Traditionally a sidewalk is not something to be deeply considered. For most people, it’s a staple of the urban landscape, a banal strip of cement that we walk on everyday. But for a Chicago group of male 20-somethings who call themselves the Aero crew, the sidewalk is worthy of contemplation.

“Why do I have to walk on the sidewalk?” Blaise Grenke asks, pointing to some shoveled pavement. “That’s putting restrictions on your movement.”

Grenke recently joined the Aero crew, a collective in Chicago dedicated to the French sport of Parkour, or freerunning. Often described as urban gymnastics, the philosophy behind Parkour is that the body can overcome any obstacles placed in front of it, even in a city setting. Traditional methods of transportation and direction, such as the fascist confines of the sidewalk, are disregarded.

“My biggest goal is to go wherever I want in the city,” Grenke says. “Until the day I drop dead.”

Instead of following a set path, a traceur, or one who practices Parkour, will come across a wall or set of railings during a run and try to jump across them with ease, in essence denying them of their status as impediments to movement. Andy Cousins, the Aero crew leader, says traceurs aim to use their bodies to create “unity between the environment and (themselves).” At its highest form, Parkour is completely flowing and uninhibited. A wall is no longer a barrier, but rather a challenge to test one’s limits.

“Parkour is about finding fluid motion in the modern environment, absorbing part of the obstacle and testing the human body,” Cousins says.

Founded in France by Sebastien Foucan and David Belle, Parkour’s message of breaking down boundaries in the urban world has spread to England, particularly London, and is finding a home in Chicago. The trip has been a long one, however, as the sport had few American advocates to explain the logistics of the sport to those in the U.S. Cousins says he first learned about the sport four years ago, but couldn’t find an outlet for his interest.

“There was no one around to show us how to do it,” he says. “I found a French site but they weren’t really friendly.”

It wasn’t until “Jump London” premiered on TLC, which showed Foucan and his followers bounding across London landmarks such as the Globe Theater that English-speaking Web sites began popping up, the most predominant being UrbanFreeflow.co.uk. The internet allowed those interested to finally become engaged.

The philosophy behind Parkour is remarkably sensible, albeit it oddly comprehensive for a street sport. But in truth it is hard to understand the magnitude of what traceurs do without actually seeing it. So to aid my lacking imagination, the Aero crew agreed to come to Northwestern’s campus to demonstrate how the ideology gets put into practice.

Unfortunately Chicago weather often is not favorable in January and the omnipresent slush makes for precarious set ups. After a few attempts at jumping over the wheelchair ramps in front of Pick-Staiger Concert Hall, the outdoor environment is declared too slippery and cold. The crew then moves to the 24-hour staircase in the Norris University Center, an echoing, three-story cement and metal tower — to most people. But for the traceurs, this is a playground. They come swarming in, sizing up the environment as they go. As praises for the space fly — as well as bodies from railings to floor — I get the overwhelming sense I’m stuck in a scene from “West Side Story”; what in theory should be a harsh and aggressive sport — jumping off a ledge into a pit of cement — is surprisingly graceful. Part of their grace comes from their childlike tendencies; the traceurs don’t simply walk down steps, they skip through the 24-hour staircase one flight of stairs at a time.

“I’ve technically been doing (Parkour) all my life,” Grenke says. “Now I have a name for it and higher purpose.”

The ideal place to jump happens to be the highest point of the stairwell, and the traceurs line up to propel their bodies over the hand railing and eventually onto the landing half a story below. As they progress the jump becomes more complex, culminating with a mid-air kick off the wall.

Standing aback it’s easy to forget they aren’t just jumping from a handrail five feet above ground. Instead they “turn vault” over a railing that looms three stories up. Every time I remind myself of this fact by looking down, my mouth hangs open. As I ogle yet another traceur effortlessly throwing himself over the formidable gap, Cousins says to me, half joking, “feel free to jump in anytime.” I snort at the notion of myself even attempting such a feat and declare I’ll just observe this time around. “We’re always looking for female members,” he shrugs.

Cousins then shows me a wall spin, a particularly impressive move that entails him running, pressing his hands against a wall, twisting his entire body 360 degrees while seemingly attached to the wall, and landing on the floor once again. For a brief moment, Cousins’ wall spin impugns the laws of gravity; for a brief moment, his body is defying what we consider to be possible. Cousins says pictures of the wall spin usually make people take note, for this very reason.

But the traceurs are quick to point out that Parkour is not just about flashy moves. Homer Azari, a sophomore at University of Illinois Chicago, says the movements in between said “tricks” or moves are just as important as the attention getters themselves, as the point to Parkour is to move fluidly through one’s environment. Cousins concurs.

“When you see a guy do a long run, and link moves together, that’s more impressive,” Cousins says. “It’s not trick-based.”

After the staircase has been fairly exhausted, we move to the Norris lobby, where passersby stop to watch the crew jump, tumble and climb. Certainly few students have seen such a transformation of their student center. I ask Grenke if people often stop to observe. “All the time,” he says with a smirk.

Something else they’re familiar with is security; all over the city, the traceurs are hassled by authorities, concerned about injury and legal action. However some areas prove better than others.

“We went to UIC once because the campus was shut down,” Cousins says. “We heard the electricity went out so we went and there was no one around, no security.”

But unfortunately the electricity is up and running at NU, and after fifteen minutes of Norris acrobatics the crew is asked to leave. “It took them long enough,” Cousins says under his breath as we walk out the revolving doors.

Parkour — known as the skinny man’s sport — may not be a household name in the U.S. yet, but lanky boys across the land might soon find the passtime. “Jump London” premiered on TLC in the U.S. on Jan. 2, and considering the impressive response in the U.K., it’s likely to catch on stateside.

Although far from widespread yet, there are signs of growing interest. While talking to the Aero crew I come to realize that one traceur, Adam Splitek, is in fact a Weinberg senior who had heard about the session from the group’s Web site — pkaero.com. Splitek says he had been enticed by Parkour but “no one’s really interested” in doing it with him at NU. “It’s more fun when you have other people,” he says. For many like Splitek, the Internet serves as a resource to combat Parkour’s biggest obstacle in the US — the nation’s vast size.

“England’s an island, everyone’s doing it there,” Cousins says. “The U.S. is so spread out.”

As the Aero crew prepare to leave campus and move on to UIC, where they’ll conduct a “training jam,” Splitek makes plans to meet up with the group again. Perhaps it hasn’t yet swept the nation, but Parkour has now infiltrated Northwestern.4

Communication junior Lindsay Sakraida is the PLAY editor. She can be reached at [email protected].