American Bandstand and a PSA.

Don't be disappointed, I am not writing about our national treasure, Dick Clark, once-host of the show American Bandstand. Instead, I'm writing about bands. Specifically, workout bands.

Note: I did a google news search and it appears that Mr. Clark has been out of the news as of late. So, I think it's safe to assume with a man of his age that no news is good news. (What a cutie, he is.)


Workout bands are dangerous.

That's me. No it's not. But that would be funny if it was.

I've always been a fan of the workout at home craze. It started when I was a kid and would pump.some.iron alongside my Mom and Jane Fonda in our living room. I leg kicked and chair dipped and did full-situps (because they were safe to do then) with the both of them.

Next, I was a huge fan of the, "Get in Shape, Girl" toys that were marketed to the then un-named marketing demographic now commonly known as, "'tweens". (Looking back, I'm somewhat bewildered as to why there wasn't a companion, "Get in shape, boy!" activity for boys in the same age demographic. Hello sexism.)

I digress.

When I was in about 7th grade, I saved up the money to buy an incredibly flattering black, wrestler-style unitard thing that I would faithfully put on each day after school so that I could workout alongside Cindy Crawford and her little, tiny trainer, Radu.

Ugh. I was so cool. Ask anyone who knew me in 7th and 8th grade. Cool was my middle name. (Not really. Ok, not at all.)

Throughout the years I've done it all:

Buns, arms and abs of STEEL with Tamilee Webb.

I've done The Firm.

Billy Blanks and I were even BFF's every morning when I'd get up to do Tae-Bo with him.

The entire year before my wedding and after it,  I would set my VCR to tape ("tape" actually means record to my generation) Lifetime's fitness guru, Denise Austin, as she'd take us on a journey to wherever she was working out that particular day: Maui, St. Thomas, or fancy Destin, FL. At six a.m. it was just Denise and I alone in my basement working out even through the commercials.

(In the mornings after my workout Craig would always ask, "So, where did you workout today?" I'd respond with, "We were in Antigua. It was gorgeous.")

I digress. Again.

Throughout the working out I've had all of the necessary accoutrements:

The step. (I've had two.)
Work out/yoga balls. (I've had two.)
And worst of all: resistance bands.

Omg, I hate resistance bands. (Specifically the ones without handles.)

On Monday night, our pilates instructor pulled them out for us to integrate into our workout on the reformer pilates bed and I cringed. Ugh, not the bands.

I'm afraid of the bands. Who wants to workout in an environment where you might snap yourself with a GIGANTIC rubber band? Boo. Pass.

I've never been able to use them without injuring myself.  Ever.

The theory behind them is admirable: these lightweight devices are "portable" and allow you to customize the level of resistance you need when doing virtually any exercise you want/need/are forced to do.


These bands are weapons.

Time and time again I've injured myself with them. Most recently, I was pregnant with Vivienne doing a pregnant-lady workout DVD that called for those wretched bands. I was lying on the floor with both feet straight out in front of me. The band was wound around my feet and I was holding either side of it. I was supposed to be raising my legs up and down. Some sort of ab-thing/core/leg thing.

Legs up. [I'm safe. The band is where it should be on my feet.]

Legs down. [I'm safe. But the band is moving a bit... let's keep an eye on this.]

Legs up again. [The band is slowly moving forward to my toes... oh no, it's going to snap off and smoke my face.]

Legs down. [I'm safe. It shifted. It seems to be where it should be.]

Legs up again. [Band snaps forward and pelts me in the head.]

I immediately throw the band to the side.

These things are dangerous.


When it comes to working out - it's amazing how many things we'll try in the name of good health.

However, I feel that as an almost 32-year-old (omg, when did that happen?) -- it's important to understand and respect my limitations and to campaign for what's right by implementing and creating public service announcements.

So here you have it.

All this was written just so you could read these words:

Don't use resistance bands.
They're just going to hurt you.

Don't believe me?
Fine. Take matters into your own hands. Just don't say I didn't warn you.


  1. totally forgot about Get in Shape, Girl - but i rocked that stuff. loved it.

    i am a HUGE proponent for banning resistance bands as well - even those with handles. when asked to use them for any workout video, i refuse. i never even gave them a chance to snap at me.

  2. BB loves my resistance band! He puts it around his waist, hands me or Billy the ends and then tries to walk away from us. Then he says, 'I'm exercising too!'. It's pretty cute!

  3. This made me laugh so hard and brought back so many memories. I've tried them all too.

    I actually snapped myself in the face with a resistance band at work once. We used to have a personal trainer come in at lunch and she would teach us exercises we could do at our desks. Because that's not weird at all to be doing chair sit-ups and leg lifts as people walk past your door. Ha. Anywho, I'm not sure how it happened, but it was awful. I've never used one since. They are dangerous!

  4. Bahaha! "Don't believe me? Fine..."

    I've never heard/seen a PSA end like that! Awesome.

    "This is your brain on drugs. Don't believe me? Fine!"


  5. Oh I Loooooooooooooooooooooove Turbo Fire. I do. She has a band. But it isn't bad. I HIGHLY recommend Turbo Fire because 90% is without the band.

    I still love The Firm although that step is WAY more detrimental than the band in my opinion. And whose bright idea was The Wave? Um, seriously? We just want to work out people!


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