The range where everyone missed and no one was angry

I dreamed I was standing at the firing line and every lane was full of athletes I used to coach, all of them waiting for the wind to drop. One by one they shot, and every single shot missed — flew wide, fell short, clipped the snow. And nobody reloaded. Nobody cursed. They just stood there holding their rifles at rest, watching the targets swing, like missing was the whole point of being there. I woke up and the strange thing is I wasn't heartbroken about it.