The pelvic thrusts

Most days, I had the sauna to myself, getting reacquainted with the dry heat after months away.

One afternoon after my shift, I stepped inside to find people actually in there. I took the only remaining seat in a dark corner, noting the elderly woman sprawled out naked, as if she were basking on a nude beach. Skin like a shriveled prune, sagging breasts fully on display. The confidence was impressive, honestly.

Closed my eyes and pretended to be in the Caribbean. Aqua-blue waves lapping against soft white sand, toucans cawing, the scent of coconut oil. 

Then came the grunting.

Snapping my eyes open, the woman’s leg muscles were taught as she engaged in a series of pelvic thrusts — right there on the cedar bench. 

For a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. Then she did it again.

“Oh, hell no,” I erupted. “You are not doing that right now.” She gave a startled look, like she hadn’t realized I was there. Had she really thought she was alone? A defiant calmness settled over her, one that said she had no shame. She simply turned her head back to the center, closed her eyes, and inhaled, her belly rising. 

Another woman, who’d been sitting quietly, wrapped in a towel with her eyes closed, was now alert, gaping. We eyed each other, an incredulous laugh escaping from us at the same time. Clutching the cheap white towel to my chest, I laughed harder. Pushed open the heavy sauna door, cool breeze upon my skin, and walked to the locker room, hunched over in peals of laughter.

The “Sauna Lady” in Chicago. What would she have said? Would she have eyed the woman with pity, quietly grabbing her key before slinking off to the locker room? If she had the inclination to share any wisdom, she wouldn’t have interrupted another’s pelvic thrusts to do it, I can tell you that.

Her answer to everything was “Grab a soft-serve ice cream from McDonald’s, sit in the shadow of the Wrigley Building, and watch the world go by.” What redeeming qualities would she have found in L.A. Fitness — a suburban Mecca sandwiched between a Nordstrom Rack and a Chipotle? Would I have told her about being in withdrawal? Probably not.

Wouldn’t have had to.

She would have sensed the restlessness in me.

And her advice still stood.

Get the ice cream. McDonald’s soft-serve is where it’s at.