The Steam Room

 

His name was Nick and he was dressed like a real-estate agent. Enough to put me on my guard from the beginning. I was sitting on the tiered seating, flicking through the newspaper, minding my own business, occasionally glancing up at my children being taught the basics of swimming. The besuited Nick, fresh-faced and eager, introduced himself as the new manager of the fitness centre. He had button-holed me on this stiflingly hot evening because, although he didn’t know me from Adam, he wanted to share with me an idea he was kicking around. Ah, I thought, an “ideas man”.

 

He’d decided to introduce a new gym membership category for the parents of kids who were taking swimming lessons. $20 per month for full gym, fitness class, pool, and sauna access. “Maaate,” he said, “It will be a ‘win-win’”. Taking me into his confidence, he added: “Parents can use the facilities while their kids are here swimming. But you know what they’re like…they will sign up, pay their money, and never be seen inside the gym again”. A win-win indeed.

 

*

 

I had never been one for bicep curls, bench presses, lat pulls, or pumping iron in general. Twenty-five years ago, I was running marathons, so the treadmills offered a certain appeal. And besides, I knew a bargain when I was slapped in the face with one. Even when it was being brandished by a bloke who walked around a swim centre in a three-piece suit. The following week, I signed on the dotted line.

 

I would reluctantly suffer through the occasional weights session, and join in the odd spin class when time allowed, but it was to the pool that I was drawn most regularly. A few months after I had signed my life away, I was nursing a particularly annoying calf strain. Adjacent to the pool, secreted away in a remote corner of the facility, was a wooden door behind which was the sauna. Surmising that the heat of the sauna might assist my ailment, one afternoon I yanked open the door of the sauna – and crossed the threshold into a whole new world.

 

*

 

Their names were Al and Robbo, and they occupied the lower bench seat just inside the door. With bodies gnarled from years of manual work and legs bowed by innumerable seasons of cricket and footy, these two blokes were the Statler and Waldorf of the sauna. Reliving tales from their sporting prime, greeting every person with a sarcastic one-liner, and just generally taking the piss out of all and sundry. There were a bunch of other mostly make regulars who came and went, nearly all of them enablers of the Al and Robbo show.

 

Jimmy the painter always complained about how hard he worked, about how much his clients were screwing him over, and yet he was always in the sauna at 3pm. Jimmy was engaged in a perpetual battle with his girth, one he was destined never to win. He once moaned that he only had to walk past a pizza shop and he would gain three kilograms. Responded Al: “I could believe that you would gain three kilos walking past a pizza shop. But I just can’t believe that you would walk past a pizza shop without going in!” Cue roars of laughter from the bleachers.

 

Another time, Jimmy announced that he had been on a diet, and that he lost “a few pounds”. Robbo answered back, incredulous: “Lost a few pounds? I was just about to ask you when the baby is due!” Cue more hoots of laughter.

 

Personal problems were rarely discussed. But one evening Jimmy announced that he had been constipated for a few days. “I thought you looked a bit full in the face,” was Robbo’s wry response. Even the two elderly Vietnamese women, whom everyone assumed could not understand English, laughed long and hard at this.

 

*

 

I couldn’t explain why, but physically and mentally I enjoyed visiting the sauna immensely. In those rare moments when I found myself alone, or with others who also valued silence, it was a place of contemplation and meditation. And when the regulars were holding court, it was a fount of mirth.

 

I always felt better afterwards.

 

*

 

‘Management’ was the catch-all catch-cry used by everyone when griping about some issue or other at the centre. When it came to the sauna, ‘management’ was to blame for it not being hot enough, not clean enough, not supplying enough eucalyptus oil, or not being strict enough on interlopers using the room when they clearly were not members. ‘Management’ always needed to lift its game. I thought back to Nick, the only ‘manager’ to whom I had ever spoken. The lifeguards and front-desk girls were all kids still in their teens. ‘Management’ once placed a suggestion box in the foyer, but it took only a few days to be full to overflowing. Somewhere in a back office there could well be someone sifting through all the complaints.

