(the why...)
Around February 2007 I attended my first Parkour jam in Brisbane. Soon I was training regularly and began to realise that Parkour was making some really positive differences in my life. I embraced the training and became more and more dedicated to learning and improving. As I learned more I also began to help others with their technique and training methods. It was October 2007 when I made the decision to make training Parkour and eventually teaching Parkour an integral part of my life.
Since then I have been training solidly and working towards an established school of Parkour in Brisbane. In a year I had gone from teaching one regular student to leading outdoor classes of 10-15 students and, just before leaving Australia, leading groups of up to 40 students in the Brisbane Indoor class. (Before I go on - a shout out to those who inspired and helped along the way - Swift, Spidermonkey, Tayjay, KT, Chippa, OZ, IMB crew, Sunday S&C crew, Jerds, Puppeteer, Howler, K8 and, always, Mum and Dad).
So why London?
In one word: Perspective.
First and foremost from a teaching point of view - I came to answer questions such as "How are some of the original practitioners teaching their art?", "What is the standard of delivery in classes, indoor and out?", "What are the expectations at different levels of training?", "How is the focus distributed between conditioning and technique, physical and mental training, work and play?".
I hope to use the answers to these questions to further improve the standard of my own teaching back in Australia, and to pass on to other instructors.
I also came to gain perspective on my own training. Challenging myself in new environments with, in some cases, wildly different architecture to my hometown. Training with locals, each with their own approaches to training Parkour/freerunning. Taking the opportunity to train mentally, especially at height, but also testing my limits at the boundary of body and mind (where the mind can make the jump but the body cannot and vice versa). I found it was this boundary that the PKGen Advanced class explored.
I attended Johann's Advanced class, John being the only other student, in order to appreciate just what was meant by 'Advanced'. From the very beginning it was clear that this was no ordinary outdoor class. The 'warmup' consisted of continuous movement, crossing the Vauxhall hotspot at every paver row and executing a wall run, climb-up, demi-tour, demi-tour, saut de fond at each end. This meant about 30 repetitions. By 25 I was slowed to a half jog/walk and feeling light headed. Johann gently reminded us that it was OK to vomit. We had 2 minutes rest and moved on to route tracing. The routes were only short, but were to be repeated back to back 5 times. Nausea set in on my fourth lap and I completed my fifth on the brink of bringing up my stomach contents. Another 2 minutes break. Then another route. Slightly shorter this time but with more explosive movements. Once again my fifth lap was haunted by reverse peristalsis. Both these routes were neither mentally nor physically challenging at face value, but we were able to basically break ourselves down to the point where we struggled to convince our mind and body to complete them.
Another short break and we moved on to a running precision. The distance is not that great, only about a foot on top of my standing jump, but the run up is a claustrophobic three steps along the length of a narrow wall. The task, according to Johann, was to land six jumps. Three on either leg. I had already battled with this jump previous to this class. I'd be happy to land just one! Anyway, I gave it a couple of goes, not generating enough power off my final step and falling just short. Johann quietly suggested that I either do the jump, or stop mid-run, but not to fall short again... Or... One thousand squats!
I moved off the wall to let John have a go. He made the jump three times on his right leg, but failed three times on his left. He moved to the side and started into his 1000 squats while I returned to the wall, sizing up the jump once more.
I spent nearly ten minutes psyching myself up, relaxing, breathing, stepping through the run, freaking out, psyching myself up, relaxing, breathing, then one-two-three-jump!... I floated, reached out, calculated, groaned mid-flight and bailed, one foot on, one foot off my landing.
I joined John, who was already past his first hundred squats. Johann sat on the wall, keeping an eye on the time while John and I kept count. 632 squats later, Johann stopped us, telling us to move into chair position against the wall. The first minute felt like two minutes, the second minute just felt surreal. Not really painful, certainly not comfortable, definitely existentially challenging. And then the class was over...
The Advanced class taught me a lot, not just about Parkour, but about my mind and its limits. It was a pleasure (in retrospect) to work with Johann, someone who has trained long enough to be so sensitive to the limits of other practitioners that he knows how and where to push. Nothing we did in that class was dangerous, yet my mind and body were equally exhausted the next day. In a strange way I also felt refreshed. I have never been pushed that hard in my training and feel as though something has been unlocked by experiencing that level of challenge. Like a little window into the possibilities the future holds.
There is a great phenomenon in Parkour training such that when you finally make the jump that has been at the edge of your limit for however long, after a brief celebration your vision is irreversably shifted. Now you can see ten more jumps that are just at the edge of your new limit. I think that part of the amazing feeling, part of the drive that pushes me to train more and more, is that little glimpse of the infinite - just as I'm about to touch down, when I know I've made it.
