So, we are getting into the later rounds of the boxing match that is 2025. As I’ve been documenting, I’ve gotten my ass kicked quite a few times. However, lately it has been a bit different; it’s like I’ve connected on a few flush body blows, and I’m crawling my way back onto the judges’ scorecards.
First Aid
As mentioned earlier, I took a first aid course back in March. I left the lesson with a crushing feeling of inadequacy. While I had passed, I realized just how dangerous the world truly was and how insufficient my level of training truly was. Fast forward to August, and the chance to take Basic Life Support came up, and it wasn’t even a choice. I signed up immediately.
Basic Life Support is the next step up from AED/CPR. This course had a focus on adjacent healthcare settings (doctor’s offices, nursing homes, etc) with coordination and teamwork being key. The class was just as small as the previous one. We ran through some drills that drove home the fundamentals.
I felt a bit less nervous this time around, and my performance showed it. Were there minor technique-related mistakes made on my end? Sure. However, there was nothing too damning either. I was able to smoothly rotate off of pressing the bag mask during CPR and into chest compressions to allow a teammate to recoup for a cycle. Granted, these were dummies, but I didn’t feel like a total failure after the class either. In fact, I left feeling semi-capable.
Pistol Training
“Dan, we want to hear about you getting your ass kicked!” Well, you’re in luck, sort of. I became a dues-paying member at my local gun range back in June. As a part of the welcome package, they gave me a sheet of coupons. One such coupon was for a free holster certification. One July day, I sauntered down to the range and opted to cash it in.
Soon enough, I found myself in the lane with an official exam target sheet in front of me. At each stage, I drew from my holster and shot the required number of times from five-to-ten yards away. 18 rounds in total. The problem? Only 16 rounds hit the target, and the ones that did were scattered all over the place. My confidence had tanked. The shooting exam was over, what came next was the knowledge test.
Outside of being able to recite the four basics of gun safety, I could not truly answer any of the questions. The look on the instructor’s face had said it all, even before he rendered his final verdict. I had bombed the test, hard. I left the range that day feeling utterly dejected and defeated. Deontay Wilder had just connected with the big right hand, and my hairy ass had hit the canvas…
A few weeks later, I decided to finally go for my Massachusetts Non-Resident License to Carry. Putting aside my obvious-Libertarian views on the matter, it was necessary; avoiding the state isn’t an option. Thankfully, a recent Supreme Court case basically left-swiped the concept of “may issue”. Thus, it was the perfect time to go for it.
My first obstacle? The mandatory training course. My First Aid instructor also teaches firearm safety, thus he was happy to give me the state-sanctioned training. The training itself was far easier than what I had expected; one learns from failures much more than wins. I eagerly dropped the training certificate and the application in the mail after the class. Still face-down on the canvas, but regaining my senses as the ref counted.
A few days later, I went to the range and brought my pistol to get some practice. Again, my shots were all over the place. A super-friendly range safety officer who introduced himself as FloridaMan came by to give me some pointers. But something internal just couldn’t tear him away (it being a slow day at the range probably also helped). FloridaMan wound up giving me a lesson in the fundamentals for the better part of 45 minutes. Under his tutelage, I was shooting the top-half of a Jack on a standard playing card from eight yards away in less than an hour. I had stumbled up to my feet; this match ain’t over yet.
Fast forward to late August; I receive an e-mail inviting me to a holster workshop. Eager to upskill, I couldn’t sign up fast enough. On the day of the workshop, we started in the classroom to go over some groundwork. Then, it was time for the range. It’s like I was in the ring, nodding to the referee; signaling that this metaphorical boxing match wasn’t over yet.
Once again, in front of the same target, once again taking the practical shooting exam. I had worked through the stages at the instructor’s orders. While I had a few that drifted to the left a bit, a took a chunk out of the target’s central fucking cavity; PaperMan had lost his heart and right lung. The instructor came by to tally my results. 44 out of a possible 54. Just like that, YAH BOI had officially become holster certified! This round was far different post-knockdown…
What’s Next?
As I just mentioned, this match isn’t over yet. In November, I have an interview in order to get my License to Carry. While the Democrat stronghold is now technically a shall-issue state, that does not mean that they won’t try to bury the process in bureaucracy. Thus, getting the license by the end of year is a bit more realistic.
Furthermore, I absolutely plan on taking more First Aid courses. Basic Red Cross courses won’t suffice anymore; I need something more specialized. I’m likely either going to go for a deeper immersion into Stop the Bleed or a tactical first aid course. I expect more frequent and painful ass-kickings in the higher difficulty programs. Good.
More training is needed…
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