Then higher-order thinking kicked in. Carrying the Glock, I realized, assumes that I would be able to draw, fire, and place a 10 mm bullet in the eight-inch-wide forehead of a grizzly that was bearing down on me like a Formula 1 car. And this would all need to happen as I was shrieking and emptying my bladder and bowels while also regretting that I stopped going to church. This seemed like quite the technical ask.
