Day Twelve, Eleven Fourty Five PM

SOMEONE ASKED ME the other day what the fun is in getting shot by paintballs. I replied the fun is in trying not to get shot. If I break it down, and throw away the inner warrior philosophies, it's basically tag. With stress. It's remarkably fun, and your heart is in you throat as you move stealthily around plywood buildings, or charge sandbagged foxholes.

It's war without all those nasty side effects- PTSD, death, those kinds of things. I once read a soldiers account of why they fight, and he related that there is a primordial fascination with the process of blowing things up. He told of his fellow Marines on a hill overlooking a position in Iraq, watching the Air Force pulverize it. From the distance, there was no human repercussion to it- only a fascinating big boom. It was the action film, not the real taker of life that it was.

I don't know why as a species we've devoted so much time to learning how to kill each other with maximum efficiency. But there's no hiding two things about paintball: One, it's play war. You're attempting to take out your enemy. The markers- aka guns- feel real and hold that bit of scariness real ones do. And two? It's undeniably fun. Even if you fail miserably at avoiding getting shot up... like me.

-F

PS the photo below is for reader "me". Day 2.5... yellow and purple, as requested.