Paintballing is so not fun. Ever. And I’m
totally ok with saying that too.
I know that as humans we’re meant to be tough
and not show our weaknesses, but you aim a gun that shoots little pellets of
paint at me and I’ll run squealing away. Either that or drop to floor in the
fetal position.
I went paintballing in Perth for the first
time last year. By the end of that experience I had sworn to myself I’d never
engage in such a sport again.
Well… I’ve heard that after people give
childbirth they forget the pain and do it all over again…maybe paintballing is
a bit like that. I almost jumped at
the opportunity to be shot at with paint again when the Crane boys invited me
to join in the next time we went to Malawi. Maybe a part of me thought I’d
never go to Malawi with them, maybe the tougher braver side of me actually
thought it could be a fun, bonding experience..
Hah!
The time to paintball came this last
Saturday in Blantyre. We were all there. There was no time to back out. The van
was filled with (what seemed like) a hundred teenage boys who chatted the whole
way about their ‘double tap’ techniques, and the power and range of certain
guns. The adults in the car weren’t doing much to help put my mind at ease
either. There was a sort of joy in the air- one that I didn’t quite share.
We got to the paintballing place and while
the boys got themselves ready and geared up, Heather braided my hair.
Definitely by this point I’d gotten rid of my ‘tough’ persona and was fully
embracing the small slightly scared girly girl that I am!
Hannah and Andrea were also joining in on
the action. Andrea has a broken arm, and Hannah has 4 brothers…they were good..
excited and raring to go! Much braver at 12 and 13 then I am at 23…
We got out on the field and were up against
the three adult men. I was kind of happy about that. Perhaps they wouldn’t be
as trigger happy.
So so wrong!
Jonno got us from the right, Scott pelted
us from the left, and Alan took the middle. This was war. I could feel it in my
bones. Fear gave way to determination. I shot. Hit one of my team mates in the
back. Good job Sally. I shot again… hit the spectator stand. Adrenalin pumping
through me I ran from the cover of the base to the dented up car at the back of
the field. I didn’t make it. It was as though it was raining paintballs. I put
my gun in the air as a sign of defeat. Apparently that meant nothing in this
war though. I had no where to run no where to hide. I reverted back into the
frightened small girl and squealed as each ‘bullet’ hit. And then just like
that the game was over. We’d lost. Badly. I looked at my comrads. Expecting to
see the sad faces of defeat and pain I was surprised to see two very excited
girls. They were pumped and ready to fight again. These girls became my heroes
that day. While they continued playing I walked up the steps to the spectator
stand head down and promised once again to never play this crazy game anymore.
I also thanked God that no one else on the field was as bad at shooting the gun
as I was and no more stray bullets hit the spectators that day.
All in all, it was an exciting afternoon.
Great to see the guys out there having a bit of fun. And maybe deep deep down a
part of me enjoyed it.
Not the parts that are bruised and sore
though…
|
The shooters!
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| This is just one of the several bruises covering my body... |
