Andy Pearson: Failure, inspiration, and injuries →

Published August 14, 2019  ·  All posts on Aug 14  ·  

Andy Pearson: Failure, inspiration, and injuries

How can a coach ensure their students surpass their own skills and preserve the essence of parkour over generations?

Andy Pearson unpacks why he considers himself a failed coach, and dives into what he believes his job as a coach to be. He shares his insights on where to look for coaching and training inspiration outside of parkour, before going through the litany of injuries he’s had, and explaining how they have shaped his training. Andy discusses his current training and how he expects it to grow and evolve, before wrapping up with his thoughts on FIG and the Olympics.

There are a lot of kids out there that are much, much better than I am […] I was thinking about this metric: Out of all of my students, can I actually think of anybody that has gone on and I’ve actually made them better than I am? I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about my ability as a coach, and therefore am I failing? Am I failing because therefore there’s going to be this dilution. Because if they then go on to be coaches and they do the same thing to their students and so on and so forth, are we going to be gradually losing what it means? …what parkour is about?

~ Andy Pearson (6:00)

The conversation explores Andy’s reflections on his coaching career, questioning whether his methods genuinely allow students to surpass his own abilities. Andy grapples with the idea that shielding students from the mistakes he made may unintentionally dilute essential learning experiences. He discusses how past injuries and his evolving perspective on training are reshaping his coaching philosophy.

Andy highlights the value of exploring strength and conditioning disciplines outside of parkour to enhance his coaching. He references strength coaches like Mark Rippetoe and training systems like StrongFit as critical resources. The discussion also touches on the contrast between structured coaching environments and the organic, unstructured paths taken by top parkour athletes, raising questions about the future direction of parkour training.

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On being wrong →

Published August 14, 2019  ·  All posts on Aug 14  ·  

I’ve come to realize that I love being wrong.

I spent so many years reinforcing the thought that I could be the guy; The guy who swoops in and solves the problem when things get technically complicated, the guy who swoops in and creates order and process out of the chaos, the guy who swoops in and gets things done. Setting aside the analysis of whether or not I was actually particularly good at that, I did “I can be that guy” so much that I had convinced myself that I am that guy.

In The Coaching Habit, Michael Bungay Stanier talks about the Karpman drama triangle. I’ve certainly played all three roles of Persecutor, Victim and Rescuer. But I realize now that I’m addicted—or perhaps I can be hopeful enough to say was addicted?—to being the Rescuer. In the past year or so it’s become clear to me that it’s vastly more healthy and fun(!) to be part of a team that solves problems and gets things done.

To be the person who asks a question that opens a flood gate of discussion.

To be the person who understands that one’s purpose was to have been instrumental in creating the environment last week, so this week the team solves the problem on its own.

To be the person who is a complete and utter success, by having simply contributed a small addition here, a minor adjustment there.

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If you do not know →

Published August 13, 2019  ·  All posts on Aug 13  ·  

The world will ask you who you are, and if you do not know, the world will tell you.

~ Carl Jung

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The journey →

Published August 12, 2019  ·  All posts on Aug 12  ·  ,

I’m fond of the old adage, what was once your workout will eventually be your warmup. It captures the inevitability of progress if you simply put in your time. In the beginning, the time spent seems to surface an endless sequence of unknown-unknowns. Bottomless, rabbit holes appear and you have to go far too far down the first few to learn an important lesson about depth versus breadth of knowledge. Soon you begin to realize the beginner’s journey is more or less the same for everyone. You get a few wins under your belt. Someone ahead of you compliments your work. You help one of your peers. Then you help one of those farther ahead of you, and realize the distance you’ve come is farther than the distance between you. You feed increasingly off of the energy of your peer group, bouncing ideas and challenges around like a seasoned practitioner. You look around only to realize there are now a large number of newer people on the journey who are behind you. You’re struck by a deeply pleasant emotional vertigo. You remember running in the halls with your brand new friends full of energy, and you feel recharged and invigorated; You might no longer run in the halls—age appropriateness and all that—but the energy from those who do is absolutely contagious every time. You struggle to refrain from proclaiming, “wait until you see what’s next!” Instead, you redouble your efforts by dashing ahead, behind the scenes, around the next corner, or over the next hill, to help with the preparations. You realize—you apprehend—that you’ve gotten as much out of giving back to help with the process, than you did from going through the process that first time. The cycle repeats. The learning, the friendships, the accomplishments—and quite frankly the advancement of the entire human race—builds with each iteration.

So, when is the last time you started something as a beginner?

When is the last time you showed up a bright eyed and bushy tailed neophyte?

When is the last time you helped the others? Those behind you, those ahead of you, and those around you?

