Training and Mental Health (part one)

The view from where I’m standing…

I have depression.

Looking back, it has been a part of my life for a long time, probably since I was about 13 or 14. It has affected me in various ways, and led to some less-than-healthy behaviour over the years. Since finding parkour, I can honestly say that it has been (among other things) the most powerful and effective force in my life for dealing with depression. I’m writing these blog posts partly to offer some small pieces of advice gleaned from my own experiences with depression, and how it affects and is affected by my training.

I’m also writing because I hope this may start one or two conversations about mental health. I know first-hand how beneficial parkour training can be in combating depression. I also know that the issue doesn’t come up in conversation all that much, certainly not compared to how much we chat about DOMS or shoulder mobility or other physical issues; and this is despite the inestimable importance of mental focus, and health, in our training.

So, what is depression? It’s usually defined as a persistent state of low mood, but this doesn’t really convey how debilitating depression can be. Symptoms are complex and interrelated; they can include (but aren’t limited to):

– continued low mood or sadness, feelings of hopelessness, apathy

– loss of motivation, in work, training and everyday tasks

– loss of interest in things that used to be enjoyable

– difficulty concentrating

– thoughts of suicide or self-harm

–  changes in appetite, rapid loss or gain of weight,

– changes in sleeping patterns: sleeping very little or far too much, sleeping at weird or inconsistent times of the day.

– feelings or worthlessness or guilt, and inability to control negative self-talk

– avoidance of social situations

– unexplained muscle fatigue or weakness, aches and pains

– feeling tearful, crying for little or no reason

– feeling angry or irritable for little or no reason

Changes in behaviour that match these symptoms could point towards depression, so watch out for them in yourself and your friends. So, what should you do if you think a friend may be suffering from depression (or any mental illness)?  You should talk to them about it.

The point of talking with those who may be suffering from depression is not to take on emotional responsibility for other people’s problems, nor is it to act as a proxy doctor or therapist. That is not the role of a friend. The aim of talking is to open up a safe space for your friend to admit that, yeah, something is wrong.  Unfortunately, depression and mental illness still do carry heavy social stigmas. People will often “put up” with depression for fear that others will see it as a weakness, judge them for it, tell them to just “get over it.” I know I did for years. (Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.) If you start the conversation, your friend may let go of their fears of being judged as weak or ridiculous, and begin to address their illness.

Because mental illness is not weakness. And it’s not going to just go away. It is not something that you should put up with either.  You are stronger than that, even if you don’t know it yet. 

If you saw a friend limping on a swollen ankle, you wouldn’t ignore it. You’d ask them how it felt. You’d tell them to address the problem, and help them if you could. I’ll return to this comparison, because depression is like a sprained ankle in many ways. Sometimes you can identify how and why the problem arose; stressful life events or loss of a close relationship. But sometimes you can’t. Sometimes it’s a diminished capacity that passes quickly, if given the required care. Sometimes it’s a chronic recurring problem, which needs to be managed vigilantly.

Just as most of us get injured at some point, mostly minor things but sometimes not, most of us will have some experience of depression or other mental illness, to varying degrees, at some point in our lives.

In a community that focuses so much on strength, the nature of mental strength can so easily be misunderstood. Mental strength is not some kind of hyperbolic toughness, or the cerebral equivalent of brute force. That’s not what we identify as strength in the physical realm; otherwise we’d all do nothing but deadlift all day. The key components of mental strength, in my opinion, are flexibility, adaptability, agility, humility, perseverance. It’s exactly these qualities that come to the fore when recovering from depression; it seems odd to say, but in my experience, taking on depression and working to overcome it has made me stronger in all of those areas. We aim to be strong to be useful. Pretending there’s nothing wrong is no use to nobody.

I worry that some of the rhetoric surrounding parkour may discourage people from speaking about their mental health, precisely due to those social stigmas that paint depression as some sort of silly affliction for the weak-willed. This is the most heart-breaking part, because I know it’s so far from the truth. These ideas are not generally held or defended by individuals; stigmas exist like a kind of cloud of illogic and negativity, and guesses at what others might think. They are only kept alive in darkness, and can potentially disappear if we simply speak openly. I know that the parkour community is a supportive one, and that speaking to my training buddies will not be met with scorn or censure, but with care. I want everyone else to know that too.

We need to ensure that the discussion of mental illness is just as open and socially encouraged as the discussion of physical illness or injury. The question “How are you coping with depression?” should be asked and answered as freely as the question  “How’s that ankle recovering?”. I feel this is particularly important for our community because I know that parkour training can be a catalyst for change in the lives of people with depression. The discipline can provide a structure for those who feel helpless, the community provides support for those who feel hopeless, and the daily achievements and progressions give confidence to those who feel worthless. The experience of flow can approach meditative focus to calm the mind and the physical exertion is a key to recovery as well.

