I have a love-trepidation relationship with going shooting.

It’s very addicting, and you get an indescribable shot of adrenaline ever time you call ‘pull!’ and a new disk flies out for you to shatter. Never mind that the shot gun weighs more than I can possibly handle, never mind that every time I shoot the backlash effect bruises my shoulder a little more every time— never mind that I’m so impossibly tiny, that with every shot, I’m involuntarily inclined to take a couple steps back to regain my balance, because of the force with which it shoots.

Never mind all that.

A couple hours after, when you’re home, not even during the car ride back, since everyone is so pumped up from all the hits they did, and your body is sore as all hell, you’re still running on that high.

My left shoulder blade and right upper arm hurt terribly, but as with paintball, it’s just one of those things that are worth it.

My overall trepidation comes from the negative anticipation of pain, the episode-triggering-noise (which apparently doesn’t work anymore), and the anxiety that more often than not, overwhelms.

The curious thing, is that with the shotgun, that doesn’t apply. You know it’ll hurt like a motherfucker, but you don’t even think; you shrug it off every time, the same way you shrug off every hit you take in paint-ball in that masochistic ritual that is the One-Shot.

No, I never get that with the shotgun.

It’s the rifle what I sometimes feel I can’t handle.

You sit in a chair, your rifle resting on some sacks to accommodate your view, and you fix your shot on whatever metallic silhouette is set at 200 meters or more.

The psychological phenomenon is interesting, because it was a nerve wrecking experience for all of us, even those who’d grown up doing it all their lives.

That first shot. That was the most nerve wrecking of all.

Rafael, taking in a deep breath and very lightly pulling at the trigger, then BOOM.

We all sigh, the relief washes through, and we can move on. We’re popped the shooting cherry for the day.

Still, the anticipation of every shot makes us anxious. Is it the noise it makes? Is it the level of concentration involved?

I’m not a fan of the rifle. It feels too much like when I’m going to get waxed, or playing One-Shots. You know it’s going to hurt like a bitch, but you can’t chicken out, out of some sense of pride, so despite your instincts and your better judgment, you go for it.

I lean towards the more fun and entertaining fire-arm that is the shotgun.

And my favorite part is when you cock it and the remainders of the bullet come flying out.

All of us shot, all of us got some hits done.

There were 2 incidents I could not understand, where my little cousin cried using the shotgun, and then Rafael’s girlfriend cried as well.

I unfortunately had no sympathy because I could not understand them (I seldom ever do crying, and rage always gets me out of caving in), in that ‘I’ve done the exact same thing, dealt with the same amount of pain, and I’m not being a pussy about it. Suck it up, princess.’ sort of way.

My little cousin said that she was scared, which, again, I did not understand considering she’s my uncle’s daughter. Said she has to cry and have her breakdown, before being able to go for it.

That I did understand a bit.

Rafael’s girlfriend, I have no fricken clue. I didn’t ask. Something about pain.

Which was ridiculous, because I shot with a higher caliber, which meant it hurt more.

She made a scene, then we went home, but it was very interesting.

When my uncle heard the news that his girls went shooting, he was very proud. I just felt bad for my cousin, having to deal with 6 girls all day— then again, he’s the one who asked us to accompany him, so it’s his deal.