Below is a post on her website titled : The Story Behind Obstacles
Obstacles hinder us.
Or do they?
My first novel was a 177,790-word, 21st century submarine thriller. I was thirteen—lovesick and frustrated, yet hopeful. The book took two-and-a-half years to complete, was formulaic and cliché, and never saw the light of day.
My life-long dream of becoming a writer for real seemed unreachable. I gave up and buried myself in academics. The dream didn’t die so easily, though.
I turned sixteen in 2018, still looking for my passion and “calling.”
I met a guy at camp that year, and we became friends. I saw him do a kip-up. I wanted to learn. I went on YouTube—and discovered the world of parkour, free-running, and breakdancing. Within days, I was reading, watching, and doing everything I could to “get into” parkour.
The history behind parkour gripped my interest: the primal, human urge to flee or to chase, Georges Herbert’s “La Méthode Naturelle,” a father’s legacy of mental and physical tenacity to his son, the Yamasaki and the beginnings of free-running, and today’s athletes—all that was only the beginning. The freedom, speed, aesthetics, and adrenaline parkour and free-running offered appealed to me. I wanted to jump, run, and fly too.
Sometime later, my sister introduced me to a Christian YouTuber. His parkour videos were not flashy; still, they inspired and intrigued me. He was a normal guy doing something I longed to do. I emailed him, asking for his thoughts on parkour: Should Christians do it? Wasn’t parkour risky, useless, or even wrong in some way? Why did he do it?
His thoughtful, honest answers pointed me in the direction from which Obstacles would emerge, but I still had much to think about.
Then came 2019. I turned seventeen that winter. I wrote a personal essay for English Composition, titled “Am I a Writer?” It was an honest question—one I could not answer honestly then. I was afraid, confused, and unhappy with myself. I’d lost something, but I didn’t know what it was. Meanwhile, I practiced parkour in my basement, and dreamed about becoming “somebody” in the parkour/free-running world.
In March 2019, I went downhill skiing. Something happened after I took the beginner class.
I stood alone at the top of the slope. “Moment of Truth” from The Karate Kid blared into my ears from my iPod. I pushed off.
I remember the exhilaration, independence, and reckless freedom I felt. I remember the feel and sound of wind rushing past, the compact snow beneath my flying skis, the pines lining the slope. I remember the smile on my face as I lived the song I was listening to.
Then—somehow my skis tangled up. I pitched forward and crashed to the ground on my left knee. And I couldn’t stand back up.
I thought my leg was broken. It wasn’t—it was worse. My left knee was torn. Broken bones hurt, but they heal quickly. Not so with “broken” joints.
I lay facedown on the snow, mind reeling. Someone came on a snowmobile and took me away from the hill I was flying down so proudly moments ago…..