Crossing Paintball off My Bucket List

Chuckle #484 | February 22nd, 2012
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Sometimes you let well-meaning friends sucker you into joining them in a ridiculous activity, like paintball.  The good news is that you can then cross that off your bucket list forever.  The problem is that you might find yourself liking the crazy stuff and be tempted to add more of them to your list.   

My day of paintball made me realize that my bucket list is totally lame.  It’s high on interesting destinations, but terribly lacking in adrenalin production.  A bucket list shouldn’t be just about seeing things, it should be about doing things, like sky diving or nipple piercing.  Am I right?

If a single cathartic day of paintball could ruin my otherwise happy and complacent existence, the same thing could easily happen to you...

It began innocently enough, with an invitation to a ‘family day of paintball’.  Because I am a very literal (or perhaps naïve) person, I assumed that this meant BOTH genders, not just those with excess testosterone and an itchy trigger finger.   Was it under false pretenses that our “friend” got us to show-up at a desolate location deep in the hills of NY?  I think so.

Gazing through the dirt and dust covered windows of our car we quickly realized that while there was a good-sized crowd of former marines, Green Berets and Jason Bourne types, there wasn’t a single female in sight.  I was sure that we’d stumbled into a highly fortified ultra-right wing camp for displaced Texas nationalists, and that we’d soon be taken as third, or even fourth, wives.  

We should have turned back then, but with wide-eyed wonder, we parked and signed the 30 page release form.  I’d seen this so-called ‘sport’ depicted on more than a few TV sitcoms, how hard could it be?

We were issued helmets and visors, head-to-toe fatigues, ammunition belts, and semi-automatic weapons.  For me at least, it was not an attractive look.  My girls actually looked kind of hot.  Like Charlie’s Angels in full combat gear.  Of course, they had straightened their hair before setting out.

We had NO IDEA what we were in for.

The 10 paintball fields had different themes like Abandoned Village, Graveyard (ha, irony!), and Forest Deathtrap.  On my first outing I dashed pell-mell into the breach (thanks for the advice Danny), only to be shot 5 consecutive times on the hand, and began to bleed.  FYI, paintball hurts.

At that point I was glad that I was zipped into that XL camo suit, even though it repeatedly tripped me up.  A smarter woman might have realized that the lack of petite sized suits was an indicator that very few women participate in this blood sport, but not me.  I ignored ALL the warning signs, even the presence of teenage boys.

They run like the wind, never tire, and they’ve played video games since they were five years old.  They consistently picked me off first, as the weakest link (aka the lamest and least attractive antelope) by releasing a barrage of shots directly at my head, leaving me blind and possibly concussed.

The guys who took out Bambi’s mother have nothing on a pack of trigger happy, parentally repressed 16 year old boys.

By the end of a day of paintball, you’ll have experienced nonstop adrenalin rushes and panic attacks, and your muscles will be shaking like jelly from the strain of holding your rifle upright as you crouch and run for cover. 

But you will have never felt so alive despite having been “killed” 20 times.  You’ll be sore, bruised, and yet - oddly satisfied.

And that’s how you end up with crazy stuff on your bucket list, like zip-lining, bungee jumping and parasailing.  I haven’t actually done any of those things, but I have to believe that all of them would be at least as cool as paintball.

That said I’m not about to take “month in Provence” or “4 day wine country/spa trip with my BFFs” off my list.  Adrenalin is good, but spending time with friends (in a cool place) is even better.

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