The Piñon Sun Dance’s sweat lodge in Arizona was at the top of a hill, near where we parked our bus. Near sunset, a man called out that it was time for the male supporter’s sweat, this means that any male audience member was welcome to participate. The female supporter’s sweat had ended about a half hour before, and I had seen one woman flee, gasping for air. Having no idea what to expect, I asked our new friends Jeff and Brent if they had any advice for us first-timers.

A sweat lodge is a Native American version of a sauna that has a ceremony built around it that can last several hours. The tradition dates back centuries and is common among many Native American tribes.

“Tuck your head between your legs,” Brent said.

“Breathe slow and shallow,” Jeff said. “Bring in a towel and pack some dirt on your arms, legs, and chest. It’s good to have that extra layer between you and the heat. And if you need to, keep your face low to the ground where the air is cooler and easier to breathe.”

That advice didn’t exactly put me at ease. Nor did their casual mention of an incident the night before, in which another first-timer had blacked out and had to be pulled out.

Nonetheless, everyone on the bus agreed to take the plunge and give it a shot. We stripped down to only our shorts, grabbed some washcloths and towels, and headed into the diminutive canvas tent alongside our own.

About nine people were crammed in there, around a pit in the center. A bonfire burned outside, upon which rocks were mixed in with the lumber. A man with a pitchfork moved twelve of the hot stones from the fire to the pit in the sweat lodge, while one of the men in the lodge tossed cedar onto it. We motioned with our hands to bring the cedar towards us, blessing ourselves. It was already starting to get pretty sultry in there.

The elderly Navajo man who was leading the sweat asked if this was anyone’s first time. Only those of us from the bus raised our hands. He told us the Navajo word for if we wanted to leave, and reminded us that there was no shame in doing so if we felt we were going to pass out.

After the last of the hot stones had been placed in the pit, the man with the pitchfork brought in a bucket of water with sagebrush in it. The tent flap closed, plunging us all into total darkness.

Things started to get sweaty.