The Reason for the Title, "This Ain't No Glamour Detail"

One of my favorite places in the entire world, other than Indiana and Tennessee, and the beach at Fort Myers, FL, is Savannah, Georgia. The first time I was in Savannah was at a regional championship trapshoot competing in a sanctioned regional trapshoot. 

I couldn't get over the azaleas at the gun club entrance. At least I shut my mouth long enough to take the photo. (And later would stuff my mouth with Savannah cuisine and pralines.) 

This is me at a Savannah, GA club getting ready to compete in a regional trapshoot in front of those totally beautiful azaleas

 Many of the places I've been to around the USA are related to trapshooting during a certain period of my life. Most of my life has not been too glamorous. I always want to look like the Audrey Hepburn of life; instead, I come across more like Harlow Hickenlooper.

We had just left a blizzard in Indiana (it was in February.) I didn’t think we were even going to make it out of the state. So, I had to have my photo taken there because even on a good day in Indiana, I had never seen such a profusion of colorful flowers. I felt even a bit glamorous. This is as glamorous as I get, though. I have to have God's glorious creation backing me up to get a good "glamour" shot.

Some people see shooting sports as glamorous. I have hung out with and shot with the rich and famous, it’s true. While eating a greasy hamburger in the clubhouse between rounds, I listened to my shooting companions talk about the best places to fuel up their private jets. 

Me in my trapshooting clothes. 

And my Italian-made shotgun is considered "sexy" by others in this sport. The Italian craftsmen, who hand-designed and made my gun, are swoon-worthy.They come over from Italy during The Grand American Championships and take care of any problems you are having with your gun, so I have actually talked to them. My goodness is all I have to say about them.

The first time I ever shot trap targets, I knew it was a sport I was going to like. But trapshooting has never been glamorous for me. It is a "rush" to powder a little round orange clay target flying through the air. But this shot of me right before going out to shoot is the best I look all day. After shooting, my cheek or shoulder could be bloody or bruised, sweat has soaked through my shirt and gun grease decorates my sleeves. It's not pretty.

When I first started shooting, it was hard to remember everything: put in your earplugs, put on your shooting vest, put on your eye protection, bring your box of shells, keep track of how many times you shoot, shoot on your turn, after five shots move to the next station, look at the target, don’t call for the target until you’re ready, call only on your turn, stay still while others shoot, keep your gun open at all times until it’s your turn to shoot, breathe easy, look over the gun, look over the traphouse, don’t pull the trigger until it is in your sights--and, well, phew, there is a lot to remember. But eventually it became second nature to me.

Getting custom made ear plugs 

But at the time I started shooting, I didn't see a lot of women. I wore a vest too big for me, because it was a man's vest I'd borrowed, along with my gun, which was also too big. My cheek was beaten to a bloody pulp with a knot on it the size of a baseball, because the gun stock was too high and thunked me each time I pulled the trigger. 

I could barely hoist the gun up to my shoulder, which caused me to lean back. It was a wonder whenever I did hit a target--which I hit enough times to keep me coming back. So, after each practice session, I was a mess, but determined. Since you load one shell at a time into the gun barrel, each time I opened to load, a bit of grease would smudge on me somewhere. I ruined several shirts and jeans that way.(And I would just use them again for shooting. I'm smart like that.)

 

Learning something new can be frustrating!

A lot of men shoot in this sport, of course, and some have been shooting since they were small boys. I had only shot a gun twice—and both times were handguns, not a 12-gauge shotgun. Some of the men I met were WWII, Korean Conflict or Vietnam veterans, and they had been hunting all of their lives, too. Some were law enforcement or special tactical weapons guys.They had forgotten more than I even knew about shooting. I looked clunky and slow, I'm sure. 

But I was a bit of a novelty, too. Still, I wasn’t an Annie Oakley. It was hard work for me. They all had advice and gave it out freely. Talk about the most confusing time of my life.

“Hold your gun higher.”

“Hold your gun lower.”

“Close one eye to focus.”

“Whatever you do, keep both eyes open.”

“Use a longer gun. Use a heavier gun.”

“Use a shorter gun. That gun is too heavy for you.”

“Wear a vest to hold your shells. Get plenty of padding in the shoulder.”

“I never wear a vest. Get one of those belts and get a shooter's tee shirt.”

With shooting buddies at The Grand American Trapshoot World Championships

One time early on I was practicing on a particularly hot day. I don’t know where my husband had gone, but I was left on the field to shoot practice. I’m sure I was frustrated. In those early days of shooting, I was always frustrated. I wanted to do better. I just knew I could be good at this. And I really liked doing it. And I'm one of those determined people who will dog at it until I'm exhausted. 

This older man was sitting on the bench behind the trap field  watching me. Because it was so hot, my face was not only flushed with the heat of the day, but also from the gloves and long-sleeved shirt I had on to protect me from the now-heated barrel. Sometimes the barrel gets so hot, you can suffer burns. People in shooting sports are the most safety conscious of anyone I know. 

I already had some blood seeping through my shirt at the shoulder, and I was sweating--there's no dainty way to put it. My hair stuck out everywhere, even though I had pulled it back and stuffed it under my hat. My cheek was swollen and bruised. Arms and shoulders ached. I had lifted that gun over 500 times. It ain't a sport for the puny.

Dehydration becomes a problem, so you have to make sure you get some shade and some water between rounds. I walked back to my bag and the bench where the man was sitting and relaxing. I was braced for whatever advice he was going to bestow on me, because they all did that. This one spat on the ground before he spoke.

"You know, honey, this ain't no glamour detail."

I don't know why, but I thought of David (of David and Goliath fame) when he had put on all that armor King Saul loaded him up with when little David said he was going to battle with Goliath. I was thinking to myself, I wonder if anyone pointed that out to David, right before he dumped all the armor and said, "I got this slingshot and I'll get some stones on the way..."

"Rhaaaa-it! Rhaaaa-it! Bring me my smelling salts! I believe I'll swoon..."

"Frankly, Scarlet, you're a wimp. You know, dahling, this ain't no glamour detail, this wah-r, and all."

I didn't know what to say. Usually when someone offered me unsolicited advice, I would say, "Thank you," and then would go on, ignoring the man in my face at the time, and keeping the advice from my coach (my coach was a professional and quite wise) firmly planted in my brain. This was something I just wasn't prepared for at the time, though. I'm surprised I didn't spit my water all over him from the shock.

And so now, in this time of my life, I'm trying to focus on the target--to get a functional wardrobe in colors that make me look put together and healthy and maybe even a bit glowing. It's hard when you get all sweaty about it!

At another trapshoot in Phoenix, AZ 

So, now you know my mindset here and how I approach this thing of color/style/closet domination.  Hopefully, I'll "get" it soon. I would like to find a bit of my own true beauty, acceptance and glamour in my life at this age.

I'm the third from the left in case you don't recognize me! (It's been a few years.)