Editorial
Front Page - Friday, November 27, 2009
Weekly Indulgence
Samara Litvack
I’ve been scared of guns for as long as I remember. I tense up around them, even when I’m certain they’re unloaded. I always turn my head during shooting scenes in movies. I avoid the gun section in sporting stores. I even have nightmares about them. Often.
Even as I sit here, typing this story, in which I will soon by writing about the first time I shot one, my stomach is churning.
But I’ve always heard that the only way to overcome a fear this great is to face it head on. And, although I’ll never take that approach with my fear of snakes or heights or suffocating, I decided to ask my friend Ryan to take me to a shooting range, before I had the chance to change my mind.
He chose Carter’s Shooting Supply and Range on Highway 58. A membership there is only $20, and he could bring me along as a guest shooter, so it seemed like the best bang for our buck. (Pun totally intended.)
Carter’s is pretty far out on Highway 58 and, Ryan pointed out, I was uncharacteristically quiet the whole drive there. When we finally pulled into the gravel parking lot, second thoughts began racing through my mind.
I cowered behind Ryan as we entered the store, flinching with every gunshot I heard in the distance. As he waited in line, I browsed the camouflage section to take my mind off my hysteria.
I was dizzy. My stomach felt hollow. I found myself asking over and over, “Why do I want to do this?” But before I could come up with an answer, Ryan was talking to the owner and it was time for me to pick out my targets.
That was the easiest part of the day. First I selected Osama bin Laden. Second, I chose Saddam Hussein. And for my third target, I chose what I now lovingly refer to as “creepy robber man.”
The only gun available to rent that day was a .40 caliber Smith & Wesson pistol. When the man laid it on the counter, I was petrified. Ryan picked it up, examined it and said, “We’ll take it.” I felt the color drain from my face. Ryan asked me if I was OK. I lied and said I was.
We decided (and by “we,” I mean Ryan) to get two boxes of ammunition so I could really get a feel for the gun. We bought some earplugs and were directed out the side door, down the sidewalk, into the shooting range.
We put in our earplugs before we left the main building, since people were already shooting out in the range. I squeezed mine so they’d form to the inside of my ears after I inserted them, as I learned to do earlier this year at the Bristol NASCAR race. But in my panicked state, I must have squeezed too tightly because they did not fill in before we got there.
When I heard the first shot that close, I almost turned around and ran out. My heart jumped into my throat and out of nowhere, tears starting coming out of my eyes. Ryan laughed and started going through instructions. This is how you load the magazine. This is the safety. Stand like this, with your right foot slightly further back. Was I ready to hold the gun?
No thank you. I let him shoot two whole rounds to get the party started. And even then, I wasn’t ready, but then he reminded my why we were there. So I manned up and, against all my instincts, I prepared to shoot my first gun.
He loaded the magazine for me, but he made me flick the safety. By this point, my earplugs had finally filled in, and he’d pulled my sunglasses down over my eyes for safety.
The first few times, he stabilized. He also took over the aiming and let me close my eyes, so I could get a feel for the kickback a .40 caliber gives off. Man, it was a lot.
After a few times, I did it all on my own. And you know what? I hit the target. Every time. I learned quickly to take my finger off the trigger while I was aiming (or while I was wiping away the tears, or catching my breath) and after several rounds, I loaded the clip myself.
By the last round, I felt slightly more comfortable. I can’t say I ever really relaxed, or that I was ever necessarily “having fun,” but I was more comfortable, and I’ll take that as a giant victory.
My adrenaline rushed for hours after I left the shooting range, and if I were the type of girl that enjoyed adrenaline rushes, I might have viewed the experience a little differently. But now, a few days after my first shooting experience, I can confidently say I’d like to go back and try it all over again. Next time, I’ll hopefully shoot a lower caliber gun that’s not quite as heavy and has less of a kickback. And I might even move the target a little further away (although I did get up to about 10 feet, and I can’t imagine I’d ever shoot someone in real life that was more than 10 feet away).
But there will definitely be a next time, and that’s more than I could have ever predicted before I went to Carter’s. My fear of guns is still very real, but with more practice, I think I can overcome it.
Contact Samara at samara@hamiltoncountyherald.
com.
|
|