Half-assed ninja warriors need not apply at Chaos Course’s dojo

You cannot half-ass an American Ninja Warrior workout. That was my first lesson at Chaos Course in Belton, the Kansas City area’s only training gym for the Esquire Network show that pits contestants against one another on a masochistic obstacle course seemingly designed to make grown men cry.

Russ Babcock, who co-owns the gym with his wife, Liz Babcock, is planning to make a run at being an American Ninja Warrior when regional qualifying rounds come to Kansas City in April. The gym’s maze of obstacles, which he built himself, all have appropriately intense names, such as “cliff hanger” and “jumping spider.”

Before the gym opened in December, Russ had begun constructing obstacles in the Babcocks’ backyard. Liz told their friends that her husband was “trying to build an obstacle he can’t do.”

“And I haven’t found one yet,” he added.

Oddly enough, this wasn’t so much bragging as it was the kind of matter-of-fact statement made by someone who can do pull-ups while hanging by only two fingers.

Until I visited Chaos Course, I didn’t realize how challenging the Ninja Warrior obstacles could be. One time, my boyfriend and I binge-watched the show for several hours, captivated by the contestants’ superhuman ability to swing, jump, climb and dangle — often from centimeters-thick ledges on moving platforms suspended over a pool of water. But they made it look easy.

“I could probably do that,” I said.

“Trust me,” my boyfriend insisted, “it’s harder than it looks.”

After watching Russ demonstrate the “salmon ladder,” which requires you to move a parallel bar up a succession of racks using only your upper-body strength to build momentum, I realized that my boyfriend was right. Still, when Russ did it, the feat of strength seemed possible. I work out regularly and am perhaps unreasonably proud of my biceps, so I thought I could pull it off — until the moment I approached the ladder.

“Are you ready to try it?” Russ asked.

I grabbed the bar and realized that my hands were slick with sweat, not out of effort but out of nervousness.

“Probably,” I said. “Yeah, I kind of think I can do this.”

“Well, you can’t kind of do the salmon ladder,” Russ said, “or you’ll fall flat on your back.”

I took his warning to heart and moved on to what I thought was a less difficult challenge: climbing the thick rope dangling from the ceiling. But just like ascending the salmon ladder, climbing the rope was harder than it first appeared. The moment I made any upward progress, I slid awkwardly down, like I was holding a giant, wet spaghetti noodle.

As I attempted to squirm my way back up while Russ provided instruction and words of encouragement, children played on the monkey bars and rock-climbing wall around me. Their unself-conscious enthusiasm bolstered my confidence. The kids were attending Battle Monkeys class, which focuses on fitness and mobility — and helps parents “get their kids off the video games,” according to Russ. The most surprising part: Many of the children in the group were girls, including the Babcocks’ 5-year-old daughter. (The couple also has 22-month-old twin boys.)

“We weren’t busy enough, so we thought we’d open a gym,” Liz joked.

The gym’s high rate of female attendance has a lot to do with Liz, who is the lead karate instructor — one of a few women to hold such a position. The assertive, 29-year-old redhead has been studying Genbu-Kai karate for 20 years, and Russ has 13 years under his black belt. Liz and Russ met at a karate tournament 12 years ago and have taught traditional Japanese karate to children and adults since 2008. Between the two of them, they’ve amassed a healthy collection of medals, which hang from their gym’s ceiling.

In addition to being a karate badass, Liz is also a former social worker with a master’s degree in psychology, meaning that even though she can kick your ass, she also cares about how you feel. Some of her clients who train here are living with various illnesses or disabilities, so she works with them on individual goals. An aging dancer is finding new ways to stay in shape. Another client, who’s in a wheelchair, is working on building coordination and strength.

“She can’t do the salmon ladder, but she doesn’t give a damn,” Liz said. Gesturing to the obstacle course, she added: “Some people are intimidated by this, but you can always get better.”

With that, I decided to give the rope another try. I grabbed it like I was wringing its neck and pinched it between my feet, using my upper- and lower-body strength to propel myself upward. A few moments later, my grip faltered, and I slid down to the thick safety mat on the floor. All I could do was laugh. After all, this stuff is harder than it looks, even if you don’t half-ass it.