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First there was the sauna, which I loved. A small building with a stove inside to make you sweat seemed perfect for the middle of winter, when the priority was getting warm. I felt my sinuses clear from the sauna heat, and that alone is enough of a health benefit for me – I have a toddler, so I basically have permanent congestion thanks to winter daycare germs.
Then came the hard part. After the saunas heated to about 180F (80C), walking outside was a relief. But I had to amp myself up to descend a step ladder into the ice, and I was pretty sure I would hate it.
It was a cold January day in Minnesota, and the idea of purposefully stepping into a frozen lake rather than ending up there by unfortunate accident defied my upbringing in frigid North Dakota. There, my typical winter mode had been simply to survive.
Oh no, I thought as I dipped into the icy hole, wearing a bathing suit, winter hat and wool socks. I like this. Am I going to have to change my personality?
I felt strangely serene, despite the people beside me grunting and yelling through the discomfort. I wasn’t shaking. My mind was pleasantly blank. I stayed in the cold water for about two minutes, far beyond the 30 seconds our host suggested for a first-time plunge.
I had returned to the upper midwest in late 2023 after a decade living in the south-western desert heat of Phoenix, Arizona. I wanted to embrace winter – and the growing sauna culture of my new home state of Minnesota, often unofficially dubbed the “sauna capital” of the US.
“These claims are kind of tricky because they show a little bit of pride or arrogance,” said Glenn Auerbach, the founder of SaunaTimes, a sauna-dedicated website, and the author of a book on how to build your own sauna. “But yeah, I would say that we are leading the charge by several measures.”
Minnesota’s cultural heritage, climate and topography lend themselves well to saunas. The area gets very cold and snowy in the winters. A typical January, the coldest month, sees high temperatures in the mid-20s Fahrenheit; days where the temperature never goes above 0F (-18C) aren’t unusual. The state counts more than 10,000 lakes, perfect for icy plunging after a sauna warm-up. In the late 1800s, the state saw a wave of Scandinavian settlers, who brought their home countries’ penchant for saunas with them – especially the Finnish.
“A lot of times they would build their sauna first, before they would even build their home,” said Jessica Nelson-Roehl, operations manager at 612 Sauna, a mobile sauna cooperative. “The sauna was a place where they would go to bathe and be with each other. Some people even birthed children in the sauna.”
Saunas are growing in popularity in the US and worldwide, with industry reports showing strong projections. Some attribute this to a post-lockdown need for community, and studies have also given scientific backing to claims of improved heart health and circulation.
When my husband and I looked for houses in the Minneapolis area, I noticed many had saunas in the basement, and realized they must be relatively common. Would I become a sauna person?
“I always say, a good sauna is like a candle that lights another candle, and when you experience it, you want it for yourself,” Auerbach said.
The hot part of saunas makes a lot of sense in this climate – it’s cold and snowy, and people need to get warm. But, sauna enthusiasts say, the best experience with the most health benefits also incorporates a cold plunge into a lake or pool, rolling in the snow or dumping cold water on yourself.
This part was a much harder sell for me.
I wanted to try a few different types of saunas and plunges. Mobile saunas, where you can rent out a spot on the bench, provided an easy starting point. I brought friends and family along to sit on wooden benches throughout the metro area, ditching our phones to decompress in extreme heat. Minnesotans are often insular, not especially chatty with strangers. But in the saunas, I found people more talkative, the forced proximity sans screens almost requiring them to engage with others. This is an ideal hobby for a person who likes to yap.
“Sauna is a great way to connect with other people without needing to go out to eat or go to a bar or drink,” Nelson-Roehl said. “It’s a really nice way to take care of yourself and still be in community and have that social aspect.”
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I left one sauna thinking my vision had gone blurry. There is a danger, especially if you’re new to saunas, of overdoing it and dehydrating yourself. Auerbach said time limits can vary from five to 20 minutes a round, but the key is to tune into your body’s core and listen to it. In my case, though, it was actually my glasses that had gone hazy. The extreme temperatures can melt the anti-glare coatings on prescription lenses, called “crazing”. When I called my eye doctor to order replacements, they said it happens mostly in saunas and to professional chefs.
Searching for other sauna opportunities, I found Minneapolis’s Great Northern winter festival boasted a “sauna village”, where I tested a dozen or so varieties among other newbies and “sauna bros” competing to see who could stand the hottest temperature longest. One sauna was minimal and sleek, while others resembled cabins or barrels. The most dedicated sauna-goers wore bell-shaped hats to protect their hair or keep their heads or ears from getting overheated.
That first cold plunge took place at Sauna Camp, set at a lakeside summer camp site. Someone had rented out a private sauna beside us for a birthday party, the hosts said, and we later heard a chorused “Happy birthday”. It was a sign of saunas’ cultural relevance here, “like getting married on a golf course in Arizona”, my husband joked when I told him about it later.
I was starting to become a sauna person, digging the vibe and understanding the appeal pretty quickly. The physical therapist Craig Ringsven was another easy convert. Ringsven’s hours were cut during the pandemic, so he spent more time at home. He had used saunas in northern Minnesota and decided to build out his backyard. A koi pond tank became a cold plunge, and he added a barrel-shaped sauna beside his detached garage. A yurt with a fire burning inside provided a relaxation area.
After friends and acquaintances clamored to use this backyard oasis, it became a business, the Nordic Nook. Ringsven said it was eventually shut down by the city of Golden Valley, where he lives, because home-based businesses need to be entirely inside a home. But he hopes it can reopen someday.
He invited me to check it out. The private setting, among twinkling lights, proved perfect for date night. My husband, a lifelong Arizonan, said the blazing sauna heat reminded him of home – but only spent seven seconds in the cold plunge.
Ringsven had warned me that cold plunging can be addictive. “It’s alarming and shocking, but you go back right in the sauna, and you feel so dang invigorated and woken up. The more subsequent times you do it, the easier and easier it gets.”
That evening in Ringsven’s backyard, the temperature was frigid, in the single digits. The pond was 27F (-3C). I wanted to skip the plunge, but then I’d have to admit that I skipped it, so I went in. I managed about a minute before hopping out. My wool socks stuck to the cold ground as I beelined back into the sauna, icy but proud of myself.
I probably won’t be adding a sauna to my house any time soon, though I love being able to meet neighbors and be outdoors even when it’s freezing out. But I have to admit, maybe the biggest factor in me finally becoming a sauna person is the idea of being “good” at something, even if that something is staying calm in freezing cold water.
