Paintball... oh my!

Friends,

Today, I sit here slightly nervous and partially excited but mostly confused as to how I got myself into a paintball tournament tonight with my fellow CrossFitters.  Oh. My. Heavens.  I think initially I thought we were actually doing laser tag.  You know, the non-hurting, you can hide in a dark corner until it's done, or secretly shoot at people without them knowing.  Yeah, that's what I thought we were doing.

Instead, we are going to paintball.  Paintball!?!?  Isn't this crap going to hurt me?  I treated myself to a little photo montage via Google Images to check out exactly what this craziness looks like.  It's not pretty.  I'm even more afraid now.  You know, I'm like a peach; I bruise easily :)  Ha!

Here is my before picture... just in case I don't come back in the same condition:

Here are a few pieces of evidence I found that have contributed to my fear and desire to possibly back out of this whole adventure.  I think this is definitely a 'boy' type of event.  Can't I just go to Lulu Lemon instead?

Exhibit A:

What the heck are all of those canister things on their backs and why are they all huddled together while homeboy in the red shirt is attacking them?  And what's with the guy in the front who is posed like a cheetah ready to strike.  Isn't this a gun game? 

Exhibit B:

It's clear you can't really hide 'behind' anything since we're bigger than all of these obstacles.  So my theory of hiding in the corner is out the window.  And- is that a dog house?!?!

Exhibit C:

I am not a Sniper; however, some of the people going with us have been snipers and sharp shooters in the military.  So while they will take this stance, I will take the shape of a rolly polly and wait until the whole thing is over.

Exhibit D:

There are no words for this. This is like Chewbaca meets Swamp Thing in the bayou of Louisiana.  But, I kind wish I had this get up to hide in.  And I'll be it helps prevent the pain from the paintball hit.

Exhibit E- The Most Important One:

Are you freaking kidding me?!?  If this crap hits my face I will be pissed. I can not show up to work on Monday with a black eye, swollen face, or any missing teeth.  Seriously. The face?  And I'm pretty sure the free-with-purchase face mask they give us won't be a protective as this one. Sigh.

So with that, I'm officially afraid.  Perhaps I can persuade my team to let me be the photographer (positioned safely from the sidelines with a zoom lens) instead of being in the trenches.  I hope they tell us the commands for "I quit" and "Please don't hurt me" and "I'm outta here!"  because I have a feeling I will need them.

Oh holy hannah, this is going to hurt.  So folks, keep me in your thoughts.  When the clock strikes 5pm, I'll be covered in this:

Dear washing machine, please forgive me for the clothes in which you will receive tonight.  I have a sneaking suspicion that Mike is going to L-O-V-E this and ensure that he uses every available paintball on the field.  He tends to be deceivingly good at these types of things. Sigh, again.

I'll report back with photos.

Yours in fear,
Whitney