Does parkour make me a better carer?
Some of you know me from my work in health information and digital standards. But you probably don’t know that I’m a carer at home or that I’ve taken up parkour.
Parkour? Like climbing over roof tops and jumping off buildings?
No, I mean low level parkour. But still climbing, jumping, running, swinging, rolling and balancing.
Why parkour?
It was a video of two middle-aged women that caught my attention. Two women in the Free Expression tunnel at North Carolina State University, playing around, vaulting a central railing, balancing on it, hanging from it, paying little attention to passers-by.
Here they are: Maggie Namkoong Spaloss and Christie Marie Thomas.
That video inspired me to start playing around with parkour.
At your age?
I’m in my mid-sixties, a wife and mother and I work full-time.
I know that older age (over 65 years old) is associated with a greater risk of health conditions like heart disease, stroke, type 2 diabetes and cancer, as well as depression and dementia. People lose muscle mass and bone density from around the age of 50 and are at greater risk of falling as they age.
But, if you exercise, you’re likely to stay stronger for longer, live more independently and have a better quality of life. Exercise helps fight off depression and may reduce cognitive decline. It’s worth doing.
And as a carer?
Two years ago my husband had a pulmonary embolism which damaged his heart. He now has heart failure, which limits what he can do and makes him tired most of the time. Anything that involves reaching, bending, lifting or carrying can wind him. He walks slowly and sometimes even walking is difficult. I have to do more around the house and garden now. Occasionally I need to help him with activities like climbing the stairs, dressing and showering.
Unpaid carers often develop health problems. They may experience poor mental health, are at increased risk of illness, especially musculoskeletal problems (like back pain), cardiovascular disease, poor sleep and cognitive deterioration. By some reports, if they provide round the clock care, they’re twice as likely to be in bad health as people without caring responsibilities.
How does parkour help?
1. Parkour makes me happy
Parkour time is me-time. I get out and exercise in nearby streets or parks and, when I can, in nature. Parkour reminds me of my childhood. It gives me a sense of timelessness and freedom — climbing, running, jumping, balancing, and exploring. Sometimes I get a sense of achievement and progress.
These small pleasures counteract the times of sadness, anxiety and stress. Parkour gives my mind a rest and that helps me cope better emotionally.
2. Parkour makes me stronger
I’ve been running for years and I thought I was fairly fit but I had little strength when I started. I’m slowly building muscles I’d forgotten I had, as I pull and push my body around. I’ve got a stronger grip now and can lift and carry weight. I can shift the washing machine or clamber onto next door’s bunker to clear the gutters — things my husband can no longer do. I’m more mobile and can move around on all fours to pick up things he can’t.
A key tenet of the philosophy of parkour is “Be strong to be useful”. As my husband has grown weaker, I’ve got stronger and it means I cope better with the physical side of caring.
3. Parkour helps me deal with obstacles and face my fears
Parkour is about getting from A to B, overcoming obstacles efficiently and effectively. It’s about developing the vision to see ways forward and building the strength and skills to navigate your environment, using only your body and your mind. Obstacles are opportunities for adaptation and growth.
Parkour involves failing — and falling — and learning. You start small, close to the ground, and you practise. It looks dangerous, but you think, test and train for safety. And you know your limits. Then you face your fears when you have the skills to do so.
The parkour mindset helps me feel less overwhelmed. Not always, but it helps me take things in my stride.
Learning new stuff takes time
It’s taken me around two years to adjust to my new role and identify as a carer. During those two years I’ve had to nurture qualities like patience and flexibility, alertness and observation, as well as self-care. Caring has helped me recognise when I need to slow down and when I need to move quickly.
Learning parkour is taking time too. Caring makes it difficult to commit to classes and I’m super careful about COVID because of my husband’s bad health. I snatch at opportunities to practise when they arise. I have no coach and little by way of a community around me. Instead I get my motivation and some support from parkour practitioners on social media. (Not that I recommend this. Although parkour is the most inclusive sport I know — open to everyone, no fees, no equipment — I‘d join a class if I could.)
I’m not good at parkour
In fact, I’m lousy at it. And at my age, I’ll probably never be much good.
Sometimes I get strange looks when I’m out training. But then someone will recognise what I’m trying to do. A while back, a man sat nearby, studying me jumping on and off a bench and over the back of it, and he asked me if I was practising “that thing where they jump over roof tops”. Another time a young women stopped for a minute to watch me roll over a railing in Sainsbury’s car park. “Hey, nice skills”, she said. That makes me feel I’m not wasting my time.
I see myself in the “Hardcore Parkour” scene from the US version of The Office and I laugh.
What I do hardly lives up to the image of parkour. But it is parkour nonetheless. And I think it makes me a better carer.
What about you?
If you’re a carer, what helps you? And if you do parkour, what does it give you?
I’d love to know.
Update January 2023
Bad news: my husband has now been diagnosed with prostate cancer.
Good news: the doctors caught it early, have started treatment and are positive about the outcome. On the parkour front, I’ve found a brilliant small class close to home (with Parkour Roots — on Instagram) and have started getting some proper coaching.