Paintball

Paintball. Never did I think that I could be a participant in this painful sport. But once my sorority decided to plan a paintball mixer with a fraternity, I soon became painfully familiar with this term's definition. I hadn't originally planned on playing. I brought my camera and had enthusiastically volunteered as the photographer for the event. But when the range owner handed me a gun, I felt a rush of power that was hard to turn down. Call it the thrill of the hunt, but when that mask was strapped to my face, leaving the rest of my body daringly exposed to the flying, colorful ammo, I had a sense of excitement and adrenaline rushing through my veins. I soon gave up my camera duties and joined the fight. At the "Three, two, one" countdown, the paint flew and the players charged the center of the course. Some of us hid behind protective landmarks, peeping out to aim at the opposing side. On one such occasion, I peered from behind a distressed tree stump only to instantly be blinded by a giant pink splat of paint on my goggles. Shocked yet enthused, I went to the sidelines to await the next game. Why do we, as humans, have that natural competitive tendency? How come that gun in my hands made me feel like I could take on the world that day? I craved the risk element, soaking up my newly-found confidence that the gun gave me. As a girl who never thought she would paintball in her whole life, I can honestly say that I can't wait to do it again. But this time, I want to be the one to shoot that splat on my opponents mask.