“Fuck them. You have to live, what. Freedom, freedom, li-ber-ty!” chants MC Jean Gab’1, a french rapper, faithful to his acidic verb, although softened by this hot chocolate sealing our meeting in a familiar district.

Apart from this common point, a big gap in muscles separates us: belted like an I, biceps shaped like popcorn, at 57 years old, the former rapper, Charles by his first name, is what I like to call a “passer of freedoms”.

Sailing and preaching the good word on the street workout areas, that of being able to do sport “when you want, where you want, how you want”.

Could street-workout be a libertarian sporting Eldorado?

Sunday Paris is barely waking up when my eyes taste the soothing ballet of the metal monsters coming out of Gare du Nord – Hugo TSR in the ears.

A few meters from the tracks, a piping of geometric and fluorescent green bars mixes, awakening my playful sporting love. I then feel the weight of my tight body, which my two Smart windshield wipers as arms try to lift to the bar. Then, upside down, worthy of Spider Pig, I experiment with more than dubious acrobatics on the parallels.

When our hands are palms, firmly anchored to the ground, when our hands are tight, attached to the bar, from terrestrial to aerial, the weight of our body suddenly resurfaces.
Street workout makes us aware of this bodily resistance against which our strength can be exercised.

I smile when I listen to Charles’s colorful words: “You don’t walk like you’ve been stung by bees. You have flexibility, you have something special.”

When Charles talks about “making a body”, a cloud of thoughts crosses my mind. The muscular body fascinates, from a Magnum shape to a Twix one, from the Schwarzenegger bulldozer to the lean Brad Pitt.

The sociologist Guillaume Vallet talks about a “muscle factory” (La Fabrique du Muscle, Editions L’Echapée), as an injunction from society to face a “vulnerability capitalism”.

A healthy and strong body, mobile and flexible, which would allow the individual to face the hazards of life. A controllable resource reflecting an image of success. A “muscle” capital, which accumulates and creates permanent dissatisfaction. Work and sacrifice being salvation.

No pain, no gain… The body is over-sacralized to solve problems.

As my zygomaticus muscles tighten listening to Charles’ cockiness, a reminder is essential: “Street workout is not gymnastics, bodybuilding, nor calisthenics. The Jean-Eudes who are starting to populate our areas, they don’t understand anything.“

Jean-Eudes (French first name often used to make fun of conservative people) is looking for a high-performance self-presentation, calibrating his series of muscle-ups in full view of any passerby. However, street workout is done at his own pace. No machines sprayed a hundred times a day with product or post-workout selfies of Popeye-style biceps.

The practice breaks with the sports culture of performance, in favor of pleasure. “There’s freedom in that. I smoked weed, I was in my own bubble“ confides the former rapper, on the verge of starting a 16.

Exit the hooded men of the parisian Bercy spot who made headlines – “They are the cancer of our sport just for TikTok, it’s not a prison thing, damn it“ he specifies.

The fable of street-workout remains “oscar-winning” like, due to supposed penitentiary roots, Prison Break style – in reality, copied from the Stakhanovites of physical activity, the Russians.

However, it is in the so-called “disadvantaged” neighborhoods that the discipline will build its philosophy with the well-built Hannibal for King. The latter will never stop advocating a political fiber: coming out of prison and without resources, street-workout responded to his need to exercise his body freely and creatively, without a penny, equipment or gym.

Because “Street workout it’s outside” Charles reminds us, pointing his finger. Hanging from the parallel bars, my buttocks a few centimeters from the ground, I have the luxury of being able to stare at the clouds and the treetops.

Then, just the city skyline, scrutinized with a playful gaze, diverting my urban excursions into a game of Super Mario. “What the hell can I do with this bench?” or, lost on a motorway rest area, my body mummified after five hours of go-fast, looking for something to clean the carcass. Not thinking twice, my hands end up clinging to the pirate ship in the kids’ playground.

This quest is part of the fun. Here I am, rediscovering the cities I pass through, “looking for the lost spot.”

Sporting creativity is also what emerges when there are limitations, a precept of Do It Yourself. Street workout is also about that: offering everyone the opportunity, in a free space and in the open air, to think about how to divert their bodily limits – and not exceed them.

Unlike other sports, there is no question of prejudging what a body can or cannot do. No matter the age, gender, or disability. A body microphone stand or two arms cotton buds. Everyone imagines the use they can make of this fun structure. I will always remember meeting Alex on the spot, with his gargantuan arms covered in scribbles, who was pulling his 80 kilos of stiff body in a wheelchair.

“You just do what you can” Charles whispers, his eyes turned towards the window of the brasserie, thoughtful. We digress a little. We talk about the past, the future. Youth, old age.

“I have to be in shape for my children. It’s my oil of youth. The thing with street workout is that at least you’re not screwed at a certain age.”

We talk about KO punches with Charles, former boxer and wrestler. Bodies that get injured, that twist. That demolish themselves. I then get lost in the twists and turns of these bodies that we destroy through sport.

A space for transmitting know-how, but also know-how-to-be. “We do what we want, but not just anything” – Charles’s body-built index finger rises again. Tradition dictates that we greet those present upon arrival. We don’t flood the ears with the latest Kaaris – a French rapper.

Reclaiming urban space yes, but with respect for everyone. There are codes. Practitioners claim a form of belonging to a community with values.

“Individual doesn’t mean individualistic. You can do things individually, but with a collective” Yves says, his eyebrows arched. Collectives are forming themselves and self-organize.

La Villette Workout, the FSGT club, claims to be a popular education club: “Members are generally present to welcome them and support them in their practice, similar to what popular education offers (…) Mutual aid helps to remove certain social barriers.”