Conversations in the Sauna | TempTango Journal
It was a hotel spa sauna at The Auckland Park Hyatt. The kind of place where everything is thick. Thick slippers, thick robes, thick towels, thick silence. I had arrived early, settled into my spot, and was quietly congratulating myself on perfect timing.
Then the door opened and an All Black walked in.
Then another.
Then another.
By the fourth, I stopped pretending to meditate.
By the eighth, I was clutching my towel with both hands.
By the twelfth, we were all wedged together, thighs on thighs, steam rising with the collective heat of an entire rugby squad. One of them, still standing because there was nowhere left to sit, looked down at me and asked, genuinely gently: "Mind if I squeeze in?"
"Be my guest," I said, pressed up against what I can only describe as a wall of patience and protein.
Same heat. Same benches.
And that's the thing about the sauna. It doesn't care who you are out there. In here, everyone is just a person in on a towel, sweating. Same heat. Same benches. Same absolute lack of anywhere to hide.
We ended up chatting. Easy, low-key, the kind of conversation that happens when everyone is already at peak physical vulnerability. Someone mentioned a shoot. Someone else mentioned recovery time. I mentioned the wellness studio, Genki Vitality, where I work at. "Great ice bath," I said, like I was recommending a café.
A full-blown steam chaser.
Walking out, I laughed to myself.
There I was, in a sauna, talking about another sauna, inviting a group of people most of New Zealand has strong feelings about to visit yet another sauna.
That's when it hit me. I'm not just a person who enjoys saunas. I'm a person who collects them. Who finds community in them. Who will, apparently, network professionally from within one.
A full-blown steam chaser. Slightly unhinged.
I'm at peace with it.
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