The sky was gray; the faint halo of the sun barely made it through the thick cloud cover as night began to fall. My cleats dug into the dirt as my legs moved quickly across the soccer field. Only feet away from the ball, my chest began to burn. A wildfire spread across my lungs, as if someone threw a smoke bomb into my windpipe. I gasped, not able to breathe. The game stopped. 

The next thing I knew, my mother was carrying me in her arms, rushing me into the pediatric doctor’s office in Pasadena. Seconds later, a nurse wheeled in what looked like a machine created by a mad scientist. She flipped a switch, and a loud, droning roar pierced my ears. She strapped a mask over my mouth, and within a minute, I felt my shoulders relax, and air began to flow again. 

I was devastated that I had to quit the Yellow Jackets, but soccer would only be one of the many sports I would have to stop playing because of my frequent bouts of pneumonia, seasonal allergies, and severe pediatric asthma. I tried tennis, only to last a month. I tried basketball, but wasn’t able to keep up with the rest of the team halfway through the season. I felt like an outcast, like I wasn’t normal. I felt utterly useless. All of my friends could run, jump, and pass the ball back and forth without pain or the fear of having their airways close or their lungs collapse.

It wasn’t until last summer while visiting my family in Hong Kong that I discovered a sport I could play at full strength without compromising my health. I watched my cousin grab a large, suitcase-like bag and head to the hallway. Unzipping it like a government agent, he pulled out three pieces of metal, and clicked them together to form an archery bow. A quick snap could be heard as the end of his arrow was secured onto the string. He tightly pulled back the string with a gloved hand and let go. I watched as the arrow pierced into the bullseye of the foam stack. It felt like a scene from “The Hunger Games.” My cousin was a real life Katniss Everdeen. In that moment, I thought, maybe I, too, could wield an archer’s bow. 

The entire flight back, I imagined myself in a sleek long sleeved shirt in an open field, feeling tension release as my arrow pierced straight through the center of the target. While my arms would direct the arrow and guide my bow, my lungs wouldn’t be compromised. I spent the next week researching archery competitions, shooting ranges, and local archery coaches. After hours of searching, I stumbled upon Joy Lee Archery Academy led by Olympic archery coach, Kisik Lee, who is famous for teaching the country’s best archers. And it turned out, his club was only 25 minutes away; I couldn’t believe my luck.

Entering the fenced concrete space, I saw a row of ten kids facing ten targets, their quivers and bows aimed at their bullseye. They were both intimidating and comforting at the same time. Intimidating, because they seemed to really know what they were doing, as if they had been practicing for centuries. Comforting, because they were like me – drawn to this magical sport; they were people, like me, who loved order and calm. I joined them in a uniform line, and with my bow in my left hand and an arrow in my right, I waited for the whistle’s shrill scream to cut through the air, signaling the beginning of the shooting. Arrow after arrow, I repositioned myself, aiming to properly hit the foam board with consistency and precision. After every arrow that successfully hit the target, I felt empowered, as if I had leveled up like a character in a video game. Half an hour later, the repetitive shooting had made me fatigued. Although my arm was trembling, I was breathing without difficulty. 

Over the next few months, I practiced shifting my body weight in the precise ratio of 40 to 60 percent and keeping the tension of the string carefully divided between my index, middle, and ring finger. My shots became consistent, and my arm no longer trembled. I learned to keep my shoulders relaxed; my coach had told me that being tense would only cause issues to both my muscles and my aim. The shooting range was my safe space. It brought a new state of liberation and relaxation to my mind. Focusing on my stance and position caused me to completely let go of any white knuckled grip I had on stressful or frustrating thoughts. 

To my surprise, benefits of archery followed me into the classroom. Instead of being worried and comparing myself to others, I was concerned with improving my own skills. Being able to shoot at different archery ranges with people constantly watching me allowed me to practice the art of calming down in the face chaos. Whether it be a competition or a test, my worries seemed to dissipate like thick clouds in the bright sun. I was more focused than I had been in my entire life. While my friends anxiously scrambled to remember theorems or events, I recalled terms and definitions with ease. I even started to climb the ranks of Kahoot, a fast-paced competition used in class to test knowledge. With its daunting music and 15-second timer, Kahoot was adrenaline-inducing. Each time I typed in the access code, I read each question carefully, and then successfully selected the correct answer without a frantic cursor zooming across my screen in hesitation. 

Archery has changed my life. I feel blessed to have found a sport that not only strengthens my body, but my mind too.