Aiming for the Deer, Hitting the Ego: My First Day with a Bow
Hey there, fellow aspiring Robin Hoods! Gather 'round, and let me tell you about the time I confidently stepped onto the archery scene, armed with sheer optimism and a bow I wasn't quite sure how to hold. Spoiler: things didn't quite go as planned.
So, I'd just binge-watched this epic medieval series where every character seemed to be an archery prodigy. Inspired? Understatement. I thought, “I mean, if a 10-year-old prince can do it, how hard could it be?”
Cue my first purchase: The 'Super Deluxe Ultimate Bow Hunting Starter Kit' or something equally as flashy. It came with an instruction manual which I, of course, skimmed through (who needs instructions, right?). A quick side note: always read the instructions.
Fast forward to the archery range. The sun was shining; the birds were singing their little hearts out, basically setting the scene for my grand debut. First step? Setting up the target. How far could I place it? I went for the 'respectable beginner's distance,' which, looking back, might've been better suited for Legolas from "Lord of the Rings."
Taking a deep breath, I nocked my arrow (after a few fumbling attempts). I pulled back, aimed with all the fierceness I could muster, and let go... Only to watch the arrow nosedive three feet in front of me. Uh, maybe it was just a fluke?
Second attempt: I pulled back even harder this time. The arrow shot forth... and veered wildly to the left, almost hitting a tree. A bird high-tailed it out of there, probably questioning its life choices and my presence in its domain.
By my fifth attempt, a small crowd had gathered. And by 'crowd,' I mean two squirrels and a very judgmental-looking rabbit. I could swear one of the squirrels whispered, "Watch this," to its buddy.
Okay, time to get serious. I took a moment, envisioned myself as the protagonist in my medieval show, and let the arrow fly. It soared, it glided, it... lodged itself in the ground about seven feet away, creating a mini dirt explosion on impact.
That was the moment young Timmy, the 10-year-old archery prodigy of the range, walked over. With the wisdom of Yoda and the sass of a teenager, he offered, "Need some help, or you aiming for the worms?"
To cut a long and humbling story short, Timmy became my instructor that day. Under his guidance, I did eventually hit the target. Not the bullseye, mind you, but the very, very outer ring. Still a win in my book!
So, my dear friends, let my misadventures be a testament: Starting with a bruised ego can lead to slightly improved mediocrity with the right tutor. And when it comes to archery, maybe, just maybe, don't be too proud to take lessons from a 10-year-old.
Until next time, keep aiming (preferably at the target and not your pride) and shoot straight! Well, as straight as possible. 🏹😂