Enter the Parkour

The distaff side of the family are heavily into Zumba at the moment. This female-orientated fitness movement is on course for world domination. My isometric exercises are seen as old hat. To combat the constant jibes from the femaliens that I should really have moved on from Bruce Lee by now I discovered a new form of training that encompasses many disciplines.

This is the unmartial art of Parkour. The concrete jungles around us are the playground we Parkours (Parkii?) use as our gym. Using freestyle climbing manoeuvres we will jump, vault or roll over the nearest obstacle and onto the next. We are an upwardly mobile association except when we‘re barrelling under hurdles or suchlike.

There are no competitions or rules. Anyone can play Parkour without being ridiculed. This is the grown-up equivalent of the non-competitive school sports day.

The freedom of expression that exists in this wondrous art combines the physical and mental theories of yoga. Philosophy plays a big part in Parkour. You’ve gotta be like cool hand Luke and “get your mind right” before participating.

Expert devotees can Spider-man up walls, descend buildings with a surfer’s bravery and soar over towering objects with panache. I am surprised Hollywood has not cashed in on this spell-binding spectacle of grace and guts. The Parkour man, though, is probably best suited as a baddie. He would exhibit natural skill at getting away from non-Parkour policeman after a robbery. How could he be caught?

Can you catch the wind?

Taking up my new-found religion with a teacher I was christened Stank Hopper. I couldn’t wait to learn at the feet of a great master. Immediately, my guru chastised me as I dressed for my first drill. Apparently, knee pads are not allowed. Oh well, stuff that for a game of soldiers, I said, and you know what you can do with your rice paper. I don’t want to miss my game of five-a-sides on Friday.