As I said, I hope this can be the beginning of some open conversations, and I know we can all help each other. In a blog post to follow, I’ve written some snippets of advice for those who may be struggling with depression.

By Kelley

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For more information on depression, and how to help others or where to find help for yourself, check out:

Scottish Association for Mental Health – www.samh.org.uk

Whose city? Our city!

by Fiona B

Girls' Night Mission

Within the discourses of parkour, the idea that practitioners are able to reclaim urban space, through disrupting social conventions on how we should use that space, is a well established one. If you google the topic, you can find many blog posts, and even academic articles, on the subject. For this post, I would like to focus on how I think this idea of parkour being subversive in regards to public space is particularly relevant to female practitioners.

From a young age, women are taught to fear (or at least be cautious of) public spaces, especially at night. Look at advice that is given in regards to preventing rape: we tell women to always take taxis home, walk along well-lit areas, stay in groups, and so on. These messages, combined with the lived experiences of women, can produce a fear of public spaces that restricts women’s movement. If you don’t believe me, ask the women in your life about walking home at night. Or consider if arming yourself with keys is common practise for men in the streets after dark.

This fear of the nighttime city streets can merge with anxieties women may have about being catcalled or heckled. This can give women a degree of anxiety about simply being visible in public spaces. According to Mind, over 50% of surveryed women don’t leave the home when exercising, so as not to be seen in public – even though exercising outside is more effective for lifting mood than inside. And of those that do head outside, almost two thirds choose to exercise in a location where they’re unlikely to bump into anyone they know, and a similar proportion wear baggy clothing when exercising in order to hide their figure. (http://www.mind.org.uk/news/6732_new_findings_show_women_run_scared_from_outdoor_exercise). That means there are literally millions of women avoiding outdoor exercise altogether, and millions more battling with their own self-confidence when they overcome that avoidance.

The reclamation of public space as a woman is very central to my understanding of  parkour, and my love for it. Practicing parkour has opened up access to new areas of Glasgow that I would have never gone to before. Several of these areas may even be classed as ‘dodgy’ or ‘unsafe’, but parkour gave me a reason to enter them, and allowed me to form positive bonds to those areas. Practising parkour in the evening and nighttime also serves as a way to fight back against fear that, as a woman, I have been trained to feel.

Parkour lets us create new emotional bonds to space. We begin to see the city in a new light as our parkour vision develops, allowing us to view our surroundings in a new way. For all practitioners, this allows us to reclaim our city space, using it as our playground, rather than being boxed in or herded by the architecture. I have strong emotional attachments and many happy memories in my training spots. Parkour allows a female practitioner, through new positive experiences in city spaces, the chance to create new emotions towards these spaces, which can replace the old ones of fear.

Following on from this is the idea of control. As noted above, many people can feel constrained by their setting, and parkour allows us the chance to feel freedom through movement and the corruption of space. By purposefully misusing buildings and walls as a training ground, we can take back a sense of control and ownership of our city. In an article on practitioners training on school buildings, Elizabeth de Freitas states:

“The traceur unfolds the school structure and refolds his or her body back into the building. The body is put back into the architecture. In touching and being touched, the traceur affirms the materiality of the site, destabilizing the building’s status as a symbolic signifier. The traceur deliberately undoes the ideology built into the built environment, and addresses the building in terms of its physicality. And in doing so, the traceur is present at school in ways that re-introduce his or her body back into the building.”[1]

While this is obviously in relation to the school building as a symbol, it isn’t too difficult to apply this analysis to the symbol of the city streets. Women, who often face the streets as a symbol of fear and danger, can transform this symbolic value. Through parkour I have changed my feelings and viewpoints of my surroundings, rather than it being dictated to me. This is an empowering feeling for most of us, but it is particularly positive for women. As noted above, women are taught to fear the streets and can be left feeling helpless and powerless. Through parkour, we can regain some control and a feeling of ownership of our cities and their streets.

And so, while the practise of parkour can be viewed as subversive no matter who does it, I find it to be a more powerful image when it is a woman training. This is a woman, being visible in a public space and reclaiming her city and her home. For me, I have found this to be one of the greatest benefits of doing parkour. I have gained a new love for Glasgow, and a new understanding of the city. I feel less afraid to move about, especially at night, and I have reclaimed a degree of ownership of the streets. Parkour brings so many incredible things to individuals and communities, and surely one of these amazing possiblities is that women can be comfortable, unafraid and powerful in their environment.