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§20 – Three words →

Published August 11, 2019  ·  All posts on Aug 11

This entry is part 32 of 37 in the series Study inspired by Pakour & Art du Déplacement by V. Thibault

The idea of selecting three words is an amazing tool. A few years back, Yann Hnautra spent significant time traveling in the United States teaching, but also trying to get a sense of what Art du Déplacement meant there, to those people practicing. Off to the side, at most of the events, someone (who was not Yann) took little cell phone videos where people were asked a series of questions. The idea was that he would be able to watch the videos to get a different viewpoint than he would when running events and training with people; Little moments of private candor as it were.

I was standing, being recorded, when I was introduced to this question. Something like, “how would you describe your practice in three words?” Honestly, I have no idea what I said—sometimes I think I should ask Yann to find my video, but I’m terrified to hear what I said even just those few years ago.

When I started the Movers Mindset podcast I wanted a way to give each episode a specific ending which would be recognizable to the listener, but which would give the guest a framework to wrap up what they had said in their own way. Many podcasts have a rapid-fire section of questions they go to at the end. But I felt that would completely change the pacing; Whatever the pace of the interview was by the end, shifting to a preset, rapid-fire pace would be a jarring change. At some point it occurred to me to ask them for three words to describe their practice.

As the podcast grew, and the guests’ backgrounds began to vary widely, the question proved to be even more powerful than I was at first aware. Ask someone who self-identifies as doing Parkour, FreeRunning or Art du Déplacement for “three words to describe your practice” and exactly what you expect to happen happens. But I soon learned that the word “practice” is itself a powerful tool. Ask someone who self-identifies first as operating a school, as a mother, or as a community leader, and the power of the question is multiplied by their having to select words and unpack “practice.”

In case you’re wondering, I do have three words these days, and of course they are Vincent’s…

force | dignite | partage

They are in French to remind me of the global scale, (of the practice, of people in general, all of it.) I have a wrist band with these words on it. It’s black and the words are black so they are difficult to notice; It’s a reminder for me, not a blaring advertisement.

Two final points: The other side of my wrist band reads, “maximum effort.” My favorite answer given by a podcast guest is, “break all the rules.”

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On splitting →

Published August 10, 2019  ·  All posts on Aug 10

Caution: seemingly disjointed thoughts ahead, followed by unifying insight.

I hope.

I’m pragmatic and rational with the usual dose of emotions thrown in, because, human. I also find that I too often ignore the messaging coming from my body and my brain. I sometimes get into deep work on something technical, and I have trouble knowing when I should stop. (Answer: A few hours in, at a place where I know what I should do next. Never work until stuck; Don’t stop there.) I push everything too far and then crash mentally, or even physically.

I’ve recently found I have Lyme disease. “Boooo!” But the treatment—at least, the initial treatment option—is a simple antibiotic called Doxycycline. “Yay, modern science!” Which I take twice per day on an empty stomache and it makes me pretty nauseous. “Booooo,” (more vociforously.) I usually eat dinner by 6:30pm, and the evening 8:30pm pill isn’t usually bad. But the 8:30am pill on a totally empty stomach is nausea-roulette about 40 minutes later.

Splitting is the name for all-or-nothing thinking: You’re either with me, or against me. This project is suceeding or failing. I am a sucess or a failure. Partly this comes from focusing on outcomes; I set lots of goals, and I set them high on purpose, so usually I don’t reach them. “Booooo,” combined with some splitting leads to, “I suck.”

In Stoic parlance, a “dispreferred indifferent” is something you do not prefer, and over which you have no control and are therefore indifferent to the outcome. (Stoicism crib notes: Almost everything is an “indifferent” since you fully control only your own thoughts.) Vomitting around 9am every day is definitely a DISpreferred indifferent. I can drink plenty of water, I can pay attention to my posture, (unexpectedly it drastically affects my stomach reaction,) I can avoid laying down, I can avoid getting up, etc. …and it’s still nausea-roulette.

I have had a superlatively enjoyable week since starting this medication.

Wait, what?

Seriously. Something about having this [actually quite minor] regular nausea thing seems to be treating my splitting thinking. “Oh, nice it’s time to work on this cool thing I want to see suceed!” “Oh, nice it seems to be time to vomit!” “Oh, nice that was just a wave of nausea!” “It’s really going to be hot outside today, but it’s cool on the patio for now. Nice!” “Oh, are we vomitting now? That’s nice too!” “Oh, I have an idea for something to do this afternoon. Nice!” It seems to have all just run together into this general state of, “nice!”

Ok, yeah, that may be pretty messed up. But, gotta go, it’s 8:30.

