Leaps and bounds
How modern-day ‘American ninja’ Josh Grant prowls through Austin
Josh Grant creeps through the University of Texas campus in a Batman T-shirt, springing over planters, walking on metal rails and scampering up walls like a humansized gecko.
Open-mouthed visitors whip out cellphones, videotaping him as he glides along, his baggy shorts billowing behind him like a cape.
Grant, 28, might be the closest thing to a real ninja that Austin’s ever seen.
“Sometimes I feel like I should have been born in Japan in the Samurai Ninja period,” he says. “Part of me feels like a warrior. The other part feels like a free spirit.”
He calls himself Ninja Josh, and he’s appeared three times on the “American Ninja Warrior” television show, making it to the national finals of the obstacle course competition in Las Vegas twice. He has a black belt in Shaolin kung fu, eight years of training in gymnastics and parkour and a degree in mechanical engineering from the University of Texas-San Antonio, too. He’s fit and crafty, and able to move quickly and efficiently through an urban environment.
Those skills would have played well in the days of the real ninjas, who were covert agents in feudal Japan. Strong, stealthy and smart, traditional ninjas spent their lives training. They could run 50 miles without stopping, or dead- hang for an hour. They infiltrated the enemy, spying and assassinating their foes.
Grant prefers to use his skills for the greater good and hopes he can one day save someone in trouble, but in the meantime he’s happy jumping off rooftops and spinning through the air at an off-axis tilt.
His interest in the
ninja world was sparked as a kid growing up in Cedar Park, when he saw the Japanese program “Sasuke,” now in its 31st season in Japan. Only three competitors have completed the final obstacle course in that televised competition, the precursor to “American Ninja Warrior.”
“When I saw it, I thought to myself, ‘I can do that,’ ” he says. “It looked super easy from the couch.”
It was more challenging than he imagined, but he liked the difficulty. “Anything worth having should be difficult to attain,” he says.
Grant is 6 feet tall with long, lanky limbs and tattoos on his forearms. He rides a speedy black motorcycle, proclaiming that “every ninja needs a steed.” He reads everything about ninjas he can find, and spends most Sundays with other parkour buffs, jumping and flipping through downtown Austin. The Batman shirts he wears remind him that “Batman wouldn’t be scared of this; he wouldn’t hesitate.”
“My eyesight’s a lot different than other peo- ple,” he says. “I’m looking for things I can jump off of and run through.”
Ninja popularity has surged this year, partly because of the success of a handful of contestants on “American Ninja Warrior.” It takes endurance, balance, upper body strength and a powerful grip to do well against the obstacles, which have names like the salmon wall and the jumping spider.
For the first time this year, in the show’s seventh season, a woman — a 5-foot, 90-pound competitor from San Antonio named Kacy Catanzaro — made it all the way through the qualifying course. She became a social media phenomenon, and her run was viewed more than 9 million times. When she got to the finals in Las Vegas, she fell during her first round.
Another first this year? Two competitors on the show actually completed all four stages of the obstacle course. Because he had the faster time, a rock climber named Isaac Caldiero was awarded the $1 million prize.
But competing on the show, Grant says, doesn’t make an athlete a ninja.
“A lot of people today call themselves ninjas, but it’s not just about going on an obstacle course on a TV show and falling on soft mats,” he says. “It’s more than that — it’s a way of life, with lots of training and conditioning.”
There’s no safety net in the urban jungle where Grant practices. For him, that’s part of the appeal.
Slipping can mean disaster, so he wears wide, flat-soled shoes for stability. His movements are quiet and fluid, almost catlike. He swings, jumps and lands easily, rolling or using his legs like shocks to absorb the landing. He calls it flying.
“He’s a slasher and a dasher when it comes to running around the city,” says Justin Creech, manager of the north location of BAM Academy, a local parkour gym where Grant recently started teaching. “He can go left and right, up and down and all directions, and he’s very smooth with his movement. ... He has the wits of a ninja, the ability to make strong decisions quickly and act upon them.”
“He’s very skilled,” agrees Ruben Olguin, co-owner of BAM. “He makes things look easy.”
It’s true. After Grant scales a brick wall near the library at UT, an onlooker decides to try his luck. He backs up and sprints toward the wall, leaping as high as he can.
It’s not enough. He slides to the ground, a little sheepish. He tries again, twice, but doesn’t get any higher.
Grant just smiles, then dashes off, his Batman shirt a fading memory.