Happy Belated HNT: Battle Scars

I've gotten my fair share of scars over the years. I'm amazed when I think of all the things I've done that could've sent me to the emergency room. I've never been in an emergency room yet, tho. The picture is of my left arm and has the scar (about an inch and a half long) that should've sent me to the ER.

Back a few years ago, I got into playing paintball. Some friends of mine were into it and had enough gear for me to borrow so I didn't have to pay the outrageous rental fees at the time. This one time we were playing in August and it was in the mid 90's. Normally when I played, I wore a full-sleeved camoflage BDU shirt, but it was too hot so I was wearing a sleeveless camo t-shirt. It was my first big game, and since I was so pale and had my even paler upper arms exposed, I was instantly given the callsign "Whitey".

I had been having a great time that day. I was averaging over one kill per game, which was damn good for a paintball newbie. I've got good eyes and hands to help my shooting, and good legs to get me in and out of trouble.

When the next game starts I run down one of the flanks, bee-lining it between each piece of good cover I see. I come up from this small ravine and am heading to a nearby tree. Suddenly, I'm taking fire from two guys and I dive to my left behind the tree so I done get lit up. I hit so hard I barely keep the paintball gun in my hands. I see where one guy is shooting from, and I spray the area to keep his head down. While I look around to see where the other guy is.. *splat* I'm hit. I call myself out and head to the dead zone. The guy I tried to light up follows me, but to this day, I'm not sure if I'm the one who got him.

Anyway, when I get to the dead zone, I pull off that mask that protects my eyes and face but is way too hot. The guy I borrowed most of my gear from looks at me and says, "Holy shit, Whitey... you're bleeding." I looked down at my arm, and I have blood all over my arm and dripping off my elbow. I was running with so much adrenaline and my natural tolerance to pain is high that I never felt it. I knew I had hit something when I had dived behind the tree, but hadn't payed much attention since I was in the middle of a firefight.

I cleaned off the wound with bottled water and looked at it. At the time, it was a 4 inch gash up my bicep and thanks to the heat, it was clotting and stopped bleeding for the most part. My friends and the people who ran the field both asked me if they could take me to the ER. I wasn't feeling any pain and it wasn't bleeding for the most part, so I declined and played the last two games.

The next day I could barely lift my arm. The whole bicep was a massive bruise. The scar you see above would've been bigger if I hadn't used Neosporin liberally as it healed. From what I figured as it healed, it must've started out about an eighth of an inch deep. In total, it was a little over three weeks to heal to about the point you see it today. That scar is sort of a badge of honor for me and I feel a sense of pride telling the story how I got it.

Think that's a little weird?