Image IC students bring the sport of Parkour to Ithaca.
By Norah Sweeney
Image
Photos by Zac Blitz
Fall 2010
At last, there is a sport for the inner iron man, adrenaline junkie and hippie that lie dormant in each of our versatile beings. Its French name, l’art du déplacement, translates literally as “the art of movement.” But thanks to Michael Scott, regional manager of Dunder-Mifflin’s Scranton branch, you may know it better as “PARKOUR!”
the birth of a phenomenon
Parkour was officially born in 1997, when founders David Belle and Sebastién Foucan started the traceur (the French term for male practitioners of parkour, the female counterpart being “traceuse”) troupe Yamakasi, a word meaning “strong body, strong spirit and endurance” in the Lingala language, spoken in the Congo. Belle and Foucan would later part ways over financial difficulties and disparities in their definitions of the sport. Thirteen years later, parkour is still very much in its infancy. Indeed, there was no formal definition until September 2009, when the organization American Parkour, in true 21st century fashion, set up an online forum to determine what parkour is, and what it isn’t.
We now know that parkour is, essentially, a non-competitive sport in which the player runs along a route with the purpose of navigating “obstacles”—which range from brick walls to tree branches—with optimum efficiency.
However, practitioners of parkour would never want to be called “players.” Traceur should be used for the guys, and traceuse for the gals. The moniker is as sinister and downright cool as it sounds, as it is derived from the French word for bullet.
Parkour has been eking its way up from the underground through viral videos on YouTube and inclusion in one of the latest James Bond films, Casino Royale. World militaries took notice of these urban acrobatics and began to explore ways to incorporate the sport into their basic training. British Royal Marines have hired several traceurs to train their troops, and it is slowly being incorporated into our own Marines’ conditioning program.
(art by Charles Wang) (click to enlarge)
But while parkour has the appearance of being the lone wolf’s badass alternative to joining Fight Club, it isn’t exactly meant for the war zone. After all, this shiny, new art of movement has made it all the way to Ithaca.
Connecticut-born brothers Michael and Dylan Miraglia, Ithaca College sophomores, started the IC Parkour/Freerunning Club at the start of this school year. Beginning in September, they filled campus hot spots and laundry rooms with flyers that quoted the hilarious Michael Scott and promised to teach “wall flips” and other advanced tricks.
The Miraglia brothers began their careers as traceurs with classes at their local YMCA, and in turn introduced it to their IC roommates, who all conspired to initiate the remainder of the student body. The club’s first meeting drew a crowd upward of 30 people, which pleasantly surprised the founders and almost filled the small gymnastics room in IC’s Hill Center to capacity. The turnout featured guys and girls of all body types and skill levels, ranging from fitness freaks like Michael and Dylan to seasoned gymnasts who wished to kick the extreme factor up a few notches.
The moon-bounce-like floor in the gymnastics room featured stacks of tumbling mats, which the college’s gymnastics team had exclusive use of before that night. Michael (president) and Dylan (vice president) acted as teachers during this first official practice, breaking down lightning-fast movements that normally happen in milliseconds into minutelong instructions. Over the course of the practice, they showed the new traceurs and traceuses the basic parkour skills: jumping, climbing, vaulting and swinging. By the end, those who had only a vague idea of what parkour was were successfully completing basic vaults. It looked easy enough.
jumping in feet first
I decided to follow in the footsteps of the father of participatory journalism, George Plimpton, who played with the Detroit Lions and appeared in Good Will Hunting as a blundering, white-haired psychiatrist, just to get the story.
I, who had given up all athletic pursuits since coming to college, save for the occasional jog or yoga class, was going to attempt the extreme.
I tried to comfort myself with what Michael, Dylan and club treasurer Andy Fanno had told me earlier that week: “It’s only as dangerous as you make it.”
This particular practice was designated for beginners, and only the most “basic” vaults would be taught: the lazy, monkey and dash vaults. Needless to say, I went for the lazy vault first, in which the traceur puts his or her hands on the obstacle and brings the legs sideways and together over the object.
