The McBournie Minute: Paintball kicked my butt

There I was, hunched down behind some logs, looking up every now and then and pointing my weapon, searching for the enemy. I have seen the face of war, and I can safely conclude one thing for certain: I am really not good in combat situations.

If the welts up and down my body prove anything, it’s that when it comes to playing paintball, I have a lot of practicing to do. Over the weekend, as part of my friend Paul’s bachelor party, we menfolk did what menfolk have been doing since time began, the oldest of bachelor party rights: playing three on three paintball with only face masks as protection.

I had never played before, and was quite eager to prove myself as a warrior. Instead I proved that I am a rather large target. Game after game, I would be found and taken out with relative ease, despite supplying what I define as sufficient returning fire. By the end of the day, I was covered in yellow, pink and purple paint, matched only by bright red welts roughly the size of quarters.

I did claim one kill, however, so the day was not a total waste. I was not sure how I hit him, but I was not going to ask questions either. No, in paintball it is best to have a “shoot first, ask questions later” mentality. Har.

We played for so long and squatted so much that my leg muscles began burning. I had to squat because I needed to have mobility but still stay low. I am not sure how everyone else did it, but squatting killed my thighs. For the past two days since then I have been in agony and walking like an old man. Much to the delight of my roommate.

My bruises will heal, my welts will heal, my legs will heal and my bruised ego will heal. The important thing I can now say is that I have met the enemy and afterward we drank our faces off–something in which I know I can beat them.

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