Wherever You Go . . . -- Tae-Bo -- Workout Craze's Founder Billy Blanks Draws Crowd Of Adoring Women, Girls For Exercise, Autographs

Oprah does it. Sinbad does it. "Baywatch's" Carmen Electra and Shaquille O'Neal do it. So the masses have decided they'd like to do it too, buying millions of copies of Tae-Bo master Billy Blanks' workout tapes - and placing the high-kicking exercise videos at the top of the best-seller lists.

I saw the prophet this weekend in Seattle. I joined the pilgrimage of women, gurgling babies, teenage girls and a smattering of men, all eagerly waiting to see him.

"Bill-y, Bill-y, Bill-y, Bill-y!"

This happened to be one of the hottest events at the Northwest Women's Show at the Washington State Convention and Trade Center - and it was all about Tae-Bo, a blend of tae kwan do, kick boxing and aerobics set to high-energy Nintendo-64 music.

Several hundred battled Saturday-afternoon traffic and parking in downtown Seattle to catch a glimpse of the man who has changed their lives "from the inside out." If you've been up late at night munching Chee-tos on your couch, channel surfing, you've seen Blanks' friendly face and rippling brown body promoting his fitness program.

He told you to believe.

And you did.

The young, slightly stocky man next to me said he was won over immediately after seeing Blanks' infomercial. Tae-Bo has infiltrated every corner of his life.

"I don't know what it was," said Sam Haugen, a 25-year-old salesman at Costco, who passes Blanks' image all day as his tapes play continuously over the store's TV monitors. "Just by the way it

was presented on TV - it looked like it would be good, and it is. My energy level is higher than when I used to work out at the gym four days a week. I feel great."

Squeezing among the crowd, I gather similar testimonials about Tae-Bo and Blanks - the star du jour who has recently appeared on "Oprah" and "ER."

I must admit that I'm not totally sold on the cult of Tae-Bo. Since high school, when my otherwise idyllic youth was ruined by Jane Fonda and her nonfat, thonged crew, I've been wary of any sweating, bobbing, overly muscled exercise guru yelling "Just one more."

These days, it's been nothing but Tae-Bo this and Tae-Bo that. Instead of renting a good flick, people are getting together on Friday nights to exercise with Billy Blanks. Even one Seattle church has organized a regular Tae-Bo social.

When I first viewed the four-tape set, I wasn't ready to give in to Tae-Bo. Reclining before the TV, a friend and I critiqued Blanks' crew of hard bodies, while dining on Thai food and later puffing away on our smokes.

At one pivotal moment, Blanks smiled at me, and I smiled back. The epiphany came: Billy Blanks, unlike Fonda, is nice. "Need to get some water? Take a break? Go ahead, we'll be here when you come back," Blanks says on the video. "Just don't quit." Jane never bothered to ask.

Sure, it's still about tight abs and rock-hard buttocks, but Blanks has somehow managed to package these Venice Beach goals with a spiritual message for the hungry soul. And that's what fuels the enthusiasm of his followers.

After all, he is one of us, a true American hero who has risen above the barriers of his humble roots, or so his promotional material tells us. Blanks, "born the fourth of 15 children to a hard-working but poor African-American couple," struggled with dyslexia and overcame some vaguely described hip problem to become a renowned martial-arts champion, earn recognition as a boxer and star in several martial-arts films. If he can do it . . .

After giving a demonstration with several audience members and Debbie, a compact, well-muscled blond instructor from his Sherman Oaks, Calif., gym, Blanks paced the stage talking about free will, desire and an inner change that can result in a smaller dress size.

Religious tone

"Hold on to what you believe," he said, as many in the crowd nodded to themselves. One woman couldn't resist touching his sneaker. "Where there's a will there's a way . . . Your body is the temple of God," he said, giving thanks to the Lord all in the same breath.

The word has even reached 2 1/2-year-old Blake McKinnon, who watched from his mom's shoulders. Blanks' informercials fascinate the toddler, says his mother Cynthia McKinnon, who isn't a Tae-Bo practitioner. Blake cries when the commercials go off the air. During the traffic-congested drive to the show, an impatient Blake urged, "Hurry . . . Mommy . . . Tae-Bo."

Most of the Tae-Bo converts at this gathering happen to be women, which is no surprise. Blanks may talk about saddle bags, but he also talks about how Tae-Bo empowers women. Jabbing, kicking, getting in a few throaty "hiyahs," offers these women of the '90s self-confidence, strength and self-protection, he says. (Besides, women like to dance, he told me just before the show.)

Discusses Tae-Bo's influence

Denise Mueller, coveting her spot near the front of the autograph line, briefly took her eyes away from Blanks to muse about how Tae-Bo entered her life.

"There was a spirit in him, about what he said that made me want to buy the video," said Mueller, a 50-year-old executive secretary, who noted that Blanks seems to hold Christian beliefs similar to her own. " . . . It was the Lord's spirit that made me drawn to him."

Skeptics predict the Tae-Bo craze may fade like other fitness fads. And some health professionals warn that overly enthusiastic Tae-Bo followers can sustain elbow and knee injuries if they're not careful. But that doesn't deter fans like Francine Hobgood, a Nordstrom employee.

"I cannot look perfect. I am chubby," Hobgood said, large soda in hand. "But I'm going to do as much as I can. If I can listen to some music and keep moving, then to hell with them. Go Billy Blanks. He's off the hook."