Andrew Piland

Why I Keep Coming Back:

I started competing in run and gun in 2021.

Hunting season was over, and I was looking for something to scratch the shooting itch in the offseason. I had always been a shooter, and I thought I was pretty good.

But I had never really competed.

I’d heard about steel challenge, USPSA, IPSC—watched some videos, talked to a few people. What I kept hearing was that you’d shoot for five minutes and stand around for five hours. After having done middle school wrestling tournaments, that didn’t exactly sound appealing.

Then one day I stopped by my local gun store in Fort Worth and overheard two guys talking about something called “run and gun.” I asked them what it was.

They told me they had just gotten back from an event where they ran seven or eight miles and shot a tactical stage every mile or so. They showed me a picture—two guys crossing a creek with belts, chest rigs, and backpacks. It looked like a blend of backcountry hunt and practical shooting match.

That was it. I was in.

I did a little digging online and found OED. As luck would have it, the next event was only about an hour and a half from my house and didn’t fall on a drill weekend. At the time, I was in the Marine Corps Reserve. I didn’t have the most high-speed job imaginable, but I loved being outdoors, had a decent run time, and wanted to get better at shooting.

There was even a practical bonus: because it’s a rifle and pistol competition, I could get drill points for competing. For any other reservists reading this—true story. Go read the MCRAMM.

My first event? I looked like a complete bag of ass.

I was running a single-stack 1911 in a SERPA holster. My “gun belt” was something I cobbled together from an old backpack lumbar strap. My pack had way too much junk in it. I thought I was squared away.

I was not.

I shot terribly. My only saving grace was that I could run. I had always been a good shot growing up, and in the Marines I had never shot anything but expert. I figured I’d be somewhere near the top.

Shooting my first OED event was an absolute eye-opener.

Elevated heart rate. Wind swirling through canyons. Unknown distances. Awkward shooting positions. All the things that don’t show up on a square range. To say I was humbled would be an understatement.

And I was hooked.

The event was well run. The range officers were firm, friendly, and clearly there because they loved it. They wanted you to be safe. They wanted you to improve. Nobody was posturing. Nobody was acting like an operator. It was just a group of people pushing themselves and having a good time.

From then on, I went to every event that didn’t conflict with drill or family. My shooting improved. I upgraded some gear. I retired the 1911 for something that didn’t require a reload every eight rounds. I learned what worked and what didn’t.

More than anything, it gave me something to look forward to.

The week before an event, I’m in the garage checking gear, loading magazines, replacing batteries, laying everything out so I can head out Friday night or early Saturday morning. It’s a ritual now.

A bonus is that my wife is fully supportive. It’s not like golf, where it feels like I’m disappearing for a few hours just to mess around. She sees the purpose behind it. She sees the training, the discipline, the goals. It’s something that challenges me physically and mentally, and she knows it matters to me.

I’ve invited several friends out over the years. They all say the same thing: it’s a great excuse to get back in shape, figure out what gear you actually want instead of what looks cool online, and get better at something you’ve always enjoyed.

But the real reason I keep coming back isn’t the gear or even the competition.

It’s the people.

Two of my closest friends do these events with me regularly. Using OED events as a touchpoint keeps us connected. It gives us a reason to meet up, train, and spend time together. Every time we’re out there it feels like we’re 19 again. For a brief moment, I probably act like it too.

Over the years, I’ve met scientists, business owners, electricians, salesmen—people from every background you can imagine. And at every event, I feel like I make a new friend. There’s no real ego, no social hierarchy. Nobody cares what you do for a living or what truck you drive. It’s just a group of people doing something hard because they genuinely enjoy it.

That’s rare.

Why am I writing this?

I guess just to tell my story. If you’ve ever thought about trying one of these events, you probably should.

If you’re worried about not having the coolest gear, don’t. I looked like a complete goober my first few races, and nobody cared. If you ask for help, you’ll get it.

My 60-year-old dad comes out every now and then dressed like a farmer, running an open-sight rifle with zero magazine pouches. He probably still out-shoots most people.

The point is, you don’t have to be high-speed. You just have to show up.

Five years in, these events still give me something to train for. They keep me honest. They’ve made me a better shooter and kept me in touch with people I care about. 

And that’s why I keep coming back.