Posts

Quals Story – Part V

By Ross McGachey

 

—–AFTERMATH—–

 

The deadline passed and nobody from Adelaide had submitted all of their testing modules. The physical was only part of it. Without instructors, we had to stop running classes for six months and suffered a bit, but we were in a better situation than some communities.

 

I was working on the long term community project component of my L3 qualification but had submitted everything else, so I sucessfully applied to the APA committee for a fast tracked approval on the basis of the community need and provided that I update them on my project´s progress.

 

My community project was to develop an 8 week coaching program based around the fundamental principles of Parkour into a tool that instructors could pick up and run. It can be found here https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BxSNiBe7EL5rdGljOHVpUkFIQnM

 

Acting as a L3 Senior Instructor I was able to continue working with Adelaide´s instructing community and guiding them through the process. I was able to assess and qualify instructors up to L2. I ran two physical assessments for L1.5 and 2 and did my best to help applicants prepare. I could clean up the other modules with them, doing interviews for theoretical tests, marking off class plans and watching them unfold in real life for the practical component. I suffered the heartbreak of actually having to fail my friends when they didnt meet the standards and struggled with fairness and impartiality.

 

Now the Adelaide community has recovered from the deadline and is running classes with qualified instructors while others are slowly working on their qualifications.

 


SAPA classes 2018 with some of the instructing crew

 

Six months later I received a certificate from the APA saying I was a Level 3 Senior Instructor. The wristband I had braided as a reminder of my goal finally came off. It was the end of a chapter that began four years earlier with a beginner instructor and ended with a community leader, instructor coach, well rounded traceur, and somebody who could choose a huge obstacle and find a way to overcome it.

 

——-

 

It´s hard to say what I gained or lost from my quals journey. It spanned such a long time and was so integrated into my life and training that it can´t really be isolated. It´s easy at least to say that I am now qualified at the highest level of instructing in a not for profit volunteer run community association that I´m immensely proud of. I can teach classes almost anywhere in the world which makes me happy, and I have the voice of my peers to vouch for me. I am recognised as a community leader and confident assuming that role. I am trusted to assess and qualify other instructors. As one of the few level threes, I have a position of respect within the APA which helps me to have a positive influence. I also have an implicit role in teaching instructors which I enjoy a lot.

 

But training for the quals had a much more important impact on me.

 

As far as my personal training goes, it was mostly focused around the physical test which was my biggest challenge. The wide and consistent technical requirements ironed out the neglected aspects of my technique. I had to work on techniques I had avoided, and where I had trained on only one side, I had to balance that out. I became physically strong to endure the long challenge of a full test. I became mentally strong to overcome the obstacles that had been deliberately put there. The test required an ability to push beyond comfort, to commit to long term goals, to demand the highest standard from yourself, to be resilient, to prepare, to be self aware and self critical, to aspire and achieve. I worked on and improved so many parts of my personality in chasing the goal.

 

In involving the community so deeply in my approach I broadened the impact. The sessions we ran helped all of us to share in the benefits and together we were working towards a big goal as a community. I also developed myself as an instructor coach, organiser, facilitator, assessor, communicator, professional and friend. I was socially present more than ever before and felt connected as part of a group that relied on each other. I felt empowered to make a change in the community and to use my passion to serve others. That still empowers me now.

 

It was effort well spent.

 

——-

 

Thanks to the APA for their work in general and on the qualifications, and more importantly for the good intentions and passion behind them.

 

Thanks to the Adelaide community and SAPA for being the platform for my growth as an instructor, and the hugely supportive family you are.

 

Thanks to everyone involved in Parkour who taught me the lessons I needed to approach this test with the resilient, self-developing mindset and philosophy it requires.

 

I don´t know what the qualifications system is like at the time of your reading, but my advice to anyone wanting to be qualified as an APA instructor is to be prepared. Know the organisation you are applying to and what you want from it and want to give to it first. Then know what they want from you as an instructor and a representative. The test is a condensed version of that. A job interview where they have given you the right answers already. You have it written down so you can be ready. Use that. Look at the test. Read it. Do it. Do it again. Do it again until you could do it in your sleep. Do it until passing is a foregone conclusion, and go and help others along the way.

 

I would like there to be more tools made available to instructors by the APA to help overcome the obstacle of becoming qualified, and more tools for instructors in general. I think it is admirable for an individual to problem solve themselves to reach a goal, but it is also admirable for us to pool our knowledge to become and create better instructors. We have a unique national framework for Parkour teaching and we should have a platform to share what we have developed. If you are aiming to become an APA instructor and have ideas for ways that the APA could help you and make it easier, please let your state representative know!

