The sultry sauna of discontent
20th October, 2007
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It's the etiquette of the sauna that most concerns me, for what exactly does one wear in a steamy, mixed-sex environment? A tastefully draped towel, perhaps, so contrived as to cover the rolls of fat decorating your waistline? But what if you were to be overcome by the heat and the towel slipped to the floor, revealing all or, even worse, revealing less?
If I hadn't changed gyms it wouldn't be an issue, but after years of sweating at a suburban gym for no apparent gain and significant financial loss, I have switched to a near-city gym for no other reason than it is conveniently close to my work. I also reasoned that if I changed gyms I might begin to see some results. The fact that this had not happened to date was obviously the fault of the gym and in no way related to my lifestyle. What I had not considered was that this geographic switch would be matched by a demographic change. Where my old gym attracted its share of middle-aged mums who obviously looked more to Sara Lee than Jenny Craig for their dietary leads, and men who came well equipped with Fourex-fuelled flab, the new gym was peopled by punters with nary a gram of fat between them. They were also young. Very young, and there have been days since I made the switch when I have been one of the oldest people on the floor - and I'm only 28. Okay - on some days I am the oldest person on it as I pedal away on the stationary bike wondering how many minutes equals one glass of beer. I once made the mistake of confessing to my wife that I passed the time in the gym by trying to work out how many more drinks I could have when I'd finished the workout. A former gym junkie and knowledgeable in such matters, she calculated that I would need to pedal non-stop at high speed for 20 hours a day just to break even. Exploring the new establishment on my first day, I discovered a sauna, steam room and something called a cold room. I have no idea what you do in a cold room other than feel miserable. I asked if I could leave the fresh fish I'd just bought for dinner in it while I exercised and the attendant laughed at my little joke. In fact I was serious and have yet to be caught out using the cold room as a fridge. I'll plead ignorance when I'm caught but until then it's a handy arrangement. What is disturbing is that the sauna, steam and cold rooms are shared facilities, hence the dress code dilemma. The other concern is the strutters. Mercifully few in number at my former gym, strutters are those whose joy it is to walk around naked in the changing rooms in gyms. I concede that a changing room exists as a place in which to change and that in order to change it is necessary to undress, but this can be done quickly and quietly without baring your bits to the world. Male strutters, often built like inverted pyramids, take a different view and delight in strutting around the room sans towel with their bits swinging in the non-existent breeze. I've never felt particularly at ease in a room full of naked men. I've never been in a room full of naked women either but I'm guessing I'd feel a lot better about it. I stayed at a hotel in Bali once and had a massage. When it was finished, the masseuse directed me through a door where she said I could have a shower. I opened the door and walked into a room full of naked Japanese men enjoying a massive communal tub. I was the only European in the room and all eyes were suddenly turned on me. It was immediately obvious that they were curious to see what I was going to bring to the occasion, so to speak. Fearful of letting down the home team - although I have to say that, based on a quick glance around the room, the competition wasn't all that daunting - I fled the scene still clutching my towel about my person. I think I'll pass on the sauna. The potential for social disaster on an epic scale is just too great. |
