Monkey in the Middle

The beginning of a story sets the tone. The reader is introduced to the main characters and the opening scene is set. Endings however, are the exact opposite. Endings are the culmination and result of all the situations and circumstances the main characters navigated throughout the story. The reader may have an idea of where the story is headed after reading the beginning, but very rarely is there enough information to determine how things ends up.

Beginnings, in general are lovely. We meet someone special, and suddenly we are filled with hope and dreams and all manner of “happy”. At that point it is darned near impossible to see the “bitter” end. But as we walk through the scenes of our lives, we find ourselves in situations for which we had not planned. When these unplanned situations arise, we have no choice but to deal with them in the best way we know how. The hope, of course, is that we get through it all as unscathed as possible.

Stepping up to the first tee is a lovely (and usually nerve wracking) beginning. The mood is jovial, the starter says something nice, we laugh at a joke heard but not really paid attention to. With a score card as pure as a newborn puppy, a beautiful clean slate, we take the shot with nothing but driving the green in our consciousness. And nothing but the sound of ball hitting tree can shake us from our reverie. And now… we must traverse the “middle”. This is where skill really comes into play. I don’t care how great your tee shot is, it’s a long way to the cup, and if you can’t iron, hybrid and approach wedge yourself down that fairway it’s going to be a mighty unpleasant ending.

I played a beautiful course this past weekend with a chum and the bro-in-law. Lake Chabot in the Oakland Hills has nothing if not breathtaking views. In fact, the 18th is a Par 6 and closely resembles a black diamond ski run. It is truly awesome to behold. My friend is a bit of a beginner but she has been bitten by the bug and is happily addicted to the craziness of golf. YAY! New golf buddy! Anyway, her drives have improved by leaps and bounds in the couple of months since we played our first round, and her putting is nothing to sneeze at… her frustration is that she hasn’t yet fallen in love with her irons and hybrids and complained that her “middle game” is frustrating her. Honestly that was the funniest thing but I loved it and the thing is she is right.

I think that the “middle game” is the “better or worse, sickness and health” part of the vows. There isn’t much opportunity for glory on the fairway; that is usually reserved for the tee box and the green, yet isn’t it the most important? If you smash a drive to the middle of the fairway but it takes you 12 to get to the green, even a one putt won’t save you. The middle really is the meat and potatoes.

There is no "Cliff's Notes" version of life. We cannot skim and get an “A”. It is all important, but pay special attention to the middle child.

Jan was underrated. “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!”

Pump your brakes

I have that personality type where when I go in, I go ALL in. There is no halfway for me. When I started playing golf, my “lets hit the ground running” attitude was tempered by speed bumps (aka: my caddy). While this is exactly the kind of thing I find horribly annoying, I have been trying to be more patient with life in general. What this all translates to, is that I did not spend $1m on golf gear the day before I’d even hit the range. And this… has served me well.

This whole new “patience is a virtue” leaf I’ve been trying to turn over is not easy to flip. The truth is, I’ve always been one for instant gratification and a “but daddy, I want it NOW” mentality. I did learn early in my forays down the fairways that this whole golf thing was going to take some time. Even though I have accepted that, it hasn’t always been an easy ride.

Last weekend I played 9 holes with my sister, bro-in law and a friend of ours. We played at the nine hole near their house because it was Sunday and I didn’t want to play 18 (it’s quite exhausting and I had to work on Monday and was trying to be “smart”). Anyway, this course is a great 9 holer because it has 2 par 4s, so you can still hit your woods.

I haven’t really had much opportunity to hit the range lately, but I have been trying to schedule at least 9 holes once a week. So I can’t really say I am rusty, but the obsession I used to have had to change a bit since I am no longer flexible in terms of schedule. Plus I still have some emotional dangling participles from the whole “nomorecaddy” situation. What this all boils down to, is that I am being extra nice to myself and not sweating how I am performing or how many times I’ve made it to the range. I am basically allowing myself to fall back in love under slightly different circumstances.
So there I was, playing 9, and I realized that I no longer put one ounce of pressure on myself. Nope. None. It’s like, well… I will hit Gertie, she will land, I will go find her and smack her again. At some point we will all end up on the green and I may or may not hit her “in”. And I just don’t really care.

OK, well I do care… but not in the way that I would be upset with myself for hitting a bad shot. Honestly I don’t have the emotional fortitude right now (when it comes to golf) and I just want to love it again.

And umm… I do. And I shot a 41(par 29, which leaves me a hair over bogie golf). And I am perfectly happy with that. But even if I’d shot a 61, I would have spent the day, in the sunshine, with my chums, having a lovely day. Since I don’t actually do it for a living, and am not going to get fired, it’s really ok for me to shoot whatever the heck I shoot that day. The number doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I am doing something I enjoy, with people I enjoy, and I am kind to myself. Why would I ruin a perfectly good Sunday being mean to myself?

