I laid down on the cedar bench after being repeatedly hit with a tree branch, when my ex boyfriend walked in completely nude.
I know this sounds bizarre, but to be fair, I didn’t intend to end up here.
A dear friend gave me a new book to read called “Wintering”. It’s a story that follows a woman, from September through march, as she rediscovers the beauty of hibernation season. Sometime around December (or maybe January) she explains the importance of going to sauna (not going to “the sauna” – a very important distinction). She explains that in northern European countries, where saunas originated, it is a vital part of both enduring the cold and dark winter months, but also cultivating warmth within the community. In countries like Finland, EVERYONE goes to sauna. Even the poor have access to weekly sauna sessions. She goes into the rituals that accompany going to sauna, like getting smacked with the branches of a birch tree to stimulate circulation.
Thanks to this new book, going to sauna has been on my mind. When I descended the mountain from my solo sunset ski on Friday evening, I saw a streak of naked bodies run across the ski trail and into the typically cold, but now roaring hot, sauna and I thought “oh yeah, that’s exactly how I’m going to end this day.”
It turns out that two Estonian women were visiting the mountain and when they saw the sauna, they decided to build a fire and get it going. They even brought their own birch branches from home (why? I have no idea, but it was hella convenient) and by the time I entered, they had already been in there for hours. The one woman was kind enough to talk me into “the full treatment”, which involved me laying face down on the bench while she repeatedly smacked my body with a warm, wet birch branch. After I climbed to the highest bench to get the most out of the heat, the door opened and a skinny, naked ass, holding a pitcher of cold water, entered the small building and plopped down next to me.
I chuckled pretty hard at this. In January of 2021, I couldn’t even drive onto the ski lodge property without bursting into tears after being dumped. In January 2022, I would scowl at him until he turned on his heels and ran the other way. The phrase “if looks could kill” was never more appropriate. And in January 2023 we were sitting next to each other totally naked, while I did something I’ve done too many times before; reminding him of a conversation we had 24 hours earlier, that he didn’t remember because he was drunk.
At first, I felt the familiar wave of anger after always being less important, less impressionable than the alcohol. Then I remembered that it’s none of my damn business and not my fucking problem anymore. This put an incredible smile on my face and sealed the moment with an appreciation for how far I’ve come since our breakup.
I hope this story puts a smile on your face too, if for no other reason than the gratitude that it was not your ass sitting next to your naked ex.
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