I went paintballing for the first time over the Thanksgiving weekend. All of the men in my life, from my husband to my brothers and father, kept saying things like, “It hurts, but it’s not that bad.”

Their words gave me little comfort, especially since every one of them said “hurt” somewhere in their explanation of what it felt like to be shot by a paint gun. I had all kinds of trepidation as I walked through the tall weeds, my gun in hand, searching for a good place to hunker down against the other team. Why had I agreed to do this in the first place? I hate pain! I didn’t have much time to dwell on my insane decision once the game started. My inexperience showed, being one of the first shot—right in the shoulder. The amazing thing, my frenzied mind had imagined something so much more painful than what it actually felt like to be hit that it almost didn’t hurt at all that first time. Now if only the second shot hadn’t struck my bare hand getting ready to squeeze the trigger. That one hurt way more but was still survivable. I’m glad I didn’t chicken out, giving in to my panicked thoughts. Like my oldest son said, “It’s even better than laser tag.” I have to agree—super fun.