Quals Story – Part IV

By Ross McGachey

—–2015, 2 weeks before APA qualification deadline—–

 

A bunch of the APA committee and interested people went to Melbourne for an APA think tank and to run a big last ditch assessment before the deadline. It was December and only a handful of people in the country were qualified. There was definitely a feeling that we might have failed again to enforce the deadline and that we would have to postpone it another year. Many of us weren´t very prepared.

 

Perhaps ironically, but very necessarily, the APA thinktank saw us spending three full days basically scrapping the quals and reworking them into something better. This was part of a process of constant community driven reevalution that the APA is getting better and better at and it´s one of the things that makes me most proud of the association. We identified many issues with the quals and a huge need to reform the system we were trying to put into place. Among other issues, the testing was daunting and hard enough that it was prohibitive. Our instructing community was proving itself incapable of surpassing the huge barrier we had set ourselves. Also, the logistics of running these massive assessments were a big cause for complaint and made the whole thing even harder to implement. To assess and qualify someone required a huge amount of volunteer hours from the assessor.

 

So having agreed that the current system was broken before it was fully built, we then went to make our attempt at the deadline. Chippa ran a big physical test event for levels 1.5, 2, and 3 at the Trace Facility with about thirty applicants, largely senior instructors from interstate and local instructors of all levels.


Steve Berry at Melbourne physical assessment Dec 2015

 

This physical test took the group about seven hours to go through.

 

We started outside Trace with rail balancing and I was feeling confident. All of this was just going through the motions for me and I didn´t feel pressured, I knew my problem areas and I was focused on them. Rail precisions, cat precisions, and rail squats were still not ironed out to a point where I could relax about them.

 

Travis from Adelaide had not had enough time leading up to the test to train properly for it so he was originally going to just observe but he decided at the last minute to jump in with the test and see how he went.

 

People failed and dropped off at different parts. Some people were surprised. I guess they hadn´t prepared and didn´t realise their weak points. Some people knew their challenges and still didn´t make it.

 

I was doing the rail squats next to Matt and Isaac from Perth. We knew it was one of the most daunting and high pressure parts because it was the only element where a single mistake meant failure. I had trained it to an obsession and passed with no problem despite being a little anxious. But my heart was beating fast watching the others and I felt the pressure in the air. I remember somebody walking past and making too much noise and me snapping at them. Matt started strong and then without much warning he overbalanced and fell. He was out just like that.

 

It was a shock and an upset. He had smashed everything else. Without him passing Perth parkour was in a bad position and would have to fly him some other time to Melbourne to be retested. In the next few weeks we looked for excuses and grounds to appeal. At the thinktank we had agreed to permit one fall on the rail squats in the future. We all agreed the current requirement was too harsh. But that was just in discussion and we were being tested on the old terms. Perth was dependent on him and so it was not in the APA´s interests to be strict and cause damage to our community over one stupid fall. We could overwrite it. But as I recall Matt chose not to appeal. He had gone into the test like all of us knowing what the deal was. He had started the squats knowing what it meant to fall. So he kept that promise to himself and did not pass.

Doing the physical assessment

 

I passed almost everything without a hiccup or a doubt. I flew through the cat precisions and stuck all six. I could rely on my preparation. But then came the rail precisions. A couple weeks before I hade gone out and stuck 50 in a row to see where I was at but they were still hit and miss. It could take me a while to get into the zone, but we weren´t given a while. As a technique assessment, we had six marked attempts, plus an unmarked practice if we chose. Of the marked attempts, we had to perform 5/6 at class demonstration standard. Anything but a stick wouldn´t cut it.

 

I was nervous but confident until I failed my practice jump… and my first marked jump. I would have to stick the next five in a row or be knocked out. I jumped four times and stuck four times, trying not to let it get to me. On the fifth jump I landed and slightly overshot. There was a wobble. I had to swing one of my feet for balance, But I stayed on and didnt fall. It got a nod from Chippa and I went on to demolish the test.

 

Travis who had jumped in at the last minute had a few worries but his general training was good enough that he passed the level 3 as well. Of course I was happy and relieved for my communty and proud of my friend, but also I was super pissed off that he could just rock up and pass when I had put in so much dedicated effort. Still pissed off too.


