another pause. "I bet I have all kinds of impurities. I'm getting in the sauna."
And he did. That's sort of what this trip was like, in a nutshell. A blur of hot, sweaty spa experiences, spicy incensey smells, and this vague sense of tremendous indulgence and pampering. I get why people love this. But I also think too much of it might knock me right out of reality, and I might end up on one of those A&E shows where they play sad music and show your baby pictures and talk about how your life fell apart. ("She started wearing her bathrobe all day, and before long she wouldn't even talk to us...she just keeps singing Enya songs and steaming up the bathroom...")
OK. This is getting ridiculously long. Just one more quick note: after we reluctantly tore ourselves away from the world of the spa and headed home, we stopped just outside of Binghamton, in Johnson City, NY, where my grandmother lives. I haven't seen her in a long time, and she's lost a lot of her mental acuity since we were last together. She hadn't a clue who we were. That was ok...I had been prepared for that fact. But we had a really pleasant, friendly visit! She showed us all around the place where she lives, never really knowing where she was ("I think my room's probably here somewhere..."), and introducing us to passersby as "some friends of mine." She was smiley and agreeable and eager to point out the amenities at hand...at one point she pointed to an old couple sitting by a window (who clearly knew her well) and said, "Well, there's a couple of people who are probably nice to look at."
We took a pic before we left. I promised her I'll send her a copy of it with Peter (my dad) the next time he comes up. She thought that sounded like a lovely idea.
We arrived home a few hours later and were greeted with enthusiasm by our children. The enthusiasm may have been engendered by the baked goods we brought them as gifts, but I'm going to choose to believe they were genuinely glad to have us home.
Good grief. It's a good thing we don't do this too often...apparently it sends me into blogging overdrive. It was a great, great trip, though, and I'm absolutely sure we would never have done it if not for the "40 Before 40" list. So hooray for banished impurities, a bolstered marriage, baked goods, and spa-ness! I'm off to fold laundry, but maybe I'll burn a little incense while I do it. :)
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