The record of everything that tried to stop us.
At a French Freerun Family parkour workshop in Cairo, Ahmed Khayrat watched William "Wolf Renaissance" Panza finish a wall run with a muscle-up so smooth it looked like he'd taken the stairs. Khayrat, twenty-something, had never seen one in his life.
He had a form of anaemia. Gaining muscle was, medically, improbable. The doctors didn't say it would be hard. They said —
IT WOULD NOT HAPPENFINDING: INCORRECT
The first sessions happened on children's monkey bars at the International Park — a group of adults doing muscle-ups and front levers among bewildered families. Three-hour sessions, sometimes chased with two more hours of parkour. By 2014, Cyborg was one of Egypt's first official pull-up points for the World Pull-Up Day.
Roughly 20,000 pushes into the ground that day.
cyborg
The emotional intelligence of a human. The discipline of a machine.
Ahmed and his brother Ashraf were watching their personal problems bleed into their training. The only way out was radical emotional discipline — feel everything, let none of it compromise the work. It reminded them of a DC Comics character who, after the accident that should have killed him, became something more. It wasn't branding. It was a survival philosophy.
Our first real home. We designed and welded the bars ourselves. Then the management decided they would rather build an amusement park in the space.
"We were teaching people to be Cyborgs. They saw no value in it."
Our third home — bars amid the greenery, the closest yet to the dream. We built a community here. Then the new management quintupled the rent overnight.
"Five times the rent, for the same ground — overnight."
A 750m² expansion. We poured almost every pound we had into the steel. Weeks from reopening, management called a meeting — they had never agreed to anything. Our equipment was forcibly removed and destroyed.
"We were steps from the summit. Suddenly we were at zero. Our lowest point to this day."
Our biggest venue yet — but we had learned caution: no long lease, the floor left unfinished. The park was ordered demolished for a development; then COVID shut everything down anyway.
"It's funny — we keep calling the places that rejected us home."
Did we just waste eight years of our lives
to reach nothing?
Those eight years weren't the waste.
They were the foundation.
A year and a half of silence — then a sliver of light. We opened our first laboratory. A permanent home, and the birthplace for future Cyborgs.
Moved again. By now, falling and getting back up was simply Calisthenics 101.
A second branch — the lab, inside Space Club, New Cairo.
Eight homes in thirteen years. This one stayed.
Today the lab runs a structured program for 200+ members across 50 weekly sessions at two branches. Over 1,300 people have trained under the Cyborg name — taught by 15+ coaches across more than a decade.
It started with a free taster on the monkey bars in 2012. Every Sunday, the first session is still free.
Evicted four times. Bankrupted once. Never stopped.