Can I make some noise?

A visit to my local place of worship (feat. body percussion)

I was in the steam room at Aquarena, our new local aquatic centre. Not Aqua Arena, as I miscalled it for the first month after the move, but Aquarena, where the pool temperatures are hotter than a retirement village. Where you bathe until you prune because to swim would turn you into a sultana. I hang out in the steam room to make the water seem refreshing.

I had the tiled room all to myself, closed my eyes, *inhaled* the bleached air burned my nose hairs, when the door opened and in entered a man. He stood in front of the official Aquarena sign that demanded silence, and asked: can I make some noise?

Uuuuh, sure.

What was about to happen in this condensation rich roo– he thwacked his chest! And arms and back. Slapped his skin and flesh and cheeks. Drummed his aura, panel beat his soul, realigned his shakras. Outside, in the placid, foamy waters, the sweaty senior citizens had no idea what violence I witnessed. With each exertion droplets rained down from the ceiling. For two whole minutes. And then he stopped flagellating, thanked me, and left.

As the door opened and closed the cold rush of air was replaced by steam and silence. The man must have been, I don’t know, in his 50s. But he was lean… taut… kind of ripped. So once he left… I stood up and hit myself. A fleshy bongo drum compared to his laser show. An awkward Adonis to his Tai Chi cheerleader. A human dew drop on the sweaty road to self-improvement. The dawning of The Age of Aquarena.

Happy New Year everyone!

Big thank you to Nat Riley for smoothing out the sound (and the thwacks)