Senior instructor applicants after the test

There was a decent number of passes on the day, and a lot of fails. A lot of it came down to preparation. Knowing what was coming and having trained for it. Some people had never attempted a full run through and unsurprisingly many didnt make it. But the APA came out of that day with a bunch more instructors on their way to full qualification and something of a framework of senior instructors to implement the system across the country.

Hey

We were about to pass a milestone into the next chapter of teaching Parkour in Australia.

 

Quals Story – Part II

By Ross McGachey

NatGat Melbourne 2014

NatGat Melbourne 2014

 

 

We were growing as an organisation and the need for a national quals system was growing. Australia is a huge country and maintaining a standard across our spread-out instructing community was impossible. There was no effective way to know that the people representing us, wearing our logo, and using our insurance policy really should be.

 

Our instructors were not necessarily first aid trained or aware of their legal responsibilities or professional in any way we could manage. That put our entire organisation and community at real risk.

 

We also had nothing to legitimate our instructors to clients other than `yeah I reckon they can teach parkour safely, trust me.´

 

In South Australia, we weren´t allowing our assistant instructors to progress to full instructor with the always imminent but never arriving requirements looming overhead. It started to stifle their growth as instructors and I think we lost several great instructors in this time who were frustrated at being held back.

 

It wasn´t good enough.

SAPA instructors before teaching a class in early 2015

 

 

So the committee bit the bullet and decided to commit to a deadline of December 2015, after which if you weren´t qualified, you couldn´t teach. This time some people listened.

 

—–2015, 6 months to deadline—–

 

I was in a position of seniority in Adelaide, being one of the two remaining full instructors from the four who started our classes. I ran instructor trainings and was invested in the Adelaide community and the South Australian Parkour Association, both of which depended in a way on having our instructors and classes.

 

So to me it was very important that I keep them alive past the deadline.

 

It wasn´t just about getting myself over the line, I had to try make sure we all got across.

 

I started training for the physical test again, doing regular full mock run throughs and sessions on specific weak points. I tried to organise others to do the full run throughs with me so everyone had a better idea of what to work on. We usually had five or six people at these sessions.

 

I remember going back to the wallsit component again one night at the spot Wolf Blass. 2 minutes ON, 1m off, 2m ON, 45sec off, 2m ON, 30sec off, 2m ON, 15sec off, 4m ON. That´s 14mins 30 secs of willpower. To begin with I quit on the second round and felt really disheartened. It seemed ridiculous. everyone thought so. It was the most daunting component.

 

The next week I went back and the second round was doable. I quit on the third round. A couple weeks later and I had made it into the final four minute hold. Once I hit that mark I knew I would finish. That´s when I realised that the wallsit is mostly a mental game. Why else should the last hold – twice as long as all the others – be the easiest? Why else should the second round of two minutes remain always the hardest? A lot of the wallsit challenge was simply having the courage and commitment to face the obstacle that looks insurmountable and keep chipping away at it until it´s insignificant.

wallsit selfie – more than half insane

 

 

The wallsits stayed hard for a long time, but the tricks I used to beat it were in my mind. I always sang a song loudly to take my mind away. I talked to people. And always when I finished the second to last hold I knew I had won.

 

The 200m sprints were also daunting. I´ve never been talented at sprinting. Long distance running is natural to me and I never trained for the 2km running component or gave it a sideways thought. I could naturally run it in 7 minutes, and the test called for under 10. But sprinting… I didn´t know where I stood or if I could run 200m in 30 seconds. I´d also heard of people in other states failing this part of the test. For a long while I timed myself inaccurately, holding my phone along a distance measured roughly on Google Maps. Eventually when I was confident I asked my Dad to come with me to the athletics stadium by his house so he could time me on a track. I passed most times, and hit a record of 24 seconds. Hard work was paying off.

 

After training and hosting run throughs for a while, constantly referring to the testing notes at http://qualify.parkour.asn.au/ I had every part of the test memorised and was discussing it regularly, answering peoples questions about it and guiding them through. I wrote up a compact one sheet version of the test so people could carry it with them when doing run throughs. Honestly it also looks much less daunting when its all on one page https://docs.google.com/document/d/19uvSH9IuR1xxc9IKjP6X4-8f-f6dh_wgOK89Tf19pxk/edit?usp=sharing

 

Eventually I managed my first successful pass of a mock run through from start to finish, but as many elements have little to zero tolerance for failure, I had to train them to a point where I knew every time that I couldn´t fail. I was still a long way off.

