'I'm the discount version of Kim Ye-ji and that's pushing it': Training like a Korean sport shooter

A Korea JoongAng Daily sports reporter tries her hand at the coldest sport of the Summer Olympics at the firing range with a former Korean university shooting team athlete.

The Korea JoongAng Daily's Mary Yang attempts to have a main character moment by training like Korean sport shooter Kim Ye-ji during a session at the Mokdong Fire Range in southern Seoul on Aug. 13. [PARK SANG-MOON]

If there’s anything I learned from this year’s Olympics, it’s that nothing beats a viral moment online. Which is probably not the kind of mindset we want to be instilling in our youth.

Because I can’t tell you who won the men’s gymnastics gold, but I know the United States got bronze thanks to the pommel horse Clark Kent look-alike. People break world records all the time, but we’ll only ever get one Raygun.

Paris was as generous with its breakout stars as it was lax with a possible breakout of E. coli among triathloners subjected to the Seine.

It took just a few days for the world to meet Korea’s Kim Ye-ji.

No one’s not seen the video of a stone-faced Kim in all black and a backward cap at the World Cup in Baku, Azerbaijan. Takes her last shot and casually sets a new world record. Aura +10,000.

Then we met her Turkish counterpart, Yusuf Dikec, the dressed-down cat guy who definitely might have been a hit man, and the two of them took Twitter/X by storm. Korean shooter Choe Dae-han also got a moment in the spotlight for winning nothing but doing the most.

In keeping with everyone else watching the Olympics on TV at home, I also descended into a bit of delusion, going “it can’t be that hard” whenever a gymnast lost their footing or a diver made a slightly too large splash.

Shooting piqued my curiosity for sure. It doesn’t seem to demand a fancy uniform (with the exception of those competing in rifle events) and it feels like the only skill required is standing very, very still. (Spoiler alert, it’s actually not that simple.)

Zachary, left, emphasizes the importance of keeping one's arm straight and extended. [PARK SANG-MOON]

I’m in luck, because a friend of mine here in Seoul was on the shooting team in college where he specialized in pistol, Kim and Dikec’s event. Fun fact, he knows someone who knows someone who knows Kim Ye-ji. So syllogism says I also know an Olympian.

I shoot my shot — and successfully recruit him to join me on a trip to the local shooting range. Score. Heading to the range

August in Seoul is brutal. Monsoon season’s (mostly) come and gone, leaving in its wake blistering heat and humidity that should give even the most ardent climate change deniers reason to doubt their beliefs.

I start to regret telling Dong-hwan to meet me right before noon, when the sun’s at its hottest and I’m at my, well, not. I’m drenched before I even get to the bus stop, and unfortunately I doubt being sweaty and frazzled is part of the Kim Ye-ji starter pack.

We hop on the bus, which thankfully has A/C on blast, and start our journey to the city's southwest.

There aren’t many places to go shooting around Seoul outside of the recreational arcade-esque BB setups one might stumble upon walking the streets of Insa-dong or Hongdae. But a quick Google search led me to the Mokdong Shooting Center in southern Seoul, which looks decently elite and legit, and a phone call confirmed it did indeed exist. (They do take walk-ins!)

I’ve actually wielded a gun before, a rifle, at sleepaway camp in middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania. It’s normal there to entrust pre-teens with firearms and very little supervision. But the closest I’ve come to holding a pistol is one of those handgun-esque mosquito swatters with dangerously powerful springs.

Mary loads the bullet into the pistol. She's locked in. [PARK SANG-MOON]

We make it to the shooting center, which I don’t see at first. It’s nestled into the ground floor of Mokdong Baseball Stadium, a 10,000-seater that was once the home of the Nexen (now Kiwoom) Heroes. It sits in a sprawling sports complex, neighbored by an ice rink and a football field. Banners for K League 2 side Seoul E-Land FC abound.

It turns out Dong-hwan has trained here before, so I follow him across a large parking lot to the entrance. Above two darkened glass doors sits a placard with its name in blocky letters: “Mokdong Firing Range.” There’s also a graphic of a target that’s been shot thrice. And according to the smaller words in a different font below, we’re at the “Home for the Master Marksmen Since 1996.”

