Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

Parkour: We Ain’t Afraid Of No Concrete!

It's like watching a Bruce Lee movie, but without the ass kicking.

By Bob Wire, 11-13-09

  Rusty performing an
  Rusty performing an "underbar," where you, uh, go under a bar.

If you see a sweaty young guy sprinting past you downtown or on the University campus, jumping over trash cans and picnic tables and doing flips over concrete barriers or other architectural features, relax. He’s not a purse snatcher, he’s just practicing parkour.

Rusty’s latest obsession has Barb and me cringing in dread as we go online, double-checking our dental coverage and investigating the going rate for reconstructive plastic surgery. Parkour (French for “suck it, gravity”) is a cutting-edge sport that’s pretty much the same as free running (“because jogging won’t get me on MTV”), an urban athletic hipster trend that peaked when it was featured in some Sprite commercials a few years back.

The difference between parkour and free running, according to Rusty and the other traceurs (“trespassers”) who practice it, is this: Parkour is the art of getting from point A to point B as quickly and as efficiently as possible. Free running is moving in any way you feel, in a way that’s cool or looks good, but not necessarily focused on trying to get anywhere. Of course, the one thing in common between the two is that you’ll need special $100 shoes.

If you watch the video here, you’ll see that these people are quite clearly insane. Where a normal human being would use a handrail to help him or her walk down a set of stairs, a parkour enthusiast (“deranged pedestrian”) will fly through the air like Superman, grab the handrail, and swing under it like some playground gymnast with a Speedo full of red ants. Then he’ll fall two stories and immediately go into a roll when he hits the ground, dissipating the energy from the impact and avoiding several broken bones, not to mention a lacerated spleen. And he’ll do all this while holding a 44-ounce slurpee in one hand.

Now, I hate to put the kibosh on the boy’s exuberance, or stifle his physical activity in any way, but this parkour business is a lot riskier than rollerblading or riding a bike or other activities that normal kids with no death wish do. I mean, if a kid hits a cigarette butt in the sidewalk and his razor scooter goes out from under him, the injury will probably be minimal, even if he lands in a sticker bush. But what happens if a parkour runner snags a toe (“le ohshit”) during a kong-to-cat vault, and he hurls himself forward, reaching out to catch a brick wall with his face? It’s going to take more than a couple of Spongebob bandaids and a verse of “Baby Beluga” to patch him up. We’re talking LifeFlight (“beaucoup dinero”).

For a parent, it’s a real dilemma. When I was 15 or 16, my friends and I were in Southern California reinventing the sport of skateboarding. Not to brag, but I was a contemporary of the Z-Boys from Dogtown and we were skating empty pools, concrete sewer pipes, and any paved ramp we could find, blazing the trail for what skateboarding has become today: a huge fashion trend. My passion for skating drove a wedge between my dad and me, because he saw the whole thing as childish. Of course, that father-son conflict colored my shift into adulthood (which some would say is still in progress), and I don’t want to bring that onto Rusty.

But it’s different with parkour. It’s not childish, but it is downright risky. And the better he gets, the bigger the risks. We recently sat down as a family and watched a parkour special on MTV. It was Rusty’s big moment to show us the sport that he loves, a new sport the rest of us don’t understand. In the TV special, the world’s best parkour runners vaulted, leaped and ran their way through an “abandoned” warehouse in L.A. Fortunately, whoever had abandoned it had left behind plenty of thick gymnastic pads underneath all the parkour features. These guys were jumping roof to roof between four-story buildings, doing handstands on the edge of a precipice, and all kinds of stuff that made us squirm on the couch to just watch. The closest thing to protective gear they wore was a nose ring. There were a few on-camera injuries, including one fall that certainly would have caused a broken neck were it not for the padding on the floor.

Rather than inspire confidence in Rusty’s new passion, this special did the opposite. But after the show, we talked it over and came to the conclusion that Rusty and his gang weren’t jumping over the alley between buildings, they weren’t diving off of 12-foot-high chain link fences, and there was no $40,000 prize tempting them to risk their lives. So we decided not to stop him from pursuing parkour, but I know we’re playing Russian Roulette with this. It’s just a matter of time before one of his (mostly older) parkour brethren blows a move and cracks his melon on a retaining wall or something, and winds up looking like the victim of a curb stomping. We just hope it won’t be Rusty.

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Comments

By Marc Moss, 11-13-09
By Bob Wire, 11-13-09
By Coach Wags, 11-13-09
By Bryan Petersen of Missiouriparkour.com, 11-14-09
By Stumpy, 11-14-09
By jay, 11-15-09
By Clarence Worly, 11-15-09
By Clarence Worly, 11-15-09
By Jean Gabin, 11-16-09
By Geoff B., 11-16-09
By Jill Kuraitis, 11-16-09
By Bryan Petersen of MissouriParkour.com, 11-16-09
By Coach Wags, 11-16-09
By Barb Wire, 11-21-09
By Brandee of Parkour Visions, 12-09-09
By Annoyed, 9-17-10
By Louis, 6-22-11

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