To be useful.

I work at a small spa in the basement of an old apartment building complex, located in the party district of Capitol Hill in Seattle. It's a clean little place, a safe and warm where for women to relax, nap, stretch sore and tired muscles, or read, drinking water with limes. It's a place to wash the day's woes, be not bothered by their outside thoughts, and the chilly world just meters away. My job is to guard the door, keep things tidy and stocked, cut the aforementioned limes, and ensure customer satisfaction.

I don't train very much at work. It's a place for me to rest as well, sit for a few hours, blog or read up on forums, sew, imagine, or do nothing at all. Push-ups happen in slow times, or quiet quadrupedie and precision walking. I practice being slow, here, but the idea of 'go' never leaves.

A customer dropped her keys when she left tonight, had to come back in to ask me how to access beneath the stairs, to a nice dark pit of dropped, forgotten, and gotten-rid-of things. I know this because it was the most exciting part of my night so far to grab my flashlight (that I always carry in my backpack,) throw the "Back in 5 min" sign on the door, and climb over the rail to wiggle through a three foot long space to get under the stairs. The whole process was short--forty seconds maybe?--from me next to her and her sister to back with her keys. They hadn't asked me to do it, but of course I had to; something about their recent visit to the spa, the floral scents coming from them, and the slippers seemed not to mix with either of them actually climbing through the asked-for access hole onto a bunch of trash. (And indeed I came out with enough dirt on my pants to make me grin.) So interesting; for them, it was a moment of panic, with discussion of how to get the extra keys from thirty minutes south, and who might come and get them to do so. For me it was a pleasant break in the quiet monotonous night. A new task with just a small bit of useful movement--and it wasn't the deed that makes me happy, but the instant willingness--eagerness even--in myself to do it. And why is it blogworthy? --Because I'm still at work, sitting peacefully again and hoping someone else might drop their keys sometime, so that I might go retrieve them, smoother, and faster, and with less effort than before.

Maison des Singes

It has happened; there is a house full of traceuruesses in Seattle, and I'm lucky enough to be stationed within it. And I really do feel fortunate--I know how many people are out there, the only ones in their area, having to teach themselves and train on their own, and I am truly blessed to have such a strong and supportive community. And have faith, all you loners! Parkour is spreading far and fast, and geographically you may be single, but really, it's a worldwide community.

Some things to coming soon to the house: bars! and lots of them, training with my roommates, and motivation all the time, all around me. I don't really know how to describe how good it shall be for me to live with such motivated and active people, especially having just come from a home that I love, but offered only too much inactivity and the piling of beer cans; (boys, I love you, I do not love Magic Cards.) I once lived with only other jugglers, and we juggled every day for a few hours, together, or separate, had weekly "Juggle Jams" at home, and there was no shortage of good times. This new house will be like that for parkour, (not to mention they shall all juggle too [some already do] mwahahaha!) And we have cement stairs out front and a little wall out back and yard and a shed and soon a dog and board meetings and weekly group training days and fencing and boxing and down time and visitors and soooo much food is going to go through there--*inhale*--I'm stoked.

Other happy news, the PNWPA classes are in full swing, with Rafe putting in mad hours at the gym. I especially have fun with the kids' class; there's nothing like hearing, "This is so awesome!" repeated for an hour every Friday to keep one's spirits high. It's great to see how they improve every week, and to be subject to their unending excitement. I can't wait until we have toddler classes! Cute little humonkeys for the win.

In training:

Thursday was add-on conditioning time, crazy super-man push-ups, and the always reminder of needing to build core strength.

Friday had kids, obstacle course, and lots of, "Hey Mom! Watch me!"

Saturday was more add-0n conditioning, first and second class, a full gym for the second class, and--guess what?--reminder of needing to do hanging leg raises (for core strength.)

photo by Cody Allison

Sunday was grey and wet--big surprise. Freeway park ate my hand skin--even bigger surprise. (Riiight.)
Tyson had us doing cat hang drills for warm up; we ended up spending the whole training session (and hour or so, I think...) on those two walls. Drill one: ten times (the ones you counted as good) standing cat jump, up, lower down other side to cat before dismount. Drill two: Five times standing cat jump, up, lower into hang other side, back up, and lower down to original side -or- once up, lower down as slowly as possible. Drill three: Five times jump to cat, up to right forearm, down to hang, up to left forearm, down to hang, then both and up--or maybe down...

I was on an alternate course, as my scrambling up the wall wasn't working without some rail-assist, and by the time I got to the third drill, my forearms were failing. It's weird; sometimes I don't feel that pain of muscles being done working, they'll just stop working, kind of numb, and certainly useless. I don't consider having even one repetition for the last drill, maybe a half, but it was a good day--I appreciate how basic it was, just two walls, just cat-work, but I found it all so difficult. After the first thirty minutes it was hard to want to subject my hands to the park again, (we found minor relief in dipping raw palms into cold puddles on the ground.) And I think, at the end, my hands were a big reason why everything just stopped working. No confidence in grip, and of course, pain. I work to push through pain in so much of my training, and am always improving, but at some point the hands wont do, they'll just bleed for a while, then weep later on. But secretly I like it. Not for the first day, or even the first two, but definitely after the stinging-when-I-touch-anything stops, it feels good. Like I've done something. I can't imagine using gloves, or training inside all the time. I know some prefer the indoors, and they're good for introductions, but I can't call it parkour unless enough time training happens outside; it's just not real, otherwise. Freeway park is a very real place, and I was very really sore the next day, and am now really done.



I wish you all safety, respect, and community--
Be well.