For more information
about Tae-Bo, visit www.taebo.com.
It was a legendary late-night infomercial that launched
the Tae-Bo craze. In the months since it first aired, the
madness over champion martial artist Billy Blanks' video
workout has permeated daily life. Conversations about the
famous cardio-kickboxing tapes crop up around water coolers,
on the bus, at parties. A Southeast Portland Walgreens sign
currently boasts, "We have Tae-Bo tapes." Blanks has even
appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show.
Until a few months ago, only members of Blanks' L.A. gym
were obsessed with Tae-Bo. The term is Blanks' twist on
"tae," the Korean word for "trample." Now Americans who've
never set foot in an aerobics class are buying the tapes
by the truckload, frantically dialing the toll-free number
and running out to Fred Meyer stores to get their soon-to-be-punching
hands on them. The Tae-Bo Web site features testimonials
from Hollywood stars like Carmen Electra, Brooke Shields
and Shaquille O'Neal. Letters from ecstatic fans flood the
site, and a message board provides a forum for discussion
of all things Tae-Bo.
So what's the big deal? Is Tae-Bo just glorified aerobics?
Is it really such a mind-blowing, body-buffing workout?
I decided to find out firsthand.
Since the videos are expensive (the full library of four
tapes runs $58.95), I decided to rent them. But nearly every
store I called was either out of the tapes or had stopped
renting them because customers had kept them until they
were long overdue and worn out. I finally tracked down the
two-tape beginner set--an instructional video and basic
workout tape--at a Northeast Portland Hollywood Video.
I popped in the instructional video, eager to learn the
secrets behind those punches and waist-high side kicks.
Frantic electronic music set the pace as spandex-clad bodies
kicked and jabbed through a smoky haze. Then Blanks appeared,
head shaved and biceps bulging out of bright-yellow spandex,
with a couple of perky, fit women behind him. After a few
minutes of straightforward, gentle stretching to loosen
up the hamstrings and neck, I learned basic punches--jabs,
crosses, hooks, uppercuts--while Blanks reminded me to keep
my elbows in, visualize my opponent and never fully extend
my arms. No sweat.
Then it was on to kicks. The basic karate side kick I'd
come to equate with Tae-Bo turned out to be tougher than
it looked. While the agile bodies on my TV screen had no
problem lifting one leg above the waist and extending it
sideways, I almost lost my balance every time I tried the
move. Fortunately, our fearless leader demonstrated how
to use the back of a chair for support. After a brief cool-down
of simple breathing techniques and more light stretching,
I was ready to move on to the basic workout.
Following the familiar disco-style intro, Blanks appeared
in a shiny blue bodysuit--appropriate for the fitness superhero
he has become--with 10 students (including a fella this
time) behind him, in formation like geese. Five minutes
of gentle stretching preceded sets of moderate and double-time
hooks, followed by jabs, uppercuts and kicks.
Soon we were focusing on speed-bag punches, which seemed
easy enough until we moved into the double-time sets. Flailing
my fists frantically, one over the other in a circular motion,
I worried that I might accidentally punch myself in the
face. The blaring pseudo-ska music didn't help my concentration.
Yet all the while Blanks was there to reassure me with messages
like "good job" and "If you need to stop, go get a drink
of water, come back and get back into the groove." His friendly
encouragement made it easy to see why people gravitate toward
this gentle giant. Twenty minutes after the start of the
routine, we were cooling down. He ended with a bow, saying,
"See you next time."
I wasn't exhausted, but my heart had been pumping pretty
hard for a good 10 minutes, and the next day my gluteus
and hamstrings felt a little sore. After a few more days
of living-room Tae-Bo, my double-time punches and combo
moves were becoming more fluid, and punching a fake opponent
was actually sort of fun. I felt tough.
Since the Tae-Bo craze began, the number of cardio-kickboxing
classes at local gyms has increased dramatically. According
to Valerie Stegall, a trainer at the Multnomah Athletic
Club, Tae-Bo is a combination of kickboxing and aerobics--with
music, a fancy name and a highly respected creator. Stegall
thinks it's a fabulous workout but stresses that the moves
should be modified to each person's ability. She also points
out that the dramatic results Tae-Bo disciples boast of
can result from any change in one's fitness routine. "Just
like any craze, it's going to show results because it's
working different muscles," she explains.
Kudra Khan, a kickboxing instructor at 24 Hour Fitness,
has a theory about the rampant spread of Tae-Bo. Unlike
traditional aerobics programs such as Jazzercise, Tae-Bo
and its offshoots emphasize punches, streamlined kicks and
stretches--much more appealing to men than the dorky moves
featured in so many pastel-leotard programs of the '80s.
The Tae-Bo phenomenon is probably due to a combination
of factors: the power of infomercials; the current popularity
of eastern philosophies, which the name conjures; Blanks'
winning personality; and the appeal of something new to
our short attention spans. Whatever the case, if it inspires
couch dwellers to get on their feet and move around, more
power (and bucks) to Blanks. Of course, fitness fads come
and go, so if you don't feel like dropping the dough for
the tapes right now, wait a year or two and look for them
used. You'll find them at thrift stores, right next to Abs
of Steel, Jane Fonda's Complete Workout
and the Soloflex and Nordic Track machines.
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Willamette Week | originally
published May 5, 1999
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