Rifle-Qual!

Well, you are reading the blog of one of America's finest who just qualified as a sharpshooter. Yep. Go me!
Good things come to those who persist and do NOT give up, even under threat of heatstroke!
Honestly though if Mr. Highmountain hadn't offered me a waterbottle before we started, I probably would have keeled over before the qual...
So, I stood there in the entirely inadequate shadow provided by the range and I listened and I tried very hard to absorb everything that was said by the four instructors. It was harder than it might otherwise have been because I didn't actually have a firearm as I was listening to the explanation and some of the more kinetic learners were fiddling with the fiddly bits of their firearms while I was trying to listen.
So things got sorted out and we all got our stations and I DID get a firearm then. It was lighter than I expected it would be, which surprised me. It was also, I found out very quickly, not inclined to kill me via recoil, which was very nice.
I should quickly point out here that my previous experience has been entirely limited to plinking with a .22 at the end of a safety course and then shooting a handgun in Nebraska to the derision of my brother, his friend and his friend's father. My own dad just stood by looking a bit embarrassed for me. Neither of the two experiences did anything for my confidence. Then there was Boot and contrary to what you might expect, I didn't get to shoot anything there because I was waiting for a piece of paper that would declare me to be sane.
(By the way, I think it's important for my readership to know that I'm listening to Men of Harlech right now and am humming along under my breath. Yeah, I'm a little proud of myself...the reward is wicked awesome Welsh men's choral singing)
Anyway, there I was. I sat on my bench and helpful people fiddled with a box on my bench that was supposed to help me steady my rifle. I was grateful for this. And then they used very complicated and formulaic words to basically tell me "Fire at your own pace and take your time so you don't screw up." I took my time all right. This turned out to be a sort of test round. We did... five of these I think.
Anyway, at the end of the five, I was pretty proud of myself but also kind of tired and heat-sapped (heat-sapped is my own oh-so-original way of saying that because it was hot I was really tired and didn't want to do anything except die of overheating).
Little did I know that the true qualification was just beginning!
I cannot say I have ever been formally introduced to the prone, kneeling and standing stances for firing a rifle. I have been pushed into them, but not formally introduced.
First there was prone.
I will say this for prone- I couldn't fall over and that was an improvement in some important respects from the other two. The really bad thing though was my inability to breathe and fire my firearm with any degree of accuracy. I lay there on the concrete thinking "How the hell do I line everything up and fire without my safety glasses falling off of my face and blinding me? And how do I breathe?"
It was difficult, but somehow I got through it.
I kept making dumb mistakes- no 'breaking blue', but stupid things like leaving the safety on for longer than it ought to be.
Then there was kneeling. Kneeling was... odd. I didn't like it very much. Towards the very end of shooting kneeling, I sort of got the idea and got much more steady. I thought it was probably too little too late.
At last it was time for the standing position. This was not much fun either, but we apparently had ten minutes for it. I had resolved that it would not, in fact could not take me ten minutes because I had a mission to accomplish- get a good sight picture and don't screw it up by moving my firearm away from my head. I honestly had difficulty understanding how someone could _take_ ten minutes for ten shots. Somewhere in the middle, what with holding my breath and all, I would invariably lose count and despair. In my despair, I apparently relaxed enough to do well, at least this was according to one of my two coachs. I can't really thank this one guy enough though. He was kind enough to help me reload my magazines. That was about the one thing I was pretty sure I could do without screwing up too badly, but about half-way through the whole qual I got pretty badly rattled, I'm not sure by what, and I couldn't even load a magazine. I felt like a completely useless berk, but he patiently helped me out. I owe him cookies or something.
The whole thing was an experience. It was overall a good experience and I'm glad I didn't quit the handful of times I felt like quitting would have been more productive than not. I learned a lot, and I would very much like to go back at some date in the far distant future and improve my skills. But I really think I need one-on-one tutoring with someone who is very, very, very patient. Like St. Monica patient.