 

SAPA instructor training

 

In the meantime I ran weekly instructor training sessions, mainly focused on passing the test. These were more theoretical and instructing focused. As part of each session we took turns teaching a basic technique to the instructing group and critiquing the delivery in the format of the Level 1 practical test.  This helped me make sure I had those parts ready, and also helped our community explore and practice the basic principles of delivering a class. I encourage senior instructors to guide applicants in this way by providing a critical environment to work on practical skills with their peers. This is a resource that I would like to be available to aspiring APA instructors who shouldn´t have to tackle the qualifications alone.

 

We held theory specific lectures and because I was encouraging others to memorise the information in the test, I had to have it down myself. I went back to the theoretical and practical components which I had overlooked as being ´easy´. But there were some new parts now and I had to go and do some proper learning about muscles and basic physiology stuff.

 

WIth six years of teaching experience it was natural for me to write up five class plans and teach one of them. I didn´t have to do anything special for that, but it did motivate me to help others study for it and I was very proud of the class plans that our community put together in this process.

 

One of our instructors, Ash, wrote up her advice on writing a class plan and helped me put together a list of themes or ideas to base them off. I compiled all of our plans into a folder in the hope that the APA will someday publish these and others as a teaching resource. These resources can be found here https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BxSNiBe7EL5rS3VnOGMxbDdzbFU

 

Originally I was aiming to be qualified as a Level 2 ´full instructor´, but as it became clear that there might not be anyone who would pass the Level 3 ´senior instructor´ test in Adelaide and therefore that we wouldn´t be able to qualify our own level 2s within the state, I decided to change my application to a level 3. At the time it was permitted to apply at whatever level you wanted because nobody had prerequisite qualifications. Level 3 was more reflective of my role in the community and it would give me much more ability to support other instructors.

 

Trying to lead others by example really forced me to be the authority on the qualifications. To know them back to front and to put in a lot of effort. The essential exchange between me and the community was that I spent a lot of effort supporting them to pass the quals, but that in itself really helped me to master the system. The community aspect of my approach was key.

 

—–3 months to deadline—–

 

 

Quals Story – Part I

Part 1

Hi, my name is Ross. I´m an Australian Parkour Association qualified instructor with a Level 3 Qualification. At the time of writing that name is being revised along with many aspects of the qualification, but it´s the highest level qualification run by the APA.

 

I´ve decided to write a wee anecdote. A story of how I became qualified. I hope it will help APA instructors on their own journey through the qualification process, even though everyone´s journey will be different. The qualification system itself is changing fast from what I experienced and by the sounds of it, it shouldn´t be quite so confronting or daunting. But maybe this story will answer some questions about the process and how to navigate it.

 

The super short tl:dr version is if you´re wanting to do the quals, be prepared. Do the research, the reading and the training yourself. Ask others for help, involve your community in your process, but don´t depend on them doing anything for you. It’s an assessment of YOU.

 

Now for the long version in 5 parts… stay tuned.

 

—–2010—–

 

I started to teach parkour a few years after I started training. In those days the process was simple. You were an instructor as long as your APA committee state representative said you were.

 

South Australian Parkour Association school workshop in 2012

 

I was part of the team of four that began APA classes in our city, Adelaide. We all attended an intense week of instructor training in Melbourne run by Matthew `Chippa´ Campbell and learned enough that we felt comfortable running public classes. The spiritual successor of these instructor weeks are run semi-regularly now by the APA and I have had the honour to run one with Travis Ransom in Adelaide. Check the APA website for information on instructor intensives. http://parkour.asn.au/

APA Instructor Intensive 2017 crew

—–Fast forward a few years—–

 

In 2012 I heard that the APA were creating our first instructor qualification system. We would have a national standard that linked us across our wide country and I liked the idea because it meant that it could no longer be a boy´s club where mates gave their mates a qualification just because they were mates and potentially barred people they didnt like. I also saw it as a good opportunity to step up to a higher standard.

 

I was on a university exchange in Japan at the time when the polished draft of the qual tests came up online at http://qualify.parkour.asn.au/ . That became my primary resource and guide all the way through and there weren´t many other tools, aids, or helplines. Just me and a document. To start with I read it and realised I was physically miles away from the standard. Some elements seemed impossible to me and most of them I could not do. Some I didn´t even know whether I could do them or not!

Proud of myself after one of my solo run through attempts

 

So I printed out the full physical test and started to train for it. I picked specific weak points and worked on 5 elements in each training session. I planned out spots so that I could try run throughs of the test. My dorm mates thought I was mad, going out alone several days a week with my wad of paper and only coming back hours later. I don´t remember giving the Theoretical, Practical, and Written elements of the test more than a cursory look then. I dismissed them as not a concern.

