Sauna Club

a short story about my love for the sauna

In an unfrequented corner of my school gym’s locker room exists a mysterious, dorm-sized room. Often mistaken for the nearby janitorial supply closet, the room is covered by dark tinted windows, forcing you to squint to peep inside. With your face so close to the glass, you suddenly notice the hot, dry air leaking out the cracks of the door. This is the UCLA Sauna, a room cherished by those who know it but largely unknown.

A bald short man sits in the corner, headphones wrapped around his head. I catch a glimpse of the song he’s listening to from his phone and the curious-sounding phrase, “Habibi Funk 018”. His legs are wrapped in a towel, revealing a chiseled upper body that naturally outlines the three ink words displayed on his ribcage. In the opposite corner, a tall slender man takes deep breaths while tapping his neon running shoes on the floor. Sitting next to me is an Asian man with glasses and ungroomed facial hair. I’m surprised to see how dry his fingers are as he flips through a wrinkled paperback book. His knees are tucked to support his reading position, exposing his bony ribs, lacking any extraneous fat or muscle.

Prior to college, my local gym had a sauna, which I would visit often with my best friend. Under the heat, we would talk about our families, college applications, and highschool dating. It was like therapy to me. Every now and then, I would bring a speaker and we would sing and twerk alongside Fifth Harmony, disconnected and free from the world.

I had never talked to a stranger in the sauna before. Without my highschool buddy, I now sat quietly between these three men, focused on my breathing, waiting for time to pass. Questions bubbled in my head as I stared at my companions: What did the words on his ribs mean? What type of races did he run? Was he a professor or a really old student?

My mouth was frozen in hesitation. I had already spent many days in this sauna, silently wondering these questions in complete indecision. But today, curiosity triumphed over my lack of courage: carving a path like a stream of water through a mountain. I politely gave each of the three men a gentle tap before introducing myself and taking their newfound attention.

They responded politely to my questions and surprisingly poured out their questions to me as well. They were curious about my background and studies, offering more of their own stories in response.

The buff guy was a 26 year old professional bodybuilder, just starting his undergraduate after taking gap years to sober from a highschool cocaine addiction. The runner was a neuroscience Ph.D. candidate who was sauning to recover from a recently completed 100 mile ultra marathon (he had walked to the sauna with a cane). The man sitting next to me was a oceanography researcher from Vietnam, currently reading Camus and recently obsessing over the “Absurdist Movement”.

The runner inquired about the oceanographer’s research and all of us were enlightened on a brief seminar of El Niño and heating cycles of Pacific waters near Peru. The body builder shared that he also coached the student powerlifting club at UCLA, and all of us keenly listened to his strict diet and training program.

From that day onwards, I began unabashedly asking questions and inviting conversation to everyone I met in the sauna. I figured, if they already had the determination to uncomfortably drip in sweat for 20 some minutes, a couple of pestering questions would still be in their tolerable range. But from their reactions, they seemed eager to volunteer their stories and interview me just the same.

Some stories were happy, some were full of struggles. I met Ukrainian refugees, many of whom had Russian family members with whom they could now barely communicate. A Japanese student explained to me that Western film had no budget in Japan where animation dominated, thus he came to Los Angeles with the dream of becoming a film director. I met a chef who shared his Bourdain-esque upbringing, starting as a dishwasher to line cook, having to work many restaurants and fill many roles before becoming the director of UCLA Dining. We shared our upbringings, struggles and ambitions.

Sometimes we shared valuable ideas without any words at all, with music. I would bring my large JBL speaker and invite anyone to play their music. Over the next year, I was taught the difference between the many types of House music in Barcelona Clubs, I learned to dance to traditional Guadalajaran Mariachi, and I was led in Buddhist meditation chants, practiced in the Tibetan Mountains—all by people happy to impart their cultural upbringing. If the mood was right, I would share the important lessons I had learned from Brasilian Funk and begin twerking freely once again.

It’s funny reminiscing that the sauna used to be my escape, where I had someone willing to listen to me drone about my self-absorbed problems. I think back then, I wasn’t curious enough about the world, hence it wasn’t curious about me.

Because I had shame in myself, I felt free when I didn’t have to interact with people who would trigger my insecurities. Being honest with strangers helped me be honest with myself. I realized what about my life was embarrassing to talk about and thought about why. I didn’t dwell on it, but honestly tried to understand them. And now like the people I meet in the sauna, I feel no shame sharing my past struggles and addictions, and I’m equally excited to share what bring my hope and ambition.

My definition of freedom has since changed. It used to be sheltered feeling. Then it became exhilaration in overcoming my fears. Now, it’s a little more nuanced and the best way I can describe it is a tranquil feeling of trusting who I am and what I want that makes me feel free of internal indecision.

I like making someone else feel heard. I like sharing experiences and emotions, not just words in conversation. Sauna was fun for me and equally so for those who talked with me.

Frequent Sauna-goers asked me to start a club, so they could know when I went to the sauna. My “Sauna Club” GroupMe had 60 people join overnight. The plan was to foster the same intimate conversations that had been occurring and create a networking sandbox for students to meet people of all backgrounds.

But like any lifeform, the club evolved to survive by reproducing and mutating by any means necessary. Fraternity boys invited their friends and so did other club athletes to create a party. I remember the look on the innocent man in the sauna as 15 club swim athletes entered, blasting Fred Again, and he promptly decided to leave.

I didn’t mind this crazy atmosphere, but it had overtaken and stepped on the intimate conversational environment that I cherished. It took me some maturity, but I came to accept that Sauna Club was something I no longer wanted. Some people cherished natural conversation, others wanted to party, and you can’t satisfy everyone.

I had to relinquish control to realize that I still had everything I wanted. I stopped being the organizer, and I attended the sauna solitarily in the early mornings. It was peaceful. Club Sauna on the other hand, slowly withered to a halt without proper leadership, like a headless snake: the parties were over.

From then on, I frequented the Sauna alone: without expectation and with an open-mind. I could peacefully hear new stories and make new friends, and if I happened to run into an acquaintance, it was a delightful surprise that we got to enjoy the Sauna together. There is no need to plan and worry about something that works so well on its own.

Looking back, the sauna was my education, where I learned the essential human skill to listen and tell stories in order to collectively share accrued wisdom. These stories of various cultures, careers, and unique human struggles still stick with me and deepen both my understanding and interest of humanity.

I strive for this depth in everything I do: including networking and cold calling. Instead of creating one loose thread between where someone has a job and where I want employment, I dig into their past work, their passions, and I ask them to tell me about their journey.

When I travel I ask people to teach me the culture and traditions of their homeland, listening tentatively as if we are in the sauna together. When I’m frustrated out of confusion in a math lecture, I stand in front of hundreds of students and calmly ask the professor clarifying questions as if we’re sitting side by side in the sauna and I ask him to repeat his story.

The Sauna was my primordial soup, a goldilocks environment for me to rapidly grow, feeding off the mutually enriching knowledge of many lives. It reinforced my personality to always treat people and approach new topics with enthusiasm and respect.

I know that not everyone is willing and able to tolerate the sauna heat. But your passion, no matter how niche it is, has a community somewhere waiting for you to find it. Mine was in the unsuspecting back corner of the Wooden Gym, in a dimly lit and surprisingly warm room.

The original members of the Sauna Club Groupme