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We discoed through the ‘70s and break-danced through the ‘80s, but nothing could have gotten us in shape for hip-hop. This latest movement craze will burn every calorie in sight and zero out a week’s worth of stress in an hour--perfect for the over-scheduled-again ‘90s. No wonder at least one class in hip-hop is so popular you have to make a same-day reservation, in person, to get in.

That would be Street Jam, where scores of L.A. yuppies flood Voight Fitness and Dance Center in West Hollywood to hop their hips away. At the front of the 60-member class is Christophe Toledo, 30, with his pony tail flapping and his shiny black Doc Martens spitting sparks from the dance floor. Instead of sit-ups and pulse checks, Toledo puts his people through moves with names like RoboCop, Cabbage Patch and Roger Rabbit--the stuff of M. C. Hammer and Bobby Brown. You flip, you flop, you fly and funk to ceaseless groin-grinding music until you think there is a good chance your heart will explode. Then you look at Toledo, who has barely broken a sweat. This is a man who has been dancing all his life. “We had no money when I was growing up,” he says. “But we had a nice stereo.” Six years ago, he began teaching fitness at places like Club Med, translating the lock-pop-and-swivel steps of break-dance and those of its slower-evolving cousin, hip-hop, into moves even a nerd can handle.

But can a white-bread boomer from the ‘burbs ever look cool doing the Running Man? “When people are just trying to remember the steps,” Toledo says, “they look horrible. But once they start feeling the music, they look 100% better. In street dance, there are no rules. You can’t do it wrong.”

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Easy for him to say. Toledo teaches at least one class a day, and coaches some folks individually. His main ambition (after “to dance with Michael Jackson”) is to be a choreographer--he has already done some work for videos and a few movies. Seems the logical next step. With people like Cornelia Guest lining up for private lessons and an agent at ICM who calls him , Toledo may be only a hip-hop away from the Big Time.

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