That's why you shouldn't do sport

What you won't find in France One of the books I am reading for class is called Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik, and is a collection of travel anecdotes by a journalist who spent a year in Paris with his wife and child. One of my favorite chapters is entitled “The Rules of the Sport” and is about the author’s attempts to find and attend a gym in Paris. This is a common concern for many NYU students, and one that does not have an easy solution and demonstrates one of the major differences between American (particularly New York) and French attitudes.
Gopnik, in his search for a gym, is constantly met by surprise and confusion when asking friends for advice. And when he does find a gym, the “rigorous” subscription is for once a week, and the pristinely manicured woman in a tracksuit behind the desk is forced to negotiate a price for an unlimited number of visits. At first, the gym is under construction and there aren’t any machines yet. Then, he must pass an oral exam with a “professeur” before touching the machines. Then, must have a walk through of how to use the machines with another “professeur”. And finally, he is allowed to work out. But when he asks for a towel, he is told that they have not been purchased yet, but they are “envisaged”.
The French have a very different attitude towards exercise. Since I have begun running, it has occurred to me even more. After the first time I went for a run, I was sore, and casually mentioned it to a coworker to explain why I was making funny faces when sitting down and standing up, and her only response was, “That’s why it’s better not to do sport.” When I bumped into my host mom all red and sweaty, she asked surprised, “You went jogging? Where did you go?” and when I told her my route, she was taken aback, “But that’s kilometers away!”
I suppose the cultural incomprehension of the New Yorker’s compulsive need for exercise isn’t so shocking, unless you consider the amount of calories in the average French dish. Everything is covered is cheese, butter, and fatty little pieces of ham called “lardons”, no need to explain that one. And yet, everyone is skinny. Chocolate is considered a necessary part of any well-rounded breakfast, every salad has cheese, and yet French women remain slim without feeling the need to hit the gym.
Gopnik has a peculiar way of explaining the French contempt for exercise. He has a theory that the French get the same rush out of battling French bureaucracy as New Yorkers get from a good workout. He says, “Three or four days a week you’re given something to do that is time-consuming, takes you out of yourself, is mildly painful, forces you into close proximity with strangers, and ends, usually, with a surprising rush of exhilaration: ‘Hey, I did it.’” But even if the French prefer the mental and paperwork workout to the sweaty and muscly one, it still leaves me wondering what melts away those calories in the bodies of French women who feel no shame in eating tarts, candies, and crème brulée. Certainly, the French attitude did not have the same effect on my hips.