Trying to keep up

Adventuring rule #10: Some moments cannot be captured in photos. Be present. 

          For the restless participants of parkour and freerunning, the world is a playground. The neighborhood playground is a gymnasium. The gym is a practice hall, cushioned to protect the bodies and muscles they push to the limit.

     Walls are not barriers but launch pads. Trees work equally well. Cars are oversized matchbox toys suited for jumping into, out of and over. Solid brick and cement are springy mattresses. An average sidewalk is likely made of lava since their feet avoid it at all cost.
  
     They are men and women of a range of ages and experiences, all looking to move from point A to point B as simply, efficiently and effectively as possible using human strength. The freerunners among them will never pass up the opportunity for a showy trick.

            What they require is simple: energy and a place to go. No gear, no pads, no armor. More often the uniform is a pair of track pants and some running shoes. The shirt is optional. No one cares how you’re dressed when you’re trying to plan your own escape route. Doorways are too pedestrian for these modern ninjas who chose flight over fight. 

     Flexibility means fitting through a narrow gap in a railing at top speed. Strength means a series of back handsprings after swinging from a tree like Tarzan. Focus means a handstand on the corner of a parking garage roof during rush hour traffic in the city. Landing and rolling on cement is not a problem, though they wouldn’t say no to a lawn or a stretch of sand.

            How they move is practiced until it becomes muscle memory to leap and tuck and roll and run. Competition is not among the players. Instead, the obstacle is adapting one’s movements and momentum to the environment at hand. Severe injuries are rare while bruises and scrapes are considered the honorable cost of battle. 

     The challenges they undergo are taken seriously and progressively. Before any move is attempted, it’s imagined in the mind a thousand times. Somehow it is not a game, but a way of life. Why walk down the stairs when you can vault over them? Why walk up the stairs when there’s a wall and a pole to use instead? Who cares where they are going? All the fun is in how they get there.

David Belle, a founder of the discipline.

          Having dated a traceur for eight months and counting, I'm familiar with the jargon of the discipline.

     A roll is not a simple somersault; it serves to spread the impact of a fall into energy to stand and keep moving. A vault uses one hand to swing the legs and body over an obstacle while a kong employs both. Precisions move the body from one narrow line to another with no sways from overbalancing. A tic tac leaps from wall to wall while a cat helps the traceur cling to the very edge. Muscle ups pull the torso and legs up onto a wall or surface using only the arms. A successful butterfly twist is the most graceful flailing I've ever seen.
  
     For anything more specific, try Google to learn or to find these people. They are cropping up at gymnastics centers around the world.

      On Thursday, April 7, I was playing at the Rohnert Park Gymnastics Center, with two very tall boys and my good friend Allison, who is  not as tall. The entire gym smells of man sweat, emanating from an odd collection of mostly adolescent males. Some have a measure of gymnastics or martial arts training while others are beginners at every sport.

     If you ever try it, be prepared and follow instructions closely. While the room is basically an oversize padded cell in primary colors, there's always a way to hurt yourself. I still can't bend my toe properly.

        I'm passing at low level precisions, can occasionally manage a vault, and will do a somersault if there's something soft to catch me. But a point of frustration hit me during the lesson. I was drowning in inadequacy. I wanted to leave, wanted to hit things. When everyone around me seemed so coordinated, it was heartrending to struggle with and fail at something very simple.

     Fortunately, my friends are the patient kind and continually reminded me of a few truths. No one has any expectations of me beyond honest effort. I must remember to tuck my legs high enough to clear obstacles. Also must remember that my legs are longer than my arms.

     When all else fails, always remember that jumping on trampolines is the truest expression of joy.