…”slow and low, that is the tem-po” .

What you see is what you get?

Perception is reality… or is it? It is cliché, but “don’t judge a book by its cover” is one adage we should all remember and practice. For example, this morning I walked into my office wearing what could be considered a suit jacket. While I normally dress professionally, once you bring a jacket into the mix there is a certain level of formality that raises eyebrows and a few friends whisper: “do you have an interview?” No, actually, I just really despise the blast of A/C that hits my desk about 11:30am.

This past weekend my twinster and I had the very rare opportunity to spend the day together. We relished the chance and headed to a course neither of us had ever played called “Deep Cliff”, in Cupertino, CA. This is an executive 18-hole, par 60, course and was just our size. We were pretty excited about this round and held our breath hoping to be able to play as a pair and not a foursome and it was our lucky day as the starter sent us off alone. He did pull us aside before sending us off asking that we be extra careful about pace of play and I had the feeling that he felt like he was talking to his daughters (which is sweet on the one hand, but annoying on the other). Why would he assume that we would slow play? I mean seriously, why?

I teed off first and hooked my shot right into the trees. I hadn’t hit a bucket, was totally tight and not even a little bit upset. I figured I would just carry on. However the starter decided to give me a swing correction right there on the first tee in front of God and the foursomes behind us. OMG are you kidding me? To make matters worse, when my sis stepped up and addressed her ball, this same man interrupted what was the beginning of her back swing to tell her that her line was off. Of course she then proceeded to hit her ball directly into the trees near mine. Ugh.

We practically ran down the fairway because, these few well intended comments made us feel like we were unworthy to be there, totally suck at golf and were about to ruin the entire round for anyone teeing off after us from that moment forward. The most annoying thing was that he never even gave us a chance, instead judging us by some unknown criteria. The last time I checked, we were dressed appropriately, had all the right gear, paid our greens fees and stood quietly at the tee box. That, right there, is all he needed to know about our golf games.

Deb and I got to the second tee box (where we were stuck waiting for the group ahead of us) and had a chance to re-group. We decided that we weren’t going to keep score and we also discussed that it was completely uncool of that starter to offer corrections and to assume that we would somehow play slowly. We agreed that we were just here to enjoy the day together and play a little golf. No pressure. From there we felt better and moved on.

Deb and I were having a great time on the front nine. We both played “well enough” and were lighthearted to the point that we didn’t even mind that we had to wait at every tee box. That’s right: every single tee box, we sat, we waited, we stretched, we prayed the beverage cart would come (but didn't until much later), but most of all, we just waited. Where was the starter and his warnings for this foursome? They really should have let us play through, it was totally the right thing to do, but since we’d decided to just enjoy the day we relaxed… and then we made the turn.

We ordered lunch from the call box at the 8th green and since we were walking knew we couldn’t take turns driving/eating, and instead came up with a little plan that made sense. So we finished up at 9 and ran into the café to grab our lunch and get to #10. Our food was ready and we ordered beverages. I was literally standing at the counter eating as fast as I could while my sis paid. I walked to the condiment station and finished cramming my food in my mouth while Deb ran to the ladies room. It was at this moment that some guy from the course walked (hurriedly) up to me and asked if we planned to continue the round. I said well yes we just grabbed our food, my sis is in the ladies and we are going. He said we had to get to #10 right away or else lose our turn. Deb came back from the ladies and as we took off running for the tee box she crammed her food in her mouth. And then… we waited. A group was at the tee… and there was no one behind us... and we waited. Can you say acid indigestion? We were miffed to say the very least but kept saying that we were determined not to let it get us down.

I will never understand why we received such treatment, it really was appalling. I imagine if we’d walked in and been aloof and barely cracked a smile we may have been taken more seriously, but the blonde bubbly thing (x2) is apparently not something these people were used to and therefore perceived as not being serious. The most ironic thing is that when it comes to golf, both Deb and I are as serious as a heart attack whereas from what we saw both ahead of and behind us that day, the sentiment isn’t shared.

The reality is: things are not usually as they appear. Sometimes we see our ball land perfectly on the green and from where we stand it looks like it is 6 inches from the hole and we beam. Once we walk up and realize it’s more like 6 feet, we aren’t as happy, but for the few minutes that we thought we almost aced it, we experience happiness. That happiness is real, even if it is only based upon your perception of the situation at that exact moment.

Don’t judge a book by its cover and for pity’s sake: NEVER let the blonde hair fool ya.

