Flying Without Wings

Do  not  go  where  the  path  may  lead,  go  instead  where  there  is  no  path  and  leave  a  trail.
–  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson

I  sat  from  afar,  appreciating  the  view  with  my  pen  and  paper.  I  watched,  transfixed  as  the  men  threw  their  bodies  across  boxes  and  scaffolding  to  then  land  perfectly  on  their  feet.  I  was  mesmerised  by  the  unimaginable  flexibility  that  came  from  the  fluidity  of  each  movement.

Assured.  Fun.  Entertaining.

Muscles  bulged  from  the  strength  it  took  to  swing  their  bodies  from  one  bar  to  another,  finishing  with  a  flourish  of  flips.  My  heart  pounded  vigorously  to  the  upbeat  tempo  of  the  rhythm  as  the  next  trickster  stood  upon  the  highest  bar,  balancing  with  precision  as  he  took   to  creating  a  one-handed  armstand.

The crowd  erupted  with  cheers,  matching  the  roars  of  cars  nearby.  The  town  thrived,  increasing  the  visibility  of  a  sport  unmentioned.  Children  gawked  with  awe,  hurrying  to  join  the  line  to  participate  in  workshops.  It  was  a  chance  to  learn  the  basic  skills  safely.

A  beautiful  warmth  came  from  the  summer  sun,  brightening  up  an  already  cheerful  day.  The  energy  that  came  from  the  outdoors,  encompassed  by  nature  was  charismatic,  enticing  an  eager  crowd  to  understand  the  truth  about  the  mistaken  art.

Anything  and  everything  became  a  tool,  an  object  to  leap  across,  to  dive-roll  over,  and  even  the  elaborate  water  feature  surrounding  the  centre  of  the  area  played  host  to  gymnastic-like  flair.  A  man-made  playground  wasn’t  needed  when  nature  already  provided  its  own.

They  worked  like  a  team,  always  aware  with  the   space  available.  They  built  up  anticipation  to  which  the  audience  gripped  their  seats,  knuckles  white  from  the  pressure.  Like  an  established  stunt  team,  their  bodies  moved  with  control,  exhaustion  nowhere  to  be  seen.  They  were  ninjas,  Parkour  ninjas.

As  deserved,   comments  spread  throughout.  An  abundance  of  expressions  reiterated  one  thought;  “Whoa,  did  you  see  that?”

It  was  a  day  spent  well,  appreciating  the  artistry  of  a  soon-to-be  popular  sport.

Parkour;  the  sport  where  the  women  openly  swoon  and  admire.

An  exciting  day  indeed.

A  straight  line  may  be  the  shortest  distance  between  two  points,  but  it  is  by  no  means  the  most  interesting.
– Albert  Einstein


 

Back  in  the  summer  I  had  the  opportunity  to  watch  a  dedicated  parkour  team  demonstrate  the  fundamentals  of  this  fascinating  sport.  They  proved  that  parkour  and  free  running  is  nothing  like  the  unfair  stereotype  that  it’s  been  branded,  and  instead  they  showcased  how  delicate  an  art  it  was,  much  like  martial  arts.  Plus  the  Green  Arrow  is  a  Parkour  Jedi,  too.  Do  you  really  need  any  more  convincing  that  it’s  a  good  thing?  Thought  not.

The  team  I  mentioned  are  known  as  Kinetics  Wales,  and  F10W,  and  if  it’s  something  that’s  piqued  your  interest,  I  highly  recommend  you  check  them  out  here  and  here.

Don’t  think  the  movement,  be  the  movement.
–  Malik  Diouf

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