I tried a beginner’s archery class in L.A. and realized I’m certainly no Katniss

Twice a week, Woodley Park Archers holds a beginner class for those of all interest levels to learn the basics of the ancient and Olympic sport of archery. The sport’s recent pop culture rise due to The Hunger Games franchise makes it an enticing hobby to pursue, but daunting nonetheless. Did I have an aim that would assure my survival in a post apocalyptic death match? Was I emotionally manipulative enough to come out on top? Only time would tell.

I took an Uber to the archery class and we ended up at a Japanese garden. This was no fault of John’s, my driver, who wore a delightful hat and told me of a more thrilling Los Angeles of the early 80s, which had after-hours clubs where you could see the L.A. Guns and Hollywood Rose before they were Guns N’ Roses. A time when you really could last until sunrise as long as you ate enough. No, John was a perfectly good driver, who brought me straight to the park I instructed him to, and then navigated patiently as I got us both lost in Woodley Park.

To clarify for future aspiring archers, the archery range is east of the Japanese Garden.

When I finally found the archery range, my three friends were already there, coffees in hand, looking far less frazzled than I. This is 8am on a Saturday, mind you, so I had been expecting a more zombied collective, but apparently even a free archery class can open your eyes to your relative disarray.

The class is two hours long, the first of which is a thorough lesson in the logistics and safety considerations of archery. This portion ended up being equal parts intriguing and humiliating for me. The humiliation came in the form of sabotage by my own hearing, when I heard our instructor Michael say something along the lines of this “how many *mumble mumble* does an arrow have? The answer is two.”

Now, wanting to have all my information right before I started using this deadly weapon – a classification Michael reminded us of on multiple occasions – I asked “what does the arrow have two of?” Turns out he had said, “two sharp pointy ends.” The entire group, Michael and my friends included, found this exchange mighty hilarious and I quickly became the laughing stock of Woodley Park Archery.

The fascinating portion came when we were assigned our eye dominance. As with our hands, humans have a partiality for one eye over the other. One’s eye dominance does not always correlate with their hand dominance. Mine of course did, because God forbid I come away with some cool fun fact about my obscure incongruous dominance. But alas, a girl could dream. I was right eye dominant, which was essential in determining the type of bow I was assigned, how I adorned my equipment – arm band on left arm, finger tab on right hand – and how I positioned my form.

Following our initial tutorial, we were released onto the range under the watchful eye of more experienced archers. The range was originally constructed for practice for the 1984 Summer Olympics hosted in Los Angeles, so straddling the same line as Olympians once did was somewhat empowering. Surprisingly, the straddling of the line was the biggest learning curve for me.

On the range, you are instructed not to draw an arrow out of your quiver until you are properly straddling the shooting line, with your body perpendicular to the target, your feet shoulder-width apart. For some reason I always found myself drawing the arrows out as I approached the line, nowhere near straddling position. Twice I was (rightfully) lambasted for this. What was this uncontrollable need for premature arrow-draw? I simply could not seem to get it together.

My other primary struggle was my arm positioning. Once the arrow is positioned, one is supposed to draw it back until the hand is resting on the jaw as an anchor. The arm holding the bow should remain completely outstretched, with a firm grip on the instrument. I managed to miss the mark on both of the aforementioned desirables of front arm form. In fact, I somehow managed to have my arm too outstretched.

Not-so-perfect form aside, I did manage to get a handful of arrows on the target throughout the hour, which was a real boost of confidence for my traditionally athletically-challenged self. All of those assisting with the class were volunteers who were both enthusiastic about the sport, and commendably patient with us newcomers. At one point in the session, beginners and more experienced archers share the range and you experience a seamless immersion into the community, if only for a half hour.

We also got lucky, because the day happened to be their annual piñata event. My friends and I joined in the hullabaloo, shooting arrows into a minion piñata. Of course, the one boy scout there ended up being the one to break it. Which I am not bitter about at all.

By the end of the session I was not only eager to purchase a $20 yearly membership to the range, but to invest full force in this hobby. My trusty instructor Michael said over and over again not to invest in equipment for six months. Six months! But, like my only-semi-mastered piano and snare drum and saxophone and ukulele lessons before this, I was very tempted to go out and buy myself a bow and arrow. This could be my destiny.