Here is my friend Josh, the fine fellow who wrote about Robbi and me in Slate last fall.

As you can tell, he’s a hip and happening urban guy. The east coast could not contain him. And so he moved to Los Angeles a few months back. But Josh recently had a birthday and was kind enough to return to New York for a few days so that those of us who fear California could properly celebrate him. The party was to be held at the Russian baths at 88 Fulton Street.

For years now, Josh has been trying to convince me to come take a “schvitz” with him, and for one reason or another, it has never happened. Last Sunday at three, I walked through the doorway pictured above, and everything changed. I left one version of my life and entered another.

For approximately six hours, I shuttled from one extreme to the next, sweating and freezing my poor confused body in rapid succession. Fifteen minutes in a 145 degree dry sauna was followed by approximately six seconds in a cold plunge which was followed by a cold shower (that felt hot in comparison to the cold plunge) which was followed by a half hour in a wet sauna in which people were beating on one another with eucalyptus branches. The cycle repeated endlessly, each phase punctuated with long conversations enhanced by the stimulating powers of heat. After bathing for hours (removing every conceivable toxin from our bodies in the process), we headed upstairs to the bath’s restaurant to eat some outstanding Russian food.

It was exhilarating and interesting and I now have yet another reason to be thankful that I do not live in New York.

I fear that I would never leave the baths.