The Sauna Party

We rented out a hotel sauna in London for an afternoon. Me, Simon, Hikmet, Dominik, a few others. People I do stupid things with. The idea was straightforward: half-naked people in an overheated room throwing white towels around until something gave. We hit that limit in about twenty minutes.

The physical reality was hard to ignore. My gut jiggling in slow motion, waves of damp flesh with every movement. Everyone else somehow still looked composed, or at least didn’t look like they were melting. That’s the point where you stop feeling self-conscious and start feeling like a cartoon character in a steam room.

A hotel employee opened the door. I watched his face work through it: confusion first, then understanding, then professional courtesy. In that moment he became the owner of a story, something he’d probably tell for a while. He asked us to leave very politely, but you could read what he was thinking.

We got dressed and left.

I don’t think about it much anymore, but when I do, it’s not as a funny anecdote. It’s a moment where a group of people decided to be completely ridiculous and then actually followed through, no apologies, no pretense. There’s something worth keeping in that kind of commitment.