A red and blue “open” sign hangs off to the side, and the muted neon welcomes us in. Hall of Aim

There are about a dozen elementary school students in the next room, which is blocked off by glass walls, where about 20 spaced-out targets stretch the length of the back wall. The director of the range, Zachary, had told me over the phone that we’d get here just as their campers were breaking for lunch.

It kind of feels like a very compressed bowling alley, where everyone gets their own numbered lane. (The similarity doesn’t bode well for me, though, as I average around 30 pins per go. But I am a fiend on the Wii.)

Zachary needs a few minutes to arrive, so we wait in the lounge behind the other doors leading to the vestibule. There are a bunch of gun things for sale, including bullets, cases and actual revolvers — the first time I’m seeing such a sight in Seoul.

There’s also a wall plastered with large laminated targets, signed by celebrities. (Call it the hall of aim?) One carries a scrawl by five-time Olympian turned politician Jin Jong-oh.

Signed targets line the wall of the Mokdong Shooting Center lounge. [MARY YANG]

When Zachary arrives, we get a brief tour of the place. He takes us through the other side of the range, where there’s space to shoot with live ammunition.

It’s also been cordoned off by glass walls, but we get a peek inside. And I can only assume all this glass is actually military grade ballistic glass in case someone gets too fired up.

There are a few people holding guns, decked out in bulletproof vests and large earmuffs that must have been the inspiration for whoever came up with the design for the Airpods Max.

That’s more of a leisure activity, Zachary says. Right, because nothing says relaxation like re-enacting Die Hard. Setting up shot

We head back to the main area, which has been emptied out now that the kids have gone. There are a few older kids, probably teens, who remain. I look to my left, where one guy is training with a dumbbell.

Zachary brings out a hard shell case. It looks like a briefcase that one might use in a heist, and I’m honestly disappointed when it doesn’t open to show stacks of cold hard cash.

Instead, inside is a silver pistol with a wooden grip, which Dong-hwan tells me is a Steyr LP 10 E. We’re borrowing it from a student who trains here, and both Dong-hwan and I are astounded to learn that it belongs to someone whose birth year begins with “201.”

Getting a grip on all the terminology and parts of the Steyr LP 10. [PARK SANG-MOON]

The LP 10 is a 4.5-millimeter caliber pistol designed for international shooting competitions, says Wikipedia. According to the manufacturer’s website, Jin Jong-oh used one of its variations to set the world record in the men’s 10-meter air pistol, which he did at the 2009 World Championships in Changwon, South Gyeongsang. So that’s one step toward my future as a fellow gold medalist.

Dong-hwan lifts the pistol out of the case. He points out the different parts — barrel, cylinder, trigger, grip — and tells me it’s imperative to keep it pointed straight ahead.

I’m expecting to dive right in, but Dong-hwan knows to not jump the gun. He pulls over a foldable chair to our section of the table, which doubles as the bullet barrier and the 10-meter line, and we start sitting down.

Mary tries to absorb loads of information about a highly technical sport. [PARK SANG-MOON]

I’m surprised to learn that you’re not meant to aim directly for the center. Instead, you’re supposed to line up the “sight” — front and rear — around the No. 5, a few rings below the bullseye.

And I also realize that, without precision glasses, you’re basically holding a perpetual wink. So no wonder we collectively fell under an Olympic sport shooter's charm.

I take a few practice shots, without loading the gun. I’m careful to keep my palm against the grip, for stability. Dong-hwan tells me to listen carefully for a “tick” — the clicking sound that signals the second trigger-pull stage. The build-up after that will set off the release.

Zachary also drops by every handful of minutes to give a few pointers. It’s like applying constant pressure without intending to pull the trigger, he says. Kind of like pulling on a rope until it breaks.

Mary keeps her sights set on the sight. [PARK SANG-MOON]

I finally do load the gun, but my shots are absent the loud clanks of the bullet hitting the metal plate behind the target. Instead, I’ve probably contributed to the splash of marks behind each slab that is a Jackson Pollock of poor aim.