 

I trained hard for the physical that winter but never came close to completing a full run through. In fact as I remember I never came close to the wallsit, the 200m sprint, the rail squats, the rail precisions, the shimmy and hang, the muscle up, and many other parts… but I kept coming closer. I did my first muscle up in Japan.

 

But once I came back I realised that in my overseas isolation I had thought it a bigger deal than the community did. Nobody had paid much attention or trained for the test. So the APA delayed the requirement of qualification. They couldn´t just cut off their whole instructor base.

 

—–Fast forward a few years—–

 

The pressure for the quals had died off. Every year they were postponed. I didn´t train for it anymore without the urgency. Maybe I was a bit annoyed that I had tried and nobody else seemed to. I can´t remember really but quals-wise nothing happened until NatGat 2014.

 

Fear Training

by Paula Flinn

Originally posted on her blog, Embracing Us.

I recently participated in a fear training workshop while at WamJam 2018 – the Australian Women’s Parkour gathering – in Adelaide this year. Our challenge was to walk along a wall, about 30cm wide, turn around when we reached the end, and walk back. Sounds simple, right? The catch was that the wall was high (by my standards at least)! It was bounded by a roof on one side, which was only about a half meter drop, while the other side fell away to a concrete carpark over 5 metres below.

Before we attempted the challenge, we walked along a section of curb which was considerably narrower than the ‘challenge wall’, but obviously a lot lower, at ground level. We were encouraged to observe what we noticed about balancing; what we could see, sense, feel, experience, within our bodies and around us. Whilst doing this, my body didn’t feel much different to how it felt when walking on flat ground. My heart rate wasn’t elevated, I felt relaxed within my body, and confident to balance along the curb without falling. And I wasn’t bothered by external noises around me – car horns, people chatting, general city sounds. There was no fear present. I told myself to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other – that that was the only thing I needed to focus on once I attempted the challenge.

After this activity, it was time to make our way up to the wall. We climbed a wire fence and pulled ourselves up on to a flat tin roof. At this point I could already feel the changes taking place in my body. My heart rate was increasing, and I could feel the butterflies starting to flutter.

Soon it was my turn to attempt the challenge. As I made my way out along the wall, my legs began to shake with each step I took. I was surprised that I was shaking so much – it wasn’t something I had any control over. My heart rate was elevated, and my breath was very shallow – that is, when I even remembered to take a breath! Fraz, who was running the workshop, called out to me to “slow down”. (I hadn’t realised I was rushing, but it makes sense that I was trying to ‘get it over with’, as that meant less time having to deal with these feelings within my body.)

So I took a deep breath and I slowed down. I tried to remember to just focus on putting one foot in front of the other.  But it was much more difficult to focus now, unlike a few moments earlier down at ground level.  Up here, on the wall, my senses felt heightened and chaotic all at the same time. The sounds of the city seemed to jump out at me, and my body’s movements seemed magnified. A car horn jolted me, and a tiny wobble of my leg felt like an almost fatal mistake!

“Relax your shoulders, relax your arms!” Fraz shouted out to me. My body was instinctively tight and somewhat frozen. I was trying to remain in the moment, but I just kept thinking about it being over – about getting to the end, and not feeling uncomfortable anymore. And after only a few minutes, I had made it. I was back in safe territory, and my whole body relaxed.

And then…we did it again.

There was a part of me that really didn’t want to do it again. I mean, I can’t say that I enjoyed it. But it stretched me, and there was a part of me that wanted to experience it again. To see if I could feel more comfortable, to witness and acknowledge those feelings of fear, and to keep moving, mindfully, despite them.

And the second time was different. My legs weren’t shaking, I was able to consciously focus on my breathing – to take deep breathes – and relax my body a little more. I felt more in control, and able to move my body a little more freely.

It was interesting to experience the changes between the first and second time I attempted the challenge. It felt to me like I had removed a small layer of fear. I know there would be many more layers; there always are. But it was encouraging to experience that shift. And even if I hadn’t completed the challenge, even if I had stood at the top of the wall, without moving, and just witnessed my fear, I still would have removed a layer.

I know I am always going to experience fear at different times in my life (especially if I keep training Parkour!) Fear is there for a reason – it can keep me safe.

But I think we can so often be tempted to run from the things that scare us. To brush them off, to avoid them, ignore them, rush past them, to move in the opposite direction from them. To do whatever we can not to feel the fear. When what we really need to do is to lean in, and to witness it. To acknowledge it, to feel it, and to move alongside it, despite the discomfort.  That is what stretches us, and that is when we grow. And that will look different for all of us.

