MAKE ME SWEAT LIKE THE STARS : TRAINER OF CINDY, REGIS AND JFK JR. TAKES TOUGH-LOVE APPROACH TO FITNESS.

Byline: Lisa Lytle Orange County Register

``I want a butt and thighs like Cindy's,'' I declared to Radu Teodorescu when I met him for a one-on-one private workout at a West Hollywood hotel gym.

Radu - no last name, please - is the trainer credited with Cindy Crawford's awesome tush and thighs, Regis Philbin's killer abs and John F. Kennedy Jr.'s perfect pecs. It says so in his book ``Radu's Simply Fit'' (Cader; $18).

Radu - it rhymes with the name of the bottled pasta sauce - came to America from Romania in 1972. Over the past two decades, he has become one of the best-known trainers, appearing in Crawford's exercise videos.

Fame has led to fortune: Radu charges $175 an hour. If you purchase a set of 10 classes, it's $150 an hour. In the pay scale of personal coaches, he's up there in the major stratosphere.

Today, I can suspend reality and pretend I'm one of his celeb clients.

His eyes clinically assessing my physique, he beams and says, ``I don't think that's necessary,'' in reply to my desire to have a supermodel-fit tush and thighs.

Uh-oh. So this is the love part of Radu's famous tough-love exercise: buttering me up and making me feel good even as he's getting ready to torture me. It must be extremely effective if Cindy keeps coming back for more.

I'm not a wimp when it comes to exercise, but Radu has a rep for being the consummate taskmaster.

He asks me what I do for exercise and I tell him I spend 30 minutes a day running or an hour dancing in a major hip-hop class and another hour three times a week lifting weights.

Lest he push me too hard, I quickly add that I lack flexibility in my hamstrings (the muscles along the backs of my thighs) and lower back.

He perks up, as if he has recognized his mission.

``We will work on that,'' he says.

He counts off briskly, making me do warm-up exercises I haven't done since elementary school. He has me stretch my limbs.

We are going to do Cindy's ``playing.'' Radu doesn't like to call exercise a workout. He doesn't like the word ``work.'' He tells me exercise should be close to the natural movement of the body and as simple as child's play.

He pulls one of the exercise machines close to me and has me grab the seat for support. He demonstrates the move. I'm supposed to swing my foot front and kick it back. I call it the horsey move. Then he makes me swing my leg in front of me from left to right like a pendulum. I'm trying to make my movements controlled and graceful. But he's still counting fast. And he wants me to actually hit his palm. Jean-Claude Van Damme, I'm not. ``Higher!'' he urges. ``Higher!''

By this time, I'm past glowing - I'm sweating buckets. I think: Does Cindy still look great when she's pouring perspiration like this?

But there's no time to think of the answer. Radu is on to the next exercise. He gets a big towel, spreads it on the mat and tells me to lie down.

Following his instructions for an exercise made for firming the derriere, I lie on my back with my knees bent. Radu pushes his hands against my pelvis to create resistance, while I try to lift my butt off the ground for a count of 10.

It's a hard exercise, but I think I'm doing well. Radu seems to think so, too. He's very encouraging. Every now and then, he says, ``That's it, darling. Good.'' There's only one way to describe his tone: It's professional without being stern. And it's not overdone, either. All I know is that it works for me.

Radu puts his arms on my thighs and tells me to bring my thighs together in what's called adduction. Owww. I've done this exercise on a machine, but with human pressure, it's tougher. By count eight, I've slowed down and my knees can barely touch each other.

Then comes the good part. Radu has me curl up in a fetal position with my back to the floor and he applies his weight on my legs to stretch my hamstrings. I breathe out. Whoosh. Ahhh, that feels so good. I think: Rest time. Water. Sleep?

Nope.

I do two more sets of pelvic thrusts, leg presses, adductions. I'm drenched.

Now, it's time for abdominal work - 10 counts of variations of the sit-up, and crunches for my obliques. Owww.

Radu tells me to get up from the mat. He takes the towel and gently dabs off the sweat from my back and arms. Wow! I feel pampered.

Do I get a break? Not! He immediately remembers my lack of flexibility and my running.

He starts the treadmill. He presses the speed button until the belt runs at 7 mph. I'm thinking: Are you out of your mind? But I don't say anything. He tells me to grab the front bar and straddle the belt of the treadmill. ``When I say go, get on the treadmill,'' he says. He prepares his stopwatch. ``Ready, go.'' I plant my feet on the treadmill and start running. ``Open your stride. Wider. Wider.''

After 20 seconds, I get off the machine. He presses the speed button. It's 8 mph. Oh, boy. I'm in trouble. I repeat the exercise and I'm running as hard as I can. ``Open your stride. Your feet should hit lightly. Pum-pum-pum-pum.'' I comply. ``That's it. Wider. Wider. That's it, darling. Perfect.''

We head to the tennis court on the roof, where Radu tells me to run around the court. Then he tells me to run lightly, hands in front of me, palms facing down, with my knees reaching up to touch the palms. It's hard. It feels way geeky. Eeek.

``So, Radu, what's this supposed to do for me?'' I say as I prance around.

``It stretches your hamstrings, makes your stride wider and will help you become faster.''

``Oh, OK.''

I do it a few more times. The California sun never felt hotter.

``Can I have a drink of water?''

``No. Just put water in your mouth and spit it out. Don't swallow. You'll get nauseous.''

I head to the water fountain. I'm tempted to disobey. But Master Radu is watching. I don't drink.

He tells me to skip around the court, pushing myself off the ground in high, wide strides. He instructs me to skip backward, then stride backward.

This feels like P.E. - only harder.

And always, Radu offers a verbal pat on the back when I do it right. Very Pavlovian. ``Good. That's it, darling. Perfect.'' When it looks like I'm having a hard time, he asks if I'm all right. And always with the delightful Zsa Zsa/Arnold inflection.

I'm out of breath. We've long passed the hour mark.

We go back to the gym, where I'm about to become the human pretzel. Radu makes me move, twist and place my limbs in the positions that stretch my thigh muscles. He adds pressure with his palms. I feel slight twinges of pain. Whoosh. I breathe out. Relax, Lisa, I say to myself.

I'll never make it as a contortionist for Cirque du Soleil.

``You're right. You really have tight hamstrings,'' he said.

After all the twisting and pushing, I am virtually putty - soft, mushy putty.

Radu is not finished with me.

He lifts me on his back, stretching me in the process. Then he gently shakes me, loosening every piece of me. Ohhhhh. That feels really good.

Tough love? You bet. No wonder Cindy is hooked.

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Photo

Photo: Personal trainer Radu Teodorescu, whose clients incl ude Cindy Crawford, helps reporter Lisa Lytle work her oblique abdominal muscles.

Ygnacio Nanetti/Orange County Register