01 May 2012
BEIRUT: While most people’s preferred mode of transport in Lebanon is the car, and a few others choose to walk, Joe Zgheib is partial to a more perilous mode of travel.
He gets around by leaping onto and off stairwells and low balconies, over roofs and from scaffolding onto walls and roadblocks in an array of flips and gravity-defying jumps before sprinting toward the next obstacle.
“The earth is our playground, whether I’m at home, in a parking lot in Beirut, among the ruins of Jbeil, or in the valleys of the Bekaa. Our discipline is not defined by location – it’s everywhere, it’s a way of life,” explains Zgheib, 23, a graduate of the University of Balamand with a degree in Physical Education.
“Our motto is ‘nothing blocks our way,’” he explains, his enthusiasm palpable in a broad smile that he struggles to conceal even when the topic of conversation turns from light-hearted to serious. “At first, we had a bad rep ... people referred to us as monkeys, and said we were crazy – telling us we would hurt ourselves. Seeing us in action was a shock to them.”
Zgheib is the founder of Lebanese Parkour, a small collective of around 40 male and female thrill-seekers between the ages of 7 and 25 who are united by a quest to test their physical limits.
Parkour is a discipline that melds elements of martial arts and gymnastics in which practitioners move along a route, typically in an urban environment, trying to overcome obstacles in the quickest and most efficient manner possible through a combination of jumping, climbing and running.
Although techniques common in Parkour can be found in ancient Eastern martial arts such as Ninjitsu and Qing Gong, the foundations for the modern discipline can be traced to physical training systems and assault courses (le parcours du combatant) introduced into the French military in the 1920s. These methods were refined and developed into a distinct discipline in the late ’80s and early ’90s by David Belle – widely regarded as the founder of Parkour – whose grandfather and father had been skilled rescuers in the French military’s firefighting brigade.
In recent years, Parkour-inspired stunts have become increasingly prominent in the action sequences of Western films such as “The Bourne Ultimatum,” “Casino Royale” and “The Prince of Persia.” Military institutions in different countries have sought ways to incorporate Parkour into physical training. The British Royal Marines have hired Parkour athletes to train their members, while similar initiatives have been introduced into the United States Marine Corps.
Zgheib, who grew up practicing Kung Fu and other martial arts, discovered Parkour through the Luc Besson films “Yamakasi” (2001) and “District 13” (“Banlieue 13”), after which he began practicing with the aid of YouTube tutorials.
“I was a shy person; I didn’t like social life,” says Zgheib. “When I discovered that I was good at sports I gained confidence, felt comfortable and developed my personality. Discovering Parkour was a huge move in my life.”
He established Lebanese Parkour in 2010, keen both to share his passion with other like-minded souls and provide a safe environment for practitioners to develop their skills.
Training sessions lasting an hour and a half are held in the safe confines of the L’Institut Technique des Freres in Gemmayzeh four days a week. Crash mats are aplenty. Two sessions a week cost $40 a person.
“Every kid loves to jump and climb and we continue this love,” explains Hadi Hajjar, 20, possessorof biceps larger than a young child’s head and one of the most adept of the group. “It’s spectacular. It’s not like other sports,” he adds after executing a perfect front flip with 180 degree rotation from a high platform with an air of nonchalance difficult for the observer to fathom. “Others walk on the street – we jump and fly.”
In addition to the appeal of being able to pull off the spectacular, members of the group express that Parkour provides them with a release from the stresses and strains of everyday life and the opportunity to be part of a community ever-willing to help one another develop their skills.
“It’s a great sport to get away from it all,” says Mohammad Rida, 23, who joined the Lebanese Parkour team seven months ago, “you can go anywhere when you are stressed and angry and feel free.”
“Everyone looks out for each other,” says Loaa Zaaroui, 20, one of four girls that train regularly with the group, “this is the best team I’ve ever joined ... it’s like a family.”
Zgheib oversees the training sessions with the pastoral eye of a shepherd observing his flock, offering encouragement and constructive criticism when necessary.
“I wanted to learn to do flips but I needed someone beside me,” says Anthony Atwe, 17, as a Monday evening training session draws to a close. “Joe helps us out, he is strict when necessary and always encourages us.”
Zgheib takes the well-being of his students very seriously, observing their development in the gym before deciding whether they are ready to take their discipline to the streets. He says the process usually takes between four and six months.
“Safety is a priority, it is important to develop technique in the gym before we practice outside. The body needs time to acclimatize to the impact,” he explains. “ I encourage students not to practice alone. If they want to practice outside then I organize a session ... I take them when they are ready, we know the body has limits.”
Nevertheless, like in all physically challenging sports, injuries are part of the course. After all Parkour is no leisurely game of tiddlywinks. A message on the Lebanese Parkour website states: “Great FALLS give you Great LESSONS, so keep falling safely and the most important part is learning and trying to figure out why you fell.”
“I’ve broken my shoulder, and I also broke my wrist before I joined,” explains Karim al-Amin, 20, as the group are leaving the gym, “outside it’s a dangerous sport. You need foresight, flexibility, courage and mental strength. If you don’t have it, you can’t do it.”
In addition to practicing their discipline purely for the love of it Zgheib and a core team of 10 others from Lebanese Parkour have performed a number of outdoor exhibitions – recently showcasing their talent at the opening of the new Virgin Megastore in Hamra. Zgheib, who has also featured in a number of television commercials, says the team earns between $2,000 and $5,000 for a 10-minute show.
Public perception has also improved. “When we perform the reaction is very positive, people are amazed, they ask for our numbers and offer praise,” notes Hajjar, “although older generations still think we are crazy and warn us not to hurt ourselves.”
In addition to performing for monetary gain the Lebanese Parkour team is also set to begin showcasing their moves for charitable causes. On April 15 the team performed in Ain al-Mreisseh to raise money for The Children’s Cancer Center of Lebanon.
“It is a great cause and we want to continue working with charities in the future – with our art we can get a lot of attention and really help,” says Joe.
Copyright The Daily Star 2012.
