Angelika As you may know, California is considered an absolute fitness hub. People here like to be health-conscious, which has not only led to smoking being banned almost everywhere and supermarket shelves being filled with "nonfat" (completely fat-free) or low-fat products, but also to fitness centers popping up like mushrooms. Michael, who is known to see himself as an "All Californian Boy," has been a member of a fitness center for a long time (Rundbrief 11/1999) and since then, he's been nagging me to do something for my health.

After months of persuasion, during which Michael didn't shy away from using psychological tricks--for example, I received a book titled "Fitness for Dummies" for Christmas and a voucher for a personal training session with Turbo Trainer Michael--I finally gave in and went with Michael to the 24-hour fitness center. Anyone who has known me since my early youth and knows how much I hate sports (especially any form of school sports) will mark this event in red on their calendar.

For those who haven't known me that long and need an idea of how much I am at odds with the concept of "sports," I'll quickly share a true story that took place during a report card conference in the eleventh grade, which I attended as class representative. When my grades were being discussed (strangely, I wasn't sent out of the room), they were puzzled by my only D on the report card. You guessed it right, it was in sports. This led my teacher, Mr. Pohl, known for his insensitive comments--he once called me a "poisonous tongue" (but I digress)--to remark that he was glad I apparently had more in my head than in my legs. This and a few other unpleasant experiences made me swear at a very young age never to participate in the Olympic Games or ever set foot in a fitness center.

But, you should never say "never," because for the past three weeks, I've been a member of a fitness club, running on treadmills, pedaling wildly on bikes, and stepping like there's no tomorrow. I also have personal training sessions because, as a sports grouch, I need guidance on how to use the equipment properly without ruining myself ("Sports is murder!"). The trainer ensures that I know how many muscles I have and how to strengthen them. But you don't need to worry and think I'll soon be coming along as Mrs. Schwarzenegger. I'd have to train daily for 10 years for that, and there's really no danger of that happening.

Even earlier today, we've already been to the fitness center, and as I was running on the treadmill and staring into the distance, a book suddenly came to mind that I once had to read in school (I seem to be reminiscing a lot lately). It was called "The Papalagi - The Speeches of the South Seas Chief Tuiavii from Tiavea" and it's about how this chief came to Europe at the beginning of the 20th century and marveled at and made fun of some of the achievements. I couldn't stop thinking about what remarks he would have made about a fitness center:

The Papalagi (as the chief refers to the European in his speeches) loves to exert himself in enclosed spaces which the sun cannot penetrate. He uses all sorts of things that resemble torture instruments. He forces himself into these machines and seems to seek pain, as his face is petrified and covered in beads of sweat. Although the Papalagi is otherwise very keen on getting from one place to another without using his own legs and feet, instead relying on various machines with strange names like automobile, airplane, escalator, elevator, he is completely enamored with the moving belts in the sunless houses that do not transport him from one place to another. It seems to bring him pure joy to keep his legs and feet in constant motion to stay on the belt. It is also puzzling that music, like that at festivals, plays from rectangular boxes, yet no one dances, drinks, eats, or speaks. No Papalagi nods in friendly connection to his neighbor but instead stares at other boxes from which smaller Papalagis flicker...

And since I'm already riding the fitness wave, I've also started doing yoga. My friend Anne was looking for a partner, and I didn't need much convincing. You know, yoga is the ancient Indian practice where you contort yourself into all sorts of possible and impossible body positions to strengthen the organs, stretch the muscles, and relax the body and mind. Proper breathing is also very important in yoga. There are now a ton of different styles and schools of yoga (I still don't quite understand them all). It's not just physical exercise; it's also very philosophical and has religious undertones. However, Anne and I were not so much interested in the latter, and since Americans are known for being very practical, there are, of course, courses everywhere that focus more on the fitness aspect of yoga. Interestingly, Madonna (for those of you not so familiar with the music scene: Madonna is an American pop singer) has contributed to a real yoga boom. Madonna has been swearing by yoga for quite some time and talks about it in every interview. I read on the internet that there are now supposedly more people practicing yoga actively in California than in India. I'm not sure if that's true, but it would fit with health-obsessed California.

What I actually wanted to tell you is that last week we couldn't attend our usual yoga class. Since there is now a yoga institute in our neighborhood that looks quite inviting from the outside and also offers so-called "drop-in classes" (classes you can attend without any prior registration) for $8, Anne and I decided to try it out. However, we were quite surprised when we entered the entrance area of the building and were surrounded by incense sticks, photos of Indian gurus, and votive candles. After we paid at the reception and the girl there also mentioned that our class would take place in the temple, we rolled our eyes a bit and were very glad to be together.

Nevertheless, we bravely climbed the stairs to the so-called temple, passing countless "guru pictures" along the way. Well, the whole thing continued in an esoteric style. Before we began our exercises, the yoga teacher first lit candles and then worshiped the guru picture that was set up like an altar in the room. When we also had to sing something like "Om, Om Shanti Shanti Shanti," and I could barely suppress a fit of laughter, I decided that this type of yoga wasn't quite right for me.

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• More topics you might be interested in:

  	New TV show "Survivor"
  	The Mobile Phone Plague
  	Foreigners
  	The Lassen National Park
  	Tips for Making Phone Calls
  	California Wine Tips
  	Earthquakes