Jump that wall, flip over that ledge.
It's called Parkour -- or freerunning to you -- and people in cities across the country are doing it. By MEGAN McCLOSKEY.
Ryan Ford spins against a wall in Denver. (AP Photo/Bill Ross)
Nick Prechel jumps a gap in Denver. (AP Photo/Bill Ross)
"It's not about the height, man."
Heads bob in agreement -- young philosophers at work.
"The point is overcoming any obstacle," 18-year-old Ryan Ford tells a circle of young guys around him.
As if to explain, he takes position atop a 10-foot wall enclosing a sculpture park in downtown Denver. With a running start, Ford lunges hands-first at a railing, vaulting himself backwards over the wall and deftly landing on the ground.
Not missing a beat, he springs forward, bounding over a concrete block and soaring six feet into the air, landing on the ledge of a wall, gripping it with the tips of his fingers and toes in what is known as -- most appropriately -- a cat leap.
Ford is a traceur. And he's practicing what's known in the French world as Parkour, or in English parlance, freerunning.
It's an activity that's hard to describe in words and even to capture on film. Stop motion is essentially counter to what Parkour is all about. The idea is to flow, to continually glide through one's environment, mostly urban, letting no obstacle impede the movement.
"The emphasis is on efficiency, fluidity and creativity," Ford said.
The sport is already a sensation in France and the United Kingdom, where expert traceurs are lavished with lucrative endorsement contracts from the likes of Adidas and Nokia, and it's gaining momentum in the United States.
Nike even featured the sport in a U.S. commercial -- a sure sign a sport has reached a certain level of notoriety.
Still, it's hard to explain to a country that often argues over whether golf is a "sport" about an activity with no obvious competition and no tangible goal like crossing a finish line.
Parkour is more about conquering the mental beast.
Mark Toorock, 34, of New Jersey, likens it to mountain climbing.
"That's about getting to the top of the mountain -- for no reason," he said. "Like Parkour, it's about the journey."
Parkour as it's known today started in Lisse, France by friends Foucan and David Belle, but it can be traced back to early 20th century physical-education expert George Herbet, who created intricate obstacle courses to train the body to move naturally and fluidly.
Not all practitioners completely buy into the philosophy, some just think "it's pretty sweet," as Eli Worsencroft, 24, puts it.
But there is an apt metaphor for life.
Sebastian Foucan, perhaps the most famous face in the sport as co-founder and star of the Nike ad and other films, takes the philosophy angle to an extreme level -- he essentially lives Parkour as a lifestyle, a state of mind.
"Life is made of obstacles and challenges -- to overcome them is to progress," he wrote on his Web site, http://www.parkour.com . "You have to learn to navigate your surroundings. If you don't move forward, then what's your purpose?"
To a traceur, all the world is a jungle gym. In a culture of ADD and Ritalin, Parkour requires focus and concentration; traceurs practice moves, like the cat leap, over and over until it becomes a part of their natural movement.
Even with nothing to land on but concrete and the occasional steel handrail, Parkour isn't quite the injury-ravaged sport one might think. Each athlete seems to have one gnarly landing story, but mostly scabs and bruises.
"Shins," Ford said. "Shins are the human weakness."
The risk is always calculated and incremental. There doesn't seem to be any kamikaze instinct.
Ford has little tricks to measure a jump for fear and ability. He knows, for example, that his hand raised in a fist is seven feet.
Before making a long jump from one tall ledge to another -- a move that none of the Colorado traceurs had seen done before -- he measured it out with his feet on the ground and practiced.
The obstacle, though, isn't always what's in front of the athlete. It can also be fear, or "that little voice," as Ford calls it.
"Sometimes you feel like you can't do something," he said, "even though you know you can."
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Find more online: http://www.urbanfreeflow.com ; http://www.americanparkour.com
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asap contributor Megan McCloskey works in AP's Denver bureau.
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