Sometimes we may be able to move right through our fear and come out the other side. And other times all we may be able to do is just acknowledge it, to witness it and to sit with it, in all its discomfort! And that’s ok. That is often the most important part of the process.

 

Paula started training Parkour in December 2016, (a little later in life compared to most) at the age of 35. She decided to give it a go after watching her children participate in classes for about 8 months. She found herself itching to try it as she witnessed her kids jump and climb and leap. The movements were reminiscent of her childhood and she felt a yearning to move that way again. After her first class, she was hooked, and hasn’t looked back. She is enjoying the new relationship she is developing with her own body and its capabilities. She has never felt so strong both physically and mentally! Paula trains when she can – mostly at playgrounds with her three children, whom she homeschools. Their endless energy and enthusiasm inspire her every day, and they never fail to set her the most inventive and fun challenges! Before having children, Paula worked in community development and health promotion, and has always been passionate about building community and bringing people together. She has also volunteered on a number of community led committees, and worked for a short time as a personal trainer and group fitness instructor. A little over 6 months after training Paula became involved in the local Perth community, reigniting the Girls of Perth Parkour group, joining the committee, applying for funding, and becoming a trainee instructor. She has completely fallen in love with the culture and philosophy of the Parkour community, and is excited and grateful to be able to share this with others within WA and throughout Australia.

 

Parkour: the spectacle, the practical, the philosophical, and where competition fits in

By Amy Han – originally posted on her blog, Falling leaves and a bird

 

Parkour as a spectacle is easy to define. It looks beautiful, impressive, terrifying, exciting. It’s often fast, it often flows, it can look animalistic and superhuman. It’s easy to see why it’s so popular on YouTube, why shows like Ninja Warrior have so many viewers. Parkour as it is widely understood – an extreme sport for super-fit adrenaline junkies and/or ‘crazy’ teenage boys  —  is so far from most people’s everyday lives that it fits perfectly into our constant hunger for a vicarious experience of danger, excitement, fear, pain and satisfaction from the safety of our couches.

Parkour as most practitioners understand it is quite different from this. Parkour is big jumps and small jumps. It’s rhythm, flow, balance, teamwork, strength and discipline. It requires self-checking and courage, an embracing of fear and challenges in order to be better. It’s on rooftops, it’s on the ground, it’s in cities and in nature. It’s quiet, serious, creative and playful. It’s personal and universal. It’s asking questions. It’s endless possibilities. It’s an extension of everyday life, a way of making sense of the madness. It’s experimentation, repetition, refinement, and precision. It’s damn hard at times. It hurts. But it also makes you stronger, literally building a thicker skin. Parkour is a means of getting from A to B, working with your environment rather than against it, or being complacent within it. Parkour is taking your power back. It’s a pathway to freedom in a world in which it’s easy to forget how much you have, how much you’re capable of, and what you have to contribute.

Parkour is not a competition. There is no winning in parkour, just as there is no winning in life. There is only constantly striving to do the best you can with what you have. Your ‘parkour career’ doesn’t end when you get injured, or you establish yourself as the best in the world (whatever that means).

You can’t measure who will be most useful in an emergency, or who trains the most sensibly to last longest, or who has grown the most on a physical, emotional, spiritual level since they started. There are too many variables. Those concepts don’t fit neatly into an event; they don’t make for very sexy TV.

But parkour movements fit easily into competition culture. You can compete to see who has the biggest jump, the fastest time, see how many techniques you can demonstrate over certain obstacles. I can see how this can be motivating, driving practitioners to become faster, stronger, more technically proficient. Obviously it can be fun, and bring people together as they cheer each other on.

I’m not against having any competitions which measure some aspect of parkour skill at all. I’m not against a reality TV series showcasing the incredible athletic ability of people I already know are amazing to the masses. I have huge respect for people who have competed in Ninja Warrior – to me they are admirably brave and strong for not only tackling the course, but for not having my fear of epically failing in public! I have found it particularly empowering to see women competing on the same course as men, for the same prize.

My concern is that you can only compete with parkour movements. It can look like parkour, but the intention is different. And viewers will always, unless we work really hard to make it otherwise, assume a parkour movement competition isparkour.

