Before my last name was changed and I became this person who lives in Alabama and works in an office, I was a competitive rifle shooter. It was something I started when I was 8 and was used to describe me every day after that. Shooting was the glue that held me together. It was also the bond between my dad, who was my coach, and I. He sat beside me as a young BB gun shooter and taught me where the fun was in sports. It was fun to travel somewhere I’d never been and meet new young shooters and coaches. It was fun to sit on the line with my dad and laugh before the match started. It was fun to work harder and do better, it was fun to win, and it was fun to make my dad proud.
By the time I was 16 rifle was what I knew. I picked a University to attend based on the rifle program, because if I was going to go somewhere and compete, it was go big or go home. When I graduated high school the valedictorian called out achievements of our class, and Division I Rifle Team definitely sounded the most impressive to me.
Somewhere between then and now I lost the drive to continue competing at the level I had reached. 20 hours a week wasn’t just exhausting to me, it was draining me emotionally. It wasn’t fun to get down and pull the trigger anymore, seeing tens and center shots show up on the screen, it was just discouraging to see all the other shots. So when I graduated, got married and moved, I packed up my rifles in cases and put everything in a box. It was time to put it away. I’d been competing for more than half my life, and I had finally burnt out.
Ironically, I work for a company that sells guns and promotes youth rifle programs. Running the matches as work instead of competing became what I enjoyed. I learned the tricks of the computers and watched everyone else struggle on the line. Every once in awhile I’d miss competing, but the fear of putting myself back in that situation where I could feel so low, kept me from unpacking my bags. I couldn’t remember what it felt like to have fun on the line anymore, just what it felt like to be let down.
During this time my brother in law went to the 2012 Olympics. My company hired him and another shooter to compete full time and represent the company as brand ambassadors. They had landed a dream job, and were incredibly lucky for it. At one time I was confident that I could compete at any level, but after a few years of struggling and getting beat down, but more importantly beating myself down in my head, I didn’t think I could ever do it again.
Yet somehow here I am. In a place I’ve never been, dragging behind me a bag of heavy equipment and a rifle case. I’m not sure how I ended up here again, setting up the many familiar screws to assemble a butt hook and wearing layers of spandex and canvas. But maybe this second time around can begin like the first time did, with a little fun and some laughs.