Frankly, I think they’re bonkers. Some friends and I are seated in a sauna sweating our cheeks-to-cheeks off. It’s a cold, brittle day in Ramsvik, Sweden, and the oven-hot air inside here has that spicy cedar scent. My leg muscles, tight from a morning trail run, now go slack like molasses in the sun.
“You ready?” prods my friend Jim, motioning toward the sauna door.
