I’m not really an advocate of sports that involve hitting, punching, kicking, chopping and generally beating the crap out of other people….but throw me into the bush on a sweltering hot day, with cammo gear, a gun that fires pellets of paint and a bit of nervous adrenalin – it’s game on!

Until earlier this week, I’d never played paintball before but had heard it was a pile of fun.  Imagine a bunch of action-deprived IT nerds being let lose in the bush, with weaponry and armor that makes them feel like super heroes?  It’s absolute carnage.

Whilst I don’t have an alternative to compare it to, Top Gun Paintball centre in Keperra is what you’d expect from a facility that promotes combat style sports….it’s dirty, dusty, derelict and located in the middle of nowhere with all the creepy crawlies.  The staff are pretty laid back, and probably could’ve been a little more sensitive towards those of us who’d never played before, but all in all they were pleasant and took good care of our group.

We spent some time going through the rules of engagement and the more I learnt, the more nervous I got.  We were kitted up with over-sized, homeboy style cammo gear, which was pretty amusing for all involved and the women were given a breast plate to protect the essentials.  Protective facemasks are provided and are compulsory wearing as long as you’re in the combat zones.  You can hire additional protective equipment such as arm/leg pads at an extra cost, but being brave souls (or perhaps stupid) we decided to go without.

Enter the combat zone.  The first activity was a basic game of “steel the other team’s flag” – my heart was beating through my chest plate and the sweat beads were forming in anticipation.  But as the start whistle blew, my legs refused to move, and my trigger finger didn’t seem interested in engaging.  I had nothing.  I went into survival mode…or was it coward mode?  Somehow my team managed to snag the flag of the opposing team but I had made zero contribution.  As they celebrated a win, I hung my head….I was a failure to my fellow troops.  So, with one game down and five to go I picked up my bottom lip, sucked in some deep breaths, pulled my baggy pants up and stuck my chest out.  Go hard or go home right?

Game two was the same game, with the same result – my team won…but this time there was a new soldier in camp!  I covered my wing men with rapid fire and knocked the opposing troops out one by one as we advanced towards their coveted flag.  Flag in hand, I remained untouched by the opposing team’s bullets of yellow paint.  Others in my team weren’t so lucky and were lifting their sleeves to reveal large red marks on areas that had been shot.  Ouch.

The combat exercises that followed were a mix of defensive and offensive activities that required speed, stealth, confidence and bucket loads of paint pellets.  Lucky for me, I’m pretty quick on my feet and vertically challenged….the grass in the combat zone was at waist height, so I could crouch down and run through without being noticed.  My string of success however didn’t last and before too long I too was sporting red marks on several body parts.  But there was so much adrenalin pumping through my body that the pain was negligible.

Paintball isn’t for the faint hearted and it identified those of us who were too competitive (or too stupid) to back down.  As we progressed through the afternoon’s combat exercises, the troops were starting to feel the pinch.  It was 35 degrees, our masks were fogging up and many were hurting from war wounds.  My team was still in the lead and with only one exercise to go, it was time to put the nails in their coffins.

This final combat required the teams to advance towards a target (a milk crate) and instead of having the retrieve the target, a soldier was to sit on it for a period of 30 seconds and cop a barrage of fire for that time, to claim the victory.  As my team advanced through the bunkers, I ducked and weaved until I had reached cover only 2 metres from the crate.  I looked back at my team, and saw that many had fallen, taken down by rapid fire.  From the sidelines my name was being called to take to the crate, but I thought there would be others who should take the glory (eg the men!).  Seconds that felt like minutes passed, and still there were no takers.  The opposing team seemed reluctant to advance also.  I knew then that if this victory was to be, it was up to me.  I sucked in one last breath, put my head down and sprinted for that crate.  With my hands over my head I tucked into the fetal position and copped a barrage of fire from the opposition.  Perhaps even my own team had turned on me in the heat of the moment?

After what seemed like an eternity, the final whistle blew and there were cheers of victory from my team.  The trophy was ours.  I did a body check – arms, legs, head – all still intact.  My body was burning all over and my head was pounding, but as I stood to survey the carnage, I was surrounded by cheers and back slaps in admiration of my bravery and sheer stupidity.

It was brutal, it was hot and it hurt – lots.  Five days later I’m still black and blue.  So would I play paintball again?  Not sure….but I don’t regret playing it and it gave me a huge respect for the soldiers who do this sort of thing for a living.

If you’re adventurous with a high pain threshold plus happy to sport a few war wounds, it’s a no brainer – you have to give the team at Top Gun Paintball a call. Maybe wait til winter!

• Top Gun Paintball,  Glengarry Rd, Keperra +61 7 3847 1933

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