The Healing Properties of Target Shooting, plus One Deadly Danger

The Healing Properties of Target Shooting, plus One Deadly Danger

By Cybèle Elaine Werts
CybeleW@aol.com
www.supertechnogirl.com

In the movie Sliding Doors, Gwenneth Paltrow plays a woman who catches her boyfriend cheating on her. After dumping him, she goes right out to get a new hairstyle. Getting a new do represents a new life I guess, but with hair as short as mine, the only option left is a mohawk. Instead I took up a hobby that I've been waiting on for twenty years: target shooting with a rifle. Being recently dumped myself (although I didn't cheat on anyone), my friends were naturally worried that I was planning to knock off my ex. I admit I've had a few fantasies of scaring the living crap out of him, but shooting a living being? Not likely.

So here I am, three visits to the range deep and shooting quite nicely if I say so myself. I don't believe in previous lives, but if I did, I'd say that maybe my great great grandma was out there in her overalls protecting the farm from varmints, human and otherwise. While I'm hardly a gun freak like many of my fellow guy shooters, I admit to some pleasure in discovering which kind of target works for me (The ones that turn fluorescent green when you hit them) and which bullets my dear Ruger chokes up on (Federal Classics). I guess finding the right ammo is about the same as finding the right man; you just gotta keep trying different brands until it fits like grandma bear's bed: jussst right.

Even with the right accoutrements, I probably look a bit odd out there on the range. This morning I wore a black tennis skirt (lip gloss in the ball pocket of course), a matching cropped top that shows a bit of cleavage when leaning over to refill a cartridge, and electric yellow socks. It's workout wear so I won't have to fuss with my clothes, but quirky I suppose next to the serious camowear of my brother shooters. They've been real nice to me though, even if they might be snickering about my inability to dress like a real outdoorswoman. I think it's because I encourage them to give advice to the new gal, something which warms them right up to me. Advice notwithstanding, I think of it as a practical thing; no one could possibly shoot me accidentally when I'm wearing those yellow socks.

Several of these same guys have told me that I have a leg up physiologically simply because I'm a woman. They say that when a woman misses the shot, she just nods and grabs another fistful of bullets. But a lot of men seem to get a bit overwrought over the same missed shot, something which isn't conducive to concentration. Apparently women also have better small motor skills, which of course is exactly what your itchy finger on the trigger has to do with. Whether all this is true or just a bit of backhanded patronizing, I can't say. But it's nice to be around men who seem to exemplify gentlemanly virtues.

Shooting has turned out to be a great source of healing for my wounded heart. Perhaps it's just immersion in a new hobby, and there's no denying that watching your shot explode one of those fluorescent orange clay pigeons is darned satisfying. But even more than that, when I'm watching the target waggle in front of my iron sights, all my sadness and heartbreak seem far far away. As far off as the farthest target way out in the distance, and so small that it's just an orange dot lost in the shadowed green of pine. It's just my hand, the rifle and the target. Just me and God in simpatico, facing the same direction together for once. There's a beautiful silent place there, deep in the quiet interior where the jangling of my mind and heart are left behind. That's surely worth the price of a few rounds.

Target shooting may have a lot in common with spiritual pursuits, but I do want to close with a warning about one dire danger of rifle shooting. Yesterday after about 100 rounds, I found that I'd bruised my trigger finger which puffed up like a marshmallow. I had to ice it down for a few hours before I could press the play button on my DVD to watch the rest of the Gwenneth Paltrow movie. Still, not a bad trade for a boatload of released hostilities, and more than fair for avoiding getting my next hairdo in a mohawk.

The View from My Table at the Jonesville Range, 100 & 50 Yard Targets