 

After weeks of rumours, ‘management’ one day announced that the centre would be undergoing a major renovation, and that the sauna would be closed for quite some time. Of course, the construction took months longer than planned, and the closure dragged on. When the centre re-opened, there was a brand new pool. But the cedar-lined sauna room was no more. In its place was a larger, glass-walled steam room, its occupants no longer anonymous. “We are like animals in a zoo,” Robbo declared, blissfully unaware of the truth in his comment.

 

“Management’ also announced that membership fees would have to increase. But so many of the old-time members protested, with threats of leaving the centre, that a compromise was reached. Existing members would be renamed ‘foundation’ members and ‘grandfathered’ – that is, we would continue to pay our existing subs. New members would be the ones slugged. My $20 per month rort was safe.

 

*

 

‘Management’ had had enough of patrons pouring water on the steam room thermostat. A sign was affixed to the door: “Those who tamper with the thermostat will have their membership suspended. Regards, Management”. The ‘tampering’ continued. Another sign appeared: “Those who tamper with the thermostat will be permanently expelled from the facility. Regards, Management”.

 

I won’t quickly forget the sound of the thud of old John’s head hitting the unforgivingly hard tiled surface. He had spent too long in the heat, had been severely dehydrated, and had passed out, toppling from the upper bench. The paramedics arrived quickly and reassured us that John would be ok, but we never saw him again. Not long after, a new sign appeared: “If you are over 65, do not enter the steam room if you do not have your doctor’s permission. Regards, Management”. It was a time of the signs. Al remarked “It looks like we will have to bring medical certificates now!”

 

*

 

On holiday in Hong Kong, the hotel at which my wife and I were staying had both a ‘sauna’ and a ‘steam room’ on the upper floors. For old time’s sake I ventured in to the sauna. I had the place to myself, until two Chinese men entered. Totally naked. They shook hands with me. And wanted to strike up a conversation. Clad in only a pair of board-shorts, I suddenly felt uncomfortably overdressed. I quickly saw myself out.

 

*

 

Her name was Alice, she was statuesque, and she was wearing a sheer white one-piece bathing suit which left nothing to the imagination. Her face had a ring of familiarity, but I couldn’t place her. When she opened the door and entered the steam room, the garrulous tongues of the evening crew were suddenly struck dumb. She sat down in the only vacant space and, sensing that she was the reason for the silence, said “Guys, just carry on as if I am not here”. As quick as a flash, Thommo responded “My dear, when you walk in here looking like that, I am afraid that is an impossible request!” She had a sense of humour. It transpired that she was an actress. She was doing a little research, as there was a sauna scene in her next role. After a minute or two, normal service was resumed. When she got up to leave, Al asked her: “Was the research assignment a success?” Alice almost purred. “You have no idea how successful”. Everyone watched her sashay out the door. When it closed behind her, had a pin dropped at that moment it would have sounded like a bomb.

 

*

 

Its name was Covid-19, and it changed everything. The centre was shuttered. It was two years between visits for me. When the pandemic was done, the process of transitioning back to normality was stuttering and hesitant. A cough or sneeze in the gym was met with suspicion, failure to wipe down equipment was a mortal sin. In the steam room, people no longer crammed in together so closely. Robbo and Al, and several of the other older regulars, never returned. According to Charlie, who kept in contact with many of them, they were all concerned about getting sick. The steam room just hasn’t been the same since.

 

Recently, I learnt through Charlie that Robbo had been diagnosed with a severe and incurable form of cancer. He has only months to live. My next session in the steam room was much more contemplative than usual.

 

*

 

Nick, the young manager, disappeared not long after he talked me into joining. I occasionally wonder what became of him, and if he found his true calling. I would love to tell him that more than two decades later, my bank account is still being deducted only $20 per month for the privilege that he afforded me. I call that a “win-win”. Maaate!

 

 

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