Free running hit me like a brick wall – wait, no, I hit the brick wall – back in Philly last June when I thought “hey, why not try flipping over that parking meter instead of walking around it?” Dumb. I’m here in my Chicago studio now, legs up on a milk crate, ice pack melting on my ankle cuz yesterday I tried a wall run in the rain and, well, gravity’s still undefeated. Anyway, free running ain’t just for the pros with six-packs and GoPros. It’s for idiots like me who see a bench and think obstacle course, not place to sit.
Why Free Running Became My Therapy (and My ER Bill)
Lockdown broke something in me. I was pacing my 400-square-foot apartment like a caged raccoon, staring at the fire escape like it owed me money. One night, 2 a.m., couldn’t sleep, I climbed out the window, shimmied up to the roof, and just… jumped to the next building. Landed it. Barely. Heart in my throat, hands shaking, but I did it. That’s when free running stopped being a TikTok trend and became my weird little addiction.
Fast forward: I’ve face-planted in three states, lost two shoes, and had one very confused Uber driver watch me vault his hood. Worth it? Mostly.
Free Running Fails: The Greatest Hits (So Far)
Let’s not sugarcoat it. I suck sometimes. Here’s the highlight reel of shame:
- Philly Pothole Incident: Going for a cat leap between two garages. Mid-air, foot catches a chunk of missing sidewalk. Eat concrete. Wake up with a pigeon staring at me like “rookie.”
- Chicago Subway Rail Debacle: Precision jump onto a handrail. Slipped. Landed in a pile of wet newspapers and someone’s half-eaten burrito. Smelled great.
- NYC Hot Dog Cart Kong: Tried to kong vault a vendor cart for the ‘gram. Undershot. Knee met metal. Vendor yelled “AY YO!” in perfect New York. Got it on video. Still won’t post it.
Free Running Basics I Learned the Hard (and Dumb) Way
You don’t need a gym. You need pavement, stubbornness, and a high pain tolerance. Here’s what actually worked — between the screaming and the limping:
Vaults That Don’t End in Tears (Usually)
- Speed Vault: Run, plant hand, swing legs. I practiced this on a picnic table in Cleveland till my palms bled. Now? Smooth(ish).
- Lazy Vault: Same but slower, more control. Saved me when I misjudged a fence in Pittsburgh and didn’t wanna eat chain link.
- Kong Vault: The cool one. Dive, hands down, legs through. First time I stuck it was over a bike rack in Seattle. Felt like Spider-Man. Then I clipped my toe and rolled into a bush.
Pro tip: film yourself. Not for clout. For science. Watch the replay, cringe, fix the foot placement. Repeat.
Jumps, Leaps, and Not Dying
Cat leaps? Terrifying. I still whisper “don’t look down” like a prayer. Wall runs? Only work if the wall ain’t wet. Learned that in Portland. Slid down like a cartoon character. Splat.
Check American Parkour — their tutorials saved me from snapping an ankle. Also, Parkour Generations has drills that don’t assume you’re a ninja. Yet.
Flow State? More Like Slow State (But Getting There)
Flow state parkour is real, but it’s rare. Most days I’m just trying not to die. But sometimes — like that one dusk in Miami, skyline on fire, flipping over railings like the city’s my playground — it clicks. Everything quiets. Just breath, motion, landing. Then I trip on a crack and it’s over.
American parkour scenes are wild. West Coast: chill, artsy, lots of grass. East Coast: concrete, attitude, zero mercy. Midwest? We just wanna not freeze mid-vault.
Gear, Spots, and Not Getting Arrested
Gear: old Vans, thrift store shorts, one knee brace I stole from my roommate. Spots: alleys behind bars (after closing), abandoned lots, college campuses at 6 a.m. Avoid: private property, cops, dogs with opinions.
Shoutout World Freerunning Parkour Federation for the inspo, but honestly? Your city’s got spots. Find ‘em. Just don’t tag me when you break something.
Wait — was I supposed to talk about breathing techniques? Shit. Uh, breathe out on impact. Or in. I forget. Anyway.
Yeah So… Go Do Free Running (But Warm Up)
Look, I’m still a mess. Still trip. Still bleed. But free running gave me something no gym ever did: proof I can move through the world like it’s mine. Even when I fall on my face.
Your turn. Find a bench. Try a vault. Film the fail. Laugh. Try again.
Drop your worst wipeout in the comments. I’ll send you a virtual ice pack.
(Also, stretch. Seriously. My back still hates me.)
REI’s beginner parkour safety tips — read it. Don’t be me.
peace.