Zachary hands me a lifeline when he scribbles a box on the blank backside of the target that approximates the location of the No. 5 on the front. No one learned how to ride a bike without training wheels.

Mary winks as she takes her aim. [PARK SANG-MOON]

Mary checks her shot and struggles to see if it landed on the target. [PARK SANG-MOON]

Finally, I do land some shots on target and I’m absolutely thrilled. I could lean into this feeling, and I fear myself.

“My arm hurts,” I say, stretching out my sore bicep. Dong-hwan looks confused, and he says I shouldn’t feel anything because we’ve been sitting down. And I’ve been resting my arm on the case. “Maybe just not flexible,” he says, matter-of-factly. Great. Shots fired

Actually, I lied. In addition to picking up a rifle at camp in the mountains, I do have prior experience with pulling trig. But that involves a different kind of shot, and I don’t plan to elaborate.

Shooting standing up turns out to be a whole different story. It’s supposed to be like golf, which I (claim to) play, but the state of my swing these days does not portend great news for my aim.

“It’s heavy!’ I exclaim, after raising the pistol without the case. I ask Dong-hwan how much it weighs. “Two-and-a-half kilograms?” Dong-hwan says. So exactly where I’m at with free weights in the gym.

I tried to embody the Olympic sharpshooters, turning up in all black and even at some point throwing on a backwards cap. But I’m all style and no substance, and if we’re being honest, I’m missing the mark on style, too.

Is that Mary or Kim Ye-ji? You tell me. [PARK SANG-MOON]

I’m the discount version of Kim Ye-ji and that’s pushing it. You wouldn’t even find me at the bottom of a surplus bin, because whoever was sorting through the donations would have deemed me in disrepair.

I try to watch Dong-hwan and mimic everything he’s doing. He told me he hadn’t practiced in two years, but he still manages to hit the bullseye on every other shot.

Mary adjusts her stance. [PARK SANG-MOON]

So I stand perpendicular to the target, with my feet forming a right angle with my arm. I stuff my left hand into my pocket — which I learn isn’t a personal choice but one rooted in technique — and try to remember: “Just flow.”

I turn my face to stare at the target. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. I lift the pistol into the air. I line up my shot by shifting back and forth, trying not to use my arm. (This is like golf.)

I feel calm. My vision blurs as I zero in on the sight. But all of a sudden my arm starts quivering like none other — I swear I’m not nervous, just weak — so I keep pulling the trigger and hope for a straight shot.

Mary uses two hands as she seeks stability. [PARK SANG-MOON]

My bullet lands somewhere on the target. “Good shot!” Dong-hwan says. Do I have a future as an Olympian? No, time quickly tells, as it does turn out to be beginner’s luck. I try several times for a bullseye, but it’s all in vain.

I sit to the side, rubbing my arm, as Korea JoongAng Daily photojournalist Mr. Park — who’s been witness to my shooting fail — takes the stand.

Definitely hit the bullseye... [PARK SANG-MOON]

A kid wearing stiff air rifle gear shuffles by like a Transformer — or like me when my leg falls asleep.

I do get up and give it a few more go’s before we close up shop, and this time I use both hands, which is less cool but way more stable. (Is that what it’s like to be in your 30s?)

We put the pistol back in the case, and before I go, I ask to give air rifle a try. It’s much heavier than I expected, and according to Zachary, it comes easier to people with long limbs — so I’m already at a major disadvantage.

I put the rifle down (holding it for maybe two minutes leaves me sore for almost a week) and wonder how 16-year-old Ban Hyo-jin seemed to so effortlessly win gold.

“Anyone can do it,” Zachary says, referencing Ban’s record-tying win. “But only the strong can survive.”

The Korea JoongAng Daily's Mary Yang is on a mission to try her hand at any and every sport that will let her in the door. She can't promise skill or finesse, but she'll give it a good go.

BY MARY YANG [mary.yang@joongang.co.kr]