Ace

I frequently travel on business and the more I travel, the smaller the world becomes. Shanghai was a distant dream, but after ordering a latte at the Starbucks there, I felt right at home (until I drank it, the milk was yicky, I recommend sticking with the Americano). It is common to long for home whilst sleeping in a foreign hotel room and familiar places can be soothing to the soul. I often find this sort of comfort when I visit a church in some faraway land. As a Catholic I find the ritual of Mass to be something which transports me home no matter where I am. The prayers are the same, the priests’ vestments are the same and they always seem to smell the same (in a good way).

We often associate sights, smells, sounds, and tastes with certain emotions. I know that one whiff of pipe tobacco will elicit an uncontrolled sob, making me desperately miss my Grandfather, yet the sound of a baby laughing will make me smile thinking of when my son was little. Emotional associations, impact the experience we have in any given situation, and what was one once pleasing may now be heartbreaking. And so it has been for me and the golf course.

I love golf. I love everything about it, or so I thought I did. Before my caddie moved away, we played golf pretty much every weekend. If we weren’t playing we were likely watching and I was leading the pack in our fantasy golf league. Suddenly, he was gone and simply driving by a golf course made my insides hurt. But what’s a girl to do? I mean I am not just giving up, I truly love it. But how? How can I get through the ache that sits with me every time I hit balls at my home course, every time I see my clubs lying innocently in my trunk? How the hell am I going to do this?

I can count the rounds of golf I’ve played in the past year on one hand. That is certainly not helping matters because now, in addition to the emotional stuff, I am totally rusty. I had a conversation about this subject with a co-worker and she agreed to play a round with me and grabbed another chum to join us. We decided to meet at a local course (I’ve only played there once or twice though so no weird baggage) for a mid-morning tee time on Saturday. I did have an opportunity to hit a bucket about 2 weeks before this (and swung HORRIBLY), but could not get there to hit any the night before or the morning of the round. Gulp.

I showed up at the course, met up with the girls, popped open a little can of Sophia Coppola sparkling wine (special love for the pink expandable straw), grabbed Gertie and went for it. As I took that very first swing, I realized I didn’t give a fig about the shot, I had no expectations and felt no pressure and I was exhilarated… that moment, was the very instant I reclaimed golf as my own. Yeaaaahhhh Boyyyyyy!

One isn’t such a bad number after all. You just haveta own it.

…”giddyup a boom boppa boom boppa mow mow”

How's your view?

I was speaking with my Mom on the phone recently and she mentioned that she had just gotten her flu shot. I can understand why that makes sense, and as we’ve all been told: “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure”. OK so, in a perfect world we would never catch a cold or pink eye and we’d never hit a slice. Well, until the Truman Show starts filming in my town, that perfect world doesn’t exist. You can bet that a good recovery strategy can save you from turning something bad, into something much, much worse.

I have been told (ad nauseum) that golf is a game of misses (hey! I am really good at that part!). The point is that although we all wish we did, we do not drive every green, avoid every bunker, and always stay out of the rough. So… what do we do when (not if) that happens? We strategize.

Just like in anything else, we can focus on a problem, speculate as to why it happened, beat ourselves up for whatever we did (or didn’t do), or get over it and think about the best solution. This is a HUGE issue for most golfers. What happens the minute a club head connects with a ball with the face wiiiiide open? Well you hear a booming “f” bomb of course, as that person watches his/her ball take a hard right into the rough/trees/water/other fairway/bunker/over a fence/onto the freeway. Sigh. Disheartening, indeed. However, all is not lost. It’s one shot... just one. So, depending upon how things turned out, there may be a penalty involved or there may be a hike into the wilderness involved but THIS is the moment that really matters. Phil Mickelson and (I mention this very begrudgingly) Tiger Woods are masters of getting out of precarious situations. Phil is in a position that any of us would look at and say… “ummm, I don’t have a shot.” Good old Phil flips his club over and hits righty... backwards! I do love that guy! Anyway, the point is, look at things with the mindset that a solution does exist, rather than being defeated after the T shot.

I’ve hit a few slices in my life which made me feel that a situation was hopeless. However when I looked at it with a different perspective and with the attitude that a solution did exist, I found one. The good news is that once we get through a trying situation, one in which we find ourselves having to break boundaries and move outside of our comfort zone you know what? We grow… as human beings and as golfers. Imagine that every time you landed in a bunker you immediately used the “hand wedge” and never even tried to hit the ball out. Where is the fun in that? Because once you grab your “S” guy and march yourself into that bunker with confidence and perhaps a sense of humor, you may just surprise yourself and make a “nice out”.

The game of golf would be no fun if every single shot we took was perfect. If we made every par, every birdie, every putt and holed out every chip, we would be bored. At that point we would decide that there is no point to the game, and move on to some other challenge. Let’s remember that we like the challenge and it feels fantastic to hit a great shot (or to get the job, make the sale, buy the house, or get the part) because of how big