This one’s coming to you a day late. The kids are out of school this week for Spring Break, so we took an overnight trip to a local indoor waterpark, so I’m running behind a little.
Here are a few things that we’ve established so far in the A to Z Challenge: I’m no Lance Armstrong, I suck at ordering food, and I can’t do seat warmers. Today I’m going to establish that I’m not Katniss Everdeen.
This Blast to the Past happened around the time that the second Hunger Games movie came out. I was pregnant with Baby Girl at the time, and I got it in my head that I should get a compound bow so I could shoot all the things.
I purchased a compound bow with a 45-pound draw weight (cough, a junior bow) since I wasn’t very confident in my muscular abilities.
From the moment I first held that bow in my hands, I knew that I was destined for great things. Maybe I wouldn’t be shooting assholes from the Capitol with it, but I would be hitting bullseye after bullseye with it. Maybe I’d even enter a competition or two with it and win something. Or maybe, just maybe, the government would get wind of how awesome I was and seek my assistance in hunting terrorists.
Unfortunately, that whole “knowing I was destined for greatness” thing was short-lived.
While testing out the bow, I tried to pull the string back and found out that it was rather difficult. My husband got a kick out of this, since I was having a hard time with a bow that was meant for kids as young as age 10. After I finally pulled the string back all the way, it slipped and scraped the side of my arm, leaving a bit of a cut (or string burn, whatever).
My husband tried to fix the bow for me and set the draw weight lower. It went down to 16 pounds, which he offered to go to.
“No, I don’t need that,” I said. “Bring it down to 35 pounds.”
I got the look. “Are you sure?”
Of course I was. He fixed it and handed it over. I again tried to pull the string back, and again, it proved rather difficult. I cursed the bow and gave it back to my husband.
“Bring it down to 25 pounds.”
“That was at 25 pounds,” he informed me. “I saw how much you struggled at 45 pounds.”
I was quite offended. “No, I didn’t,” I protested. “Fine, just bring it down to 20 pounds then. I’ll manage with that.”
He took it down all the way to 16. It still wasn’t easy to pull back, but I did it without struggling as much.
It was time.
The three of us went outside and set up a target, and Little Man brought out the bow he got for Christmas. He shot his arrows, and then it was my turn to shoot mine.
I quickly found that keeping the arrow on the bow while pulling back the string really complicated things.
The first arrow slipped and got within 5 feet of Little Man, who was standing to the side of me.
Oh my god! How was that even possible? I told LM to move behind me. My husband pulled him behind me about 10 feet.’
I shot again, getting a better grip this time, and didn’t slip. The arrow went about 10 feet over the target and bounced off the top of the storage building. Oops.
I had one more arrow. This time, I only shot slightly above the target and hit the storage building dead on, putting a hole in it.
At that point, I was rather frustrated with how things were going and said, “screw it.” I took my stuff inside, packed up everything, checked Amazon’s return policy, and print off a return mailing label to send it all back.
My stint as Katniss Everdeen was over that quickly.
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