No Pain, No Gain!

I received good news today at an appointment I had with my Doctor. About a year ago I injured my knee in my kick boxing class, and then re-injured it playing paintball this past summer. It was causing me more and more pain as time went on so I had decided to get it looked at, fearing that I had done severe damage to it. After months of waiting for an MRI they found that I had bruised the cartilage, something which I had not known was possible until today. The good news is that I do not need surgery, the bad news is that I will have to find new ways to get into shape for the paintball season while my meniscus heals up. 

Safely back on campus I found myself a pair of cross country skis, anxious to start the low impact path to a new, and healthy me. At the time, I had pushed the horrid memories of skiing as a kid far from the front of my mind. To my dismay, seconds after snapping the skis to my feet, I was lovingly embraced by those memories, like a 2 x 4 plank embraces you when it hits you between the eyes. All too vividly did I recall the experience of falling on my back with two long greased sticks strapped to my feet, the wooden monstrosities seemingly repelled in opposite directions as if magnetized with the same polarity. What I could not remember however is if I ever discovered as a child how to get back to my feet after wrapping my ankle around my neck, with my head impossibly close to my left hip, because that is the position I found myself in now. Surprised at the fact that I seemed to be buried in several feet of snow, without gloves, It became very clear that I had not thought out all of the details of this venture. After falling in this fashion half a dozen times, I turned back, bruised but not beaten. I was able to follow my trail back toward our house using the braille method, as the sun had set making my beautiful surroundings all but invisible. 

The entire adventure was intended to be a low impact excursion, which very quickly turned into a high impact beating. I don't think my Doctor or I had originally envisioned such an outing. The entire experience has lead me to reconsider my methods, instead of the suicidal strapping on of skis, perhaps I will take on something a little less intense, like bull riding. 

Why Go German?

It is no secret that those of us who choose to play the "Bad Guys" in scenario games are a bit of a different sort. However, in recent trips to my favorite big scenario in Oklahoma, I have discovered a degree of animosity and even scorn towards those who choose the dark side, and "Go German".

Personally, I found it was a bit hard being heckled, and being treated as if I had sold my soul to Adolf himself. I will never forget the moment where an allied unit threw his arm out in a 'heil' and shouted something to me in what sounded to be German as I browsed the vendors. I had made the 3000 kilometer trek (that's 1864 miles) to the field, and had never stopped to think about this type of behavior. In fact, my team mates and I had chosen to be the bad guys because we heard we would be outnumbered which suited our play style just fine.

Having run with the German Paratroop unit over the last few years, I have discovered that those who join with the Wehrmacht are not at all who many would make them out to be. In fact, some of these hardcore paintballers have become some of my best friends, and others personal heroes, and in no way should ever be considered "The Enemy" on or off the field.

I will be posting interviews with many of the players that I have come to love at D-day, those red-hopper-heroes that continue to Go German, in spite of the opposition. Want to find out what makes them tick? What kind of gear they are toting? Want to see what they eat for breakfast? Hit subscribe, and check out the updates in the "Why Go German" series.

To my smurfy adversaries, who spend the day storming the beaches, falling on our indiscriminate hail-fire I salute you, and look forward to meeting you on the field. I know that there are many heroes that don the bluehoppers and to you I give my respect, I pray that you will return the favor.

The 6th Fallschirmjager

The unmistakable throb of adrenaline coursing through my veins found me restraining a battlecry and fools charge behind the cover of a bunker on that hot muggy day. Our quarry was raining hellfire on our position from just out of range. Our situation was dire. Before us was a zealous group of Allied Pathfinders, atleast 80 strong. looking at the juggernaut force pouring out on us, I remembered back to our camp when our Commanding Officer asked us "Who Are We?" A thunderous shout came as a reply "FALLSCHIRMJAGER!" In such a short time we had become family, comrades, and warriors. Was it true? Had I become a Fallschirmjager? Did I deserve the title?

Several shots came close to my position as the Pathfinders began moving in to eliminate us. I looked at what was left of my squad. Five men. My heart pounded into my head, then through the rest of my body until even the tips of my fingers seemed to join the rhythm. We were going to die. I tried to remember my training, mentally searching for a tactical maneuver or masterful decision to turn this situation around. They had already broken the cease fire arrangement, and their movement suggested no intention to give quarter now. My squad looked to me, anxious for my lead. Suddenly I have my answer as I silently recite the Fallschirmjager Commandments, stopping at the 5th. "Never surrender, to you death or victory must be a point of honor." 

"Load up" I yelled to the last of my eager squad, most of them already copying my motions as I filled my hopper with the last of my precious paint. No orders were needed. We all knew what needed to be done. Our honour was before us waiting to be claimed. My urge could no longer be contained as we screamed in unison "FALLSCHIRMJAGER!" and charged out of the bunker to confront our prey. 

Who knew that five minutes of paintball could be so epic.

No Paintball Today!

It's a rough world for Canadian Paintballers who endure the impossible cold of the long winter months between paintball seasons. Today, the temperature here is a dismal minus thirty celcius (-20F for you warmer south of the border readers). What is a poor frozen Canuck supposed to do in order to stay warm, and sway the paintballing blues during the months leading up to the end of our yearly ice-age? Send your ideas for staying warm in the off season and keeping the trigger finger primed!