I partook in a class about, well, shooting guns. It’d been in the back of my mind for quite some time now, and I’ve finally stopped putting it off. Saturday found me at 9:05 AM bundled up but ready to listen and take a lot of detailed notes. They’re a little dry, so they’re at the end.
My Thoughts
Well.
I feel a little better. Like the rest of the class I’ve improved, and the terror of handling a firearm is abating just a little– they’re becoming demystified, for lack of a better word. I definitely felt bad for some parts of the class: awkward, frustrated, and wanting to just get it over with. In the end, it was a very positive experience overall. The feeling of accomplishment supersedes just about everything else, and now I know what I need to work on (posture, not flinching, aiming with crosseyed-dominance, and just "let the gun do").
My moment of shame, though? When I locked the gun and made it unusable. I stood there feeling pretty awkward while everyone else got another round in. This did give me the opportunity to try another pistol for awhile. Variety, spice of life, and all that jazz hands.You bet I’ll be on a quest for an ambidextrous gun because as usual every fucking thing is made for right-handed people.
I have to be gentle with myself. Of course, I was bad at it. I haven’t shot a pistol in years! But that is what practice is for. And this is something that shouldn’t be rushed. Once again, I bring up the car metaphor: putting a loaded magazine into the gun felt very much like the first time I got behind the wheel of a vehicle. Fucking terrified. But now, years and years later, I’m getting into that little metal can of death every day going up to 80 miles per hour.
Someday, hitting the smaller steel target six times in a row will be just like driving down to my local comic book shop. I would have taken classes, took tests, and gained more experience.
Remember: Shoot like a slut, put your ass out.