[1] De Freitas

Shetland Parkour Experience

By Fiona B

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Last weekend was SPE 2, a 4 day parkour event hosted in Lerwick, on the stunning Shetland Islands. A group of us travelled up from Glasgow, with a 15 hour journey up north from Aberdeen. The ferry ride from Aberdeen proved to be eventful for all the wrong reasons, but luckily us parkour ladies are pretty hardy, and it takes more than 8ft waves and extreme sea sickness to stop us from jumping.

And so we staggered off the boat and lurched along to what turned out to be an amazing weekend of training. The itinerary for the weekend was pretty intense, with multiple classes running each day, and it proved to be a lot of training even for more experience practitioners. However, we were treated to some fantastic weather (and sunburn) and incredible training spots. Despite Lerwick being a small town, the quality of places to train is unreal. And where else do you get to train on natural features like rocks, 15 minutes away from more urban spots?

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All the classes were great, with all of us conquering at least one new thing. We’ve all returned from Shetland feeling confident and renewed in our training. It was especially great to have women’s only classes, run by Shirley Darlington from Parkour Gen, which provided that essential time to train with other parkour girls from around Scotland.

The weekend created so many amazing and memorable moments: watching the moon rise after a night mission, the sense of accomplishment after finishing the 7am wake up class, the exhaustion of the Final Push, that feeling you get breaking a jump… These kinds of gathering also offer a chance to meet lots of other practitioners – from those we haven’t seen since last year, to new pals we’re already planning to see again. Where else can you go and know you’re gonna get non-stop quality chat all weekend with people you’ve only just met?

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I could write for pages about all the amazing things we did, and the great friends we made, but ultimately it is summed up by the name of this event. Honestly, I first thought the idea of a Shetland ‘experience’ to be a little cheesey, but that is literally what you get with SPE. I would seriously encourage anyone who missed this year to go next year. It’s one of the best parkour events out there and incomparable to anything or anywhere else.

(Keep an eye out for more photos going up later)

Some thoughts on fear

By Kelley Glaister

480457_535042746517178_1921076408_nWe all encounter fear regularly in our training, and, arguably, if you don’t, you won’t progress very much. We know that type of fear and we know how to use it. A physiological reaction to perceived threat. The urge to turn or run away. Or limbs locking up near the edge of a high wall. This is fear of physical harm, and it is justified. Moreover, it’s useful. It’s a physical signal that there is risk involved in what you’re about it do, so be careful. This we can call Proper Fear.

Proper Fear. This is the fear the practictioners talk about a lot. And we all have our ways of overcoming it, or using it to our advantage. One aspect of this kind of fear is that you can talk to it, face it with logic. Facing a new jump that fills you with fear, you can mentally catalog every jump you’ve done of a similar distance, every balance at similar height, as proof of your ability to do this one. You can take note of the fatigue in your legs, and judge if it’s time now, or if you should come back. Then, breathe in, breathe out, empty your mind, and if you’re ready, the jump jumps itself.

But there is another kind of fear. The other fear is different. It’s not tied to a particular circumstance, nor to bodily effect. It’s a general, pervading fear. Fear that you’re not good enough, fear that you look stupid. Fear you’re too fat or clumsy or old to be doing this and that everybody knows. We’ll call that one ‘Stupid Fear’.

It’s not restricted to the moments before and around a jump or new challenge, like Proper Fear. It can be constant. It’s what stops you from going out training when your better angels are screaming in your ear to get outta the damn house and move.

The nagging worry of Stupid fear usually appears in a form similar to “What if people see me training and judge me to be inadequate?” You might as well ask “What if I get attacked by a pack of zombie dwarf rabbits?” In both hypotheticals, it’s highly unlikey to happen, and will cause no damage if it does. People are usually only thinking of themselves, and any judgment they come to will be more of a reflections of themselves than on you. And if they do? So what? What’s the damage? None.

Proper Fear and Stupid Fear don’t have much in common. I think a problem can be when we treat them the same way.

In the case of Proper Fear, the question is “Can I do this?” And often, the answer will be no. Or more accurately, not yet. Because we need to grant the premise of the fear; there is a risk to our safety, so we need to assess it accurately.

But with Stupid Fear, if the question is “Can I do this?” it refers to training or progressing at all. And the answer is always yes. I know I can get out into the world and move with confidence and more importantly with joy. But that’s the wrong question. That question grants the premise of Stupid Fear. A premise which has no real worth. When facing Stupid fear, the real question is… “Yeah, so what?”

Truth is, failure isn’t actually scary. I fall on my arse and laugh like a banshee about it. I scrape my shins. I fall in puddles, and get filth in my clothes and hair and walk home looking, and grinning, like a maniac. I’m not saying I know how to avoid Stupid Fear entirely, but I do know what works for me. Move. Run and jump and skip, and yes, fall sometimes. I’ll tell you this, if you’re moving, Stupid Fear can’t keep up with you.