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Be kind to yourself →

Published August 9, 2019  ·  All posts on Aug 9  ·  

I just finished listening to an interview with Stephane Vigroux (see, 1, 2, 3, and 4) and one of his take-aways—the point he ended with actually—was that your parkour practice should make you happy. If I may unpack a bit: That you should be kind to yourself.

Stephane teaches a drill which has many variations, but is roughly to spend 30 minutes balancing on a rail. One finds something reasonable to balance on, like a simple railing or a low bar, where falling off has no consequences and where it’s easy to re-mount. When balancing, simply stand as still as you can. Switch legs and positions as you need to, but mostly, simply stand still and balance. If you fall off, simply get back on, and be kind to yourself for the duration.

Go do this drill. Seriously. If you cannot balance on a railing, scale the challenge down to fit your ability; Find a narrow wall, a curb, something the size of a shoebox, a bench—whatever, and alternate balancing on one foot at a time.

I’ve had the chance to train with Stephane a few times. Once, in Évry France (right in front of the Cathedral) a large group was being led by Williams Belle through a long sequence of ground movements. I had arrived at the event from another week-long event, in the middle of a summer after I had recently given up a year-long physical challenge that had my left shoulder with an aching weakness. It was only mid-morning and I was grinding my way through the physical training. There was a tremendous group spirit of support and encouragement, with everyone—absolutely everyone being pushed to their own personal limits. There was shouting and cheering and a good bit of laughing.

I could have continued. It’s possible that every other time I had ever done physical training I did continue. I had struggled through the, “this hurts I want to quit,” rationalization much earlier that morning. But for some reason, at some random moment, I stood up and walked off to the side where I sat down on an outdoor chair in the shade. At that moment, it felt right to choose to be kind to myself rather than persevere.

After a few minutes, Stephane also stopped, walked over, sat down in a neighboring chair, and asked how I was doing. It wasn’t an, “are you injured, why have you stopped?” visit. Just a friend dropping by to see how I was feeling.

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Society does not exist →

Published August 8, 2019  ·  All posts on Aug 8  ·  

Society exists only as a mental concept; in the real world there are only individuals.

~ Oscar Wilde

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§19 – One word →

Published August 7, 2019  ·  All posts on Aug 7  ·  

This entry is part 31 of 37 in the series Study inspired by Pakour & Art du Déplacement by V. Thibault

What is it, in this sport or project, that moves me, motivates me, nourishes me—and helps me thrive and shine?

~ Vincent Thibault

What facilitates my flourishing? Today, I’m going to say it’s space.

Not physical space—although there’s a nice metaphor here about having things planted too closely in a garden and how that affects the plants’ flourishing. No, not physical space; I’ve plenty of that.

Perhaps not even mental space—I’m certainly buffeted about by the myriad winds of demands and responsibilities. But with very few exceptions, I’ve created all of those zephyrs. No, although I have left myself no mental space, I am able usually to create it on demand.

Most likely it’s emotional space. The idea that we need room to soak in the emotional experiences that go along with the reality of things, events, and people, and to do that with no specific “why” in mind.

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Steve Zavitz: Freelancing, artistic process, and parkour culture →

Published August 7, 2019  ·  All posts on Aug 7  ·  

Steve Zavitz: Freelancing, artistic process, and parkour culture

What drives someone to transition from a traditional career path into a freelance life focused on parkour photography and videography, and what insights can they share about this journey?

Steve Zavitz shares his passion for parkour photography and film: from his transition to freelancing, his process, and what he likes to create. He discusses the changing style and culture around parkour videos, and the impact social media has had. Steve reflects on the evolving culture, audience, and growth of parkour, and what that means for communities today.

It was in the back of my head where I was like, ‘You know, eventually, I would like to be working fully for myself, being a freelance photographer, videographer, doing my own thing.’ But it wasn’t like I have a three-year plan or a five-year plan or whatever. It was just, I’m going to go out and shoot stuff that I really like doing because I want to, because I need to, almost.

~ Steve Zavitz (11:45)

The conversation explores Steve Zavitz’s path from working in various traditional jobs to transitioning into a full-time freelance career centered around parkour photography and videography. Steve recounts his early experiences capturing parkour scenes on low-quality cameras, highlighting the incremental steps that led to his professional break working with prominent parkour brands. His approach to building a portfolio emphasizes pursuing personal passions rather than following trends, which ultimately led to organic growth and recognition in the parkour community.

In addition to discussing the creative and technical aspects of his work, Steve reflects on the evolving parkour culture and the shifting landscape of content creation. He touches on the growing prevalence of daily parkour posts on social media and how that contrasts with the slower-paced, community-driven videos of the past. The dialogue also reveals concerns about how gym-based parkour might inadvertently limit resilience and self-directed learning in newer practitioners.

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