Since then I have been training solidly and working towards an established school of Parkour in Brisbane. In a year I had gone from teaching one regular student to leading outdoor classes of 10-15 students and, just before leaving Australia, leading groups of up to 40 students in the Brisbane Indoor class. (Before I go on - a shout out to those who inspired and helped along the way - Swift, Spidermonkey, Tayjay, KT, Chippa, OZ, IMB crew, Sunday S&C crew, Jerds, Puppeteer, Howler, K8 and, always, Mum and Dad).
So why London?
In one word: Perspective.
First and foremost from a teaching point of view - I came to answer questions such as "How are some of the original practitioners teaching their art?", "What is the standard of delivery in classes, indoor and out?", "What are the expectations at different levels of training?", "How is the focus distributed between conditioning and technique, physical and mental training, work and play?".
I hope to use the answers to these questions to further improve the standard of my own teaching back in Australia, and to pass on to other instructors.
I also came to gain perspective on my own training. Challenging myself in new environments with, in some cases, wildly different architecture to my hometown. Training with locals, each with their own approaches to training Parkour/freerunning. Taking the opportunity to train mentally, especially at height, but also testing my limits at the boundary of body and mind (where the mind can make the jump but the body cannot and vice versa). I found it was this boundary that the PKGen Advanced class explored.
I attended Johann's Advanced class, John being the only other student, in order to appreciate just what was meant by 'Advanced'. From the very beginning it was clear that this was no ordinary outdoor class. The 'warmup' consisted of continuous movement, crossing the Vauxhall hotspot at every paver row and executing a wall run, climb-up, demi-tour, demi-tour, saut de fond at each end. This meant about 30 repetitions. By 25 I was slowed to a half jog/walk and feeling light headed. Johann gently reminded us that it was OK to vomit. We had 2 minutes rest and moved on to route tracing. The routes were only short, but were to be repeated back to back 5 times. Nausea set in on my fourth lap and I completed my fifth on the brink of bringing up my stomach contents. Another 2 minutes break. Then another route. Slightly shorter this time but with more explosive movements. Once again my fifth lap was haunted by reverse peristalsis. Both these routes were neither mentally nor physically challenging at face value, but we were able to basically break ourselves down to the point where we struggled to convince our mind and body to complete them.
Another short break and we moved on to a running precision. The distance is not that great, only about a foot on top of my standing jump, but the run up is a claustrophobic three steps along the length of a narrow wall. The task, according to Johann, was to land six jumps. Three on either leg. I had already battled with this jump previous to this class. I'd be happy to land just one! Anyway, I gave it a couple of goes, not generating enough power off my final step and falling just short. Johann quietly suggested that I either do the jump, or stop mid-run, but not to fall short again... Or... One thousand squats!
I moved off the wall to let John have a go. He made the jump three times on his right leg, but failed three times on his left. He moved to the side and started into his 1000 squats while I returned to the wall, sizing up the jump once more.
I spent nearly ten minutes psyching myself up, relaxing, breathing, stepping through the run, freaking out, psyching myself up, relaxing, breathing, then one-two-three-jump!... I floated, reached out, calculated, groaned mid-flight and bailed, one foot on, one foot off my landing.
I joined John, who was already past his first hundred squats. Johann sat on the wall, keeping an eye on the time while John and I kept count. 632 squats later, Johann stopped us, telling us to move into chair position against the wall. The first minute felt like two minutes, the second minute just felt surreal. Not really painful, certainly not comfortable, definitely existentially challenging. And then the class was over...
The Advanced class taught me a lot, not just about Parkour, but about my mind and its limits. It was a pleasure (in retrospect) to work with Johann, someone who has trained long enough to be so sensitive to the limits of other practitioners that he knows how and where to push. Nothing we did in that class was dangerous, yet my mind and body were equally exhausted the next day. In a strange way I also felt refreshed. I have never been pushed that hard in my training and feel as though something has been unlocked by experiencing that level of challenge. Like a little window into the possibilities the future holds.
There is a great phenomenon in Parkour training such that when you finally make the jump that has been at the edge of your limit for however long, after a brief celebration your vision is irreversably shifted. Now you can see ten more jumps that are just at the edge of your new limit. I think that part of the amazing feeling, part of the drive that pushes me to train more and more, is that little glimpse of the infinite - just as I'm about to touch down, when I know I've made it.
