Kristin McMurran
March 23, 1987 12:00 PM

Thump, thump, thump, thump. Hey gang! It’s the irrepressible Jake Steinfeld, the Brooklyn boy built like Bluto who shapes the likes of Bette Midler and Warren Beatty. With his biceps billowing from a taut T-shirt, Jake calls the count through a seven-minute series of stretches before barreling into a 30-minute torment that is best suited to anyone who looks back fondly at those invigorating days in boot camp. (“Breathe normally, none of that ch, ch, ch stuff,” Jake scoffs.) After working what he calls “those abadabados” to a pounding backup, Jake introduces his 12-minute calisthenics quickie: a breakneck montage of runs, squats, lunges and pushups, all seasoned with his numbing refrain: “You got it. You’re doin’ grrrreat!” In truth, most people are more likely to find themselves panting, perspiring and collapsed over a chair, wondering if Jake might not just be a trifle insincere. (MCA, $19.95)

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