"These are a few of my favorite things . . ." (Mysti)

I followed my own assignment and made my list of 10 things that bring me pleasure:

1. Eating dark chocolate while sipping dry red wine.
2. Holding baby kittens.
3. Swimming so far out in the Gulf that I cannot see the shore.
4. Singing along with the radio or my old guitar.
5. Laughing at myself (except when it’s not funny)
6. Sweating in Saunas, screaming underwater in hot tubs, and crying in steam rooms.
7. Falling asleep with a book in my hand.
8. Having my boyfriend read to me.
9. Buying things for my children that I would never give myself.
10. Decorating a new space—creating a sanctuary that I look forward to coming home to.

I have written about many of these things in the past, but today #6 is calling to me: the pleasure of sweating and screaming and re-calibrating my mind with my body. So, here goes:

Most people go to the health club to work out--lifting weights, running on treadmills, attending group fitness classes, etc. I, on the other hand, go there primarily to sweat. Though I love to swim, I have become allergic to chlorine, and I prefer to walk or run or bike outdoors rather than in a heavily airconditioned gym. So what is it that I love about my experience of the gym so much that I include it on my list, then pick it from among the rest to try to share with readers the pleasure I derive from it? Hmmm . . . I might have to reflect on this a bit . . .

Okay--I admit I have to force myself to drive to the gym and stuff my clothes into the locker after I change into my swimsuit, but once I enter the dry wooden sauna, I delight in spreading two towels out on the cedar bench to lie back upon with a smaller towel rolled up to form a pillow under my head. And then, I simply relax, and rather than resisting sweating, my mind says, "Bring it on!?" Sometimes I fall asleep before I've melted like the Wicked Witch of the West; but when I wake up, I feel so incredibly refreshed--as if I've had a whole night's sleep, when in reality it has only been twenty minutes.

From the sauna I take an icy cold shower before I hit the steam room. Every ten minutes or so the steam escapes from a hole in the floor, traveling up to the top of the room and clearing out my sinuses enroute. I like to kneel like a Muslim facing Mecca, letting the sweat travel down to my nose and then dropping onto the tile as I talk to my mother,my maker, and my father. I pray to let go of all that is bothering me, to remember who I am without my woes, to have compassion for myself as well as others.

After yet another cold shower, I hop into the hot tub and direct the jets to my calves, my shoulders, my neck. Then I completely submerge myself as if I were a tadpole. Under the water there is no time, no sound--no list of things to get done, nor judgements to shy away from. As I wave my tail to move around in the water effortlessly, I am home. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, tadpole to hot tub. Well, the analogy almost holds.