A word about the parkour gym: It’s kind of like a playground for overgrown kids.
It’s in funky old building right next to the Denver Rescue Mission. Obviously not the best neighborhood. It also occupies what appears to be a former ancient garage, and to get air into the place (no air conditioning, remember) an instructor will open the big garage door that faces the street. Across the street and under a tree sit homeless people who watch us like we’re a sports channel. They laugh a lot.
The gym’s equipment is mostly homemade. Except for a couple of standard gymnastic gizmos like the uneven bars and rings and mats, it seems that the owners/instructors had to build everything themselves. That’s how new parkour is, I guess: The equipment needed to train for it isn’t being manufactured by any company.
There’s an adult-size jungle jim made of thick pipes, high plywood platforms, horizontal bars affixed to the ceiling, and other such stuff I assume I’ll have to swing from/ through/ under and jump over/ through and bounce off/ up. Think of how a kid moves along a playground with crazy playthings and you realize how much fun this might be. Then watch some real parkour and you know that if you screw up you can do damage to your body.
Guess which alternative I’m anticipating.
But Layla would laugh at danger. Layla could evade chasing bad guys by parkouring the hell out of a place. Hence I must do the same.