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Kick Some Boxing
By Bill Zahren
(Posted 03/13/99)

Popped down to the local YMCA last night. Bill's in the house! I'm all about baggy sweatpants and sweatshirt. No spandex for this boy. All business in the gym, baby. Got my new Nike's styling. Game face: on. Attitude set to "do not approach me" mode. Motto scrolled down to "Less talking, more exercising."

So I went upstairs to the weight room, where the real men stand around and talk about the NCAA tournament. My fellow iron brutes were lifting a few weights, talking about hunting, hockey, their pecs and taxes. All is well with the world.

I was about to get into full "glower" mode, designed to demonstrate my total muscle building intensity, when I heard the rhythmic thumpa-thumpa coming from the gym, adjacent to the weight room. I stuck my head in and almost got dropped like a bad habit by some woman in spandex. I shrank into the corner in fear. "It's the competition," my brain hissed. "They've found me. They've heard all my derogatory comments. Listened in on my indignant howling. My career station (cube) must be wired."

By the time I recovered my senses, I realized there were about 50 people doing the kicking and punching in unison. I hadn't walked into an ambush, but rather stuck my head right into the latest exercise rage -- cardio kick boxing.

That's what the Y calls it, anyway. You may know it as Tae-Bo. Number one-selling video on amazon.com, and brainchild of seven-time world martial arts champion Billy Blanks. (Order by clicking on the Amazon banner at the bottom of my home page and I get commission! Love ya!) It's a combination of kicks and punches and a bunch of other stuff that looks really good after some days at the office.

While I'm hearing, "We've got some changes to that copy that was supposed to be final two weeks ago" in my head as I snarl out three more arm-burning, pain-induced-flashes-of-random-color dumbbell curls, the kick boxers have similar thoughts while punching mid-air. Just don't stick your head into the gym while they're turning and kicking, you could lose a tooth, as I nearly found out.

A Y instructor named Stephanie led the class with typical aerobics instructor zeal. Black spandex, black baseball cap, little headset mike. Very athletic. Very striking. Stephanie and I have had a special relationship ever since I let her pinch my stomach fat. What you need to do if you start an exercise routine (besides walking around talking about "going to workout" like you're some kind of triathlete or something) is get your body fat measured. It's a better gauge of your fatness than a scale, since scales measure fat, muscle, bone and the whole enchilada. So, I made an appointment at the Y to get measured.

I knew that meant an appointment with the Fat Pinchers. Stephanie wielded "the calipers" which looks a lot more like "the pliers" when it's applied to some generous fold of fat. Steph grabbed my fat on the back of the arm, front of the thigh, hip and, my favorite, next to the belly button. Then she did the math and told me how much of me was useless flab. Let's just say Tae-Bo Billy Blanks has about one quarter of my body fat percentage and leave it at that.

I highly recommend a body fat test to everyone. And, if you can arrange to show your fat rolls to a very fit member of the opposite sex, it's just a bonus.

But, I've been going to the gym four or five times a week since Jan. 4 and ye little olde body fatte ain't as unsightly as it used to be, if you get my drift. And, after a really magical day at work, nothing beats barking out some capillary-popping bench presses. I just wish people wouldn't applaud when I'm done. It kind of distracts me.

Maybe I'll see you in the gym, Sparky. Bring your attitude.

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