It happens. Just like it has every Sunday since I was 11; get up and drive 2 hours to practice with assholes and ex-boyfriends. They make you run as fast as them. They make you sweat as hard as them. They make you play as hard as them. If you don’t measure up they let you know. Your never one of the guys, your too fat, too skinny, your moves are too aggressive. Finally somehow you manage to beat them, each and every one. After all that they still get to you. Then we get in a vehicle all cramped in, with our gear, and that one teammate who isn’t stand-able. Drive 2 days to watch, to talk, and mostly to play. Play the hardest ever, amazing that my body hasn’t collapsed yet, when the team see her. Some girl just there for the attention, soon jealousy rises as you see girls with their boyfriends; getting check out… they don’t even play! She jumps every time a marker fires! She doesn’t tech your gats! But there is no stopping. Why? Paintball is my life. Two steps below God; is the sound, the smell, the feel as you shoot paint. It isn’t the sponsorships, it isn’t tournaments vendors, it isn’t the video games you play during the long hours on the road, it’s the game.
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