As I bounded toward the obstacle, my internal dialogue went something like this: “Alright, you’re 6’ tall… that pile of mats you have to launch over is only 5’2’’ or so… c’mon, girl… you rocked Tumble Tots… no big deal… heed David Lee Roth’s call and ‘go ahead and jump!’”
However, the truth that there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell (or in this case, a writer’s chance in parkour) for this wannabe traceuse to succeed soon became evident. I called it an evening after barely completing one lazy vault.
I had already suspected that the members of the Ithaca College Parkour/Freerunning Club were superhuman even before my fear of falling was compounded by Plimpton ambitions. Afterwards, I put them on par with the DC Comics pantheon; their seemingly elastic bodies appear to adapt to the size of the obstacles over which they vault, like Mr. Fantastic.
After returning to my destined place on the sidelines, notebook in hand, I discovered the most fascinating part of watching parkour: when one of the traceurs lands an incredible vault, jump or flip, an ubiquitous look of disbelief crosses his or her face. As Eric, Michael’s roommate and a club member, gushed, “You just feel so cool after you land.”
hitting the streetsOn Saturday and Sunday afternoons, the parkour kids emerge. They no longer have to meet at 10:30 at night in a remote part of campus, like a super-secret extreme sport cult. The campus is empty. The campus is theirs.
“Class, club, whatever we call ourselves…” began Dylan, “Let’s do some wall flips, but please, don’t kill yourselves.”
The select few traceurs who considered themselves ready to make the transition from cushiony tumbling mats to concrete smiled nervously and donned shifty eyes.
Dylan and Michael each then demonstrated a wall flip. This trick is exactly what it sounds like: the beyond-courageous traceur runs part of the way up a vertical wall, and then flips backward onto the ground.
After completing several flawless wall flips in a row, Michael made it clear that parkour is not only an art, but also a science. “It’s like turning a door knob. You’re just training your muscles to do it through repetition. Now, when I do a vault, I just do it. That’s called ‘muscle memory.’”
While no other club members took the wall flip dare, all of the traceurs agreed that the move outdoors wasn’t as frightening as expected. Two brand new members successfully scaled the concrete crossbeams that flank the sides of the main entrance to Williams Hall, which is home to future psychologists, chemists and mathematicians during the school week.
“Parkour is limitless. There’s always something new to do,” remarked Dylan.
Just when all present seemed on the cusp of attaining parkour enlightenment, an IC Police SUV pulled up alongside Williams Hall, and an officer apprehended Dylan. Motioning to the two traceurs now sitting comfortably 15 feet above the ground in Williams’ rafters, the officer said, “I don’t know how you got up there… so I’ll just give you a warning. I don’t want to write you guys up, but I will!”
“I’ve gone outside of the court and town hall downtown, and I was told that it was fine… just as long as I don’t make a mess,” Dylan said, and grinned sheepishly.
Legend has it that if a virgin ever graduates from IC, the silver abstract sculpture of a “fish” on top of Textor Hall will roll down South Hill. This artistic testament to the college’s eccentricity has become the headquarters for its traceurs, who claim that the surrounding concrete courtyard is the best place to parkour on campus.
The authority that sanctions IC’s student organizations fears that the Textor Fish may take a tumble for another reason, as the Parkour/ Freerunning Club was officially denied legitimacy as an Ithaca College student organization just before midterm exam time.
“The board found out what sort of things parkour involves, and got nervous about having to pay up if we ever hurt ourselves or damaged anything,” Eric said.
Michael and Dylan plan to appeal for recognition, and to try to convince the powers that be that parkour is, “not any more dangerous than gymnastics or football.”
“Parkour is about respecting your environment, not breaking things or yourself,” Michael said.
In parkour, one’s environment never presents an insurmountable challenge since the goal of every traceur and traceuse is to move through his or her surroundings as efficiently as water. The only question that remains is whether this brand-spanking- new sport they practice can do the same.