Personally, since I was very young, I’ve lost interest in most activities the moment they turn competitive. I grew up around some pretty competitive people. Roaring, cocky, throwing racquets and clubs, slamming doors competitive. Play hard to win, even if it means getting injured, competitive. I know it wasn’t their intention – I was always encouraged to join in – but I never felt their passion for competitive sport. I was never very ‘good’ although I enjoyed playing, and this made me decide that I wasn’t sporty. So I retreated to my quiet activities of reading, writing and crafting things.

Maybe it was growing up in a competitive culture, a society in which things are validated by levels and awards. But as I got older and more passionate about writing, I craved something more than personal satisfaction, wanted to share my work with more than my teachers and parents. The only apparent option was to try and become a published writer by entering writing competitions for kids. One prize meant so much to me I cried when mum couldn’t find the awards ceremony venue, even though missing it wouldn’t change the fact that I had won a prize. On another occasion, I won a national short story competition. I still remember how I hung up the phone after receiving the news and danced around the house. When an extract of my story was read out to a full banquet hall, I heard someone behind me whisper to their neighbour, “Wow, that was actually really good!” (not knowing I was in front of them) and that’s still the greatest compliment I’ve ever received, one I never would have received had the competition not existed. So I think I understood then how much winning and recognition meant to others in sport.

The existence of writing competitions gave me a structure to work with – goals, deadlines, themes, and incentives. Not everyone would need it, but it helped me. As writing is such a solitary activity, and with no friends or mentors who loved to write like I did, it provided a way of comparing what I wrote to others my own age, and gaining feedback from professionals. I was awarded and published a few times, rejected many more, and the whole experience made me a stronger, more confident and more determined writer. It gave me perspective and kept me grounded. Not once did I think that just because my work wasn’t chosen, that I had ‘failed’. It just meant that that story wasn’t right for that competition, it wasn’t ready, or I needed to practise more. Again, I know not everyone would respond in this way, but it worked for me.

Amongst creative writers, there is a strong mutual understanding that success is based on chance as much as skill and hard work, and that lack of recognition isn’t necessarily a measure of the quality of your writing. JK Rowling is a popular example – Harry Potter was rejected 12 times before a publisher finally saw some potential in it. Dedicated writers are persistent, consistent, and passionate; they write because they must, because it brings them joy, because it challenges and satisfies them. If you are writing for money or fame, you shouldn’t be writing, despite the fact that competitions and many avenues for recognition exist.

But back to parkour. Personally, I fell in love with it for many reasons, but it was it’s non-competitive aspect that kept me training. It reminded me that I can and do love moving. I love playing, exploring, being outdoors, challenging myself without worrying about tests, levels, shows or races. I can play and be challenged in my own way, developing practical skills and having fun, and that is not only ok but the norm.

I’ve been trying to work out why I reacted in one way to competitions in sport, and another way to competitions in writing. And I think the answer is that in writing, I was motivated by the confidence that I could be noticed – if I tried hard enough, if I learnt as much as I could, if I stumbled upon the right opportunity. And no matter what happened, because I never told anyone I entered anything unless my work was selected, I didn’t have to worry about anyone else’s expectations.

In sport, I was de-motivated by the acceptance that I had no chance of winning, or even helping a team to win. I didn’t want to get in the way. And no one seemed to be playing just for fun.

The question is, do we want parkour to be a thing that is a casual part of more people’s lifestyles, like walking a dog or riding a bike? Or do we want it to be a pursuit only the able and passionate need bother even try?

Honestly, I just want people to move more and play more, no matter their age, gender, background or ability. I would love to see more value placed on movement for movement’s sake, in the same way I have tried to build Creative Write-it up as a space for kids to be creative for creativity’s sake – don’t worry about grades or if what you do seems silly or doesn’t work. It’s the trying, the process, where the lessons lie. And I truly believe parkour has a lot to offer mainstream modern society, whether the ‘moves’ are part of your everyday life or not. How to face challenges and measure fear. A culture of effort, self-improvement, longevity, and sticking together. An awareness of environment, a connection to it. I’m not saying parkour is the only way to find these things, but it is definitely a way. Parkour provides an antidote to disconnection from the environment, ourselves, and each other, during a time in which disconnection from all of these is one of the biggest, most dangerous problems we face.

If parkour competitions had existed when I started, I’m certain I would have stopped very early on. It would have been like every other competitive sport I’ve tried and lost interest in because I was never going to win, and didn’t even want to. And I worry that now that competitions do exist, and they are likely to continue to, that many people like me will never experience the multitude of positives parkour has to offer. I worry about a shift in culture, from an inclusive, welcoming community, to one in which more people are driven by money, fame, and ego. In which more people are driven to win, no matter the cost. At its worst, I fear parkour becoming another sport which links competition and depression in both the ‘winners’ and the ‘losers’.

If there is a way for parkour competitions to exist without losing our integrity or hurting the inclusive culture we’re all working so hard to cultivate, I’m doubtful. But, based on my experience as a writer who has found value in writing competitions, I’m also hopeful.

Competition culture isn’t going away. The media isn’t going to lose interest in an activity that seems ‘extreme’. But it makes the role of parkour coaches imperative, in the same way we (at Creative Write-it) are constantly reminding kids that the ‘creative writing’ component in their upcoming scholarship exam is only tapping into a tiny element of what it really means to write creatively, in reminding trainees that only so much can be taught. Training for competitions is a very specific skill-set that does not nearly encapsulate the whole of parkour training, in fact the competition element itself is not parkour at all. And training without any interest or intention in competing is just as valid.

Keep teaching, training, sharing, talking. As Julie Angel’s See & Do project suggests, the more people see, the more they will do.

It’s a tricky balance, but not an impossible one.

Amy Han is a traceuse and instructor with Melbourne Parkour. She is also the author of YA novel Breaking Jumpswww.amyhan.com.au

Further reading:
Federico ‘Gato’ Mazzoleni, Parkour in the Entertainment Language, 2016
Giorgio Ferre, Defined in Practice, 2016
Alex Pavlotski, Parkour and the link between Competition and Depression, 2016
Julie Angel, See & Do, 2013 – present

 

Parkour before profits – our reaffirmation for community driven progress

Originally posted in our News section, 19 June, 2017

A REAFFIRMATION OF OUR COMMITMENT TO COMMUNITY

We are the pre-eminent national parkour organisation in Australia. Since 2006, we have mobilised volunteers across Australia and internationally to grow Parkour productively, and to empower communities to teach and develop parkour practitioners. We have taught Parkour in hundreds of schools and organisations and to thousands of people around the country. We have played an active role in the development of Parkour internationally, and our members have been a part of its many successes and many challenges.

As a young discipline, Parkour is finding its place and becoming known in the world. As with all young disciplines, there are those who wish to influence and shape parkour into something that strips it of its unique value – and instead transform it into something that only offers commercial value without regard for the community.

Today we face the encroachment and misappropriation of Parkour from many fronts – including the Fédération Internationale de Gymnastique, corporate interests, and organisations operating within the parkour community but contrary to local interests. We stand firmly against those actors and resist their influence.

We believe in a future for parkour that:

Puts the community before profits
Celebrates and promotes what is the unique about parkour, rather than search for ways to make it conform
Promotes non-competitive practice
Is consistent with the underpinning philosophy of parkour – altruism, useful strength, longevity, self-improvement and self-understanding
Respects the geographic and cultural sovereignty of other national communities
The Australian Parkour Association does, and always will, act with the community as its primary interest. We reaffirm our commitment to our goals and statement of purpose.

We invite and encourage all other like-minded parkour organisations to get in touch, collaborate, and share with us and our members.

Our fight against the FIG

In May this year, the Fédération Internationale de Gymnastique (FIG) announced that they had given its approval in principle to begin the development of ‘an obstacle course sprint’ event, which was later revealed to be parkour, as a discipline of the FIG. The implications of this are far reaching and threaten to take parkour out of the hands of practitioners and into the hands of gymnastics instructors who are unqualified and unfamiliar with parkour and its rich philosophy. If FIG is successful in gaining recognition as the international governing body of parkour it would provide its national members, such as Gymnastics Australia, a range of mechanisms of control over parkour. This could include: what is and is not recognised as a parkour teaching qualification, who gets funding and for what, and the public image of parkour.

It is not just the Parkour community that is outraged at this, many from within the gymnastics community are standing up against the FIG for ignoring the development of disciplines they already govern such as acrobatics. We are also not the only new discipline or sport to be threatened in this way – emerging adventure sports have a long history of being appropriated by unrelated international bodies, leading to significant issues for their members and practitioners – as New Zealand Parkour Association CEO, Damien Puddles, has written about in depth here.

Gymnastics and Parkour may use similar movements, but they are distinctly unique in their practice and the value they provide. The FIG do not represent parkour communities internationally, just as Gymnastics Australia do not represent parkour communities here.

We have joined forces with communities around the world who are standing against the encroachment and misappropriation of Parkour.

If you want to help in the fight to keep parkour in the hands of the community, you can do so by signing the petition and calling your local FIG representative (for us in Australia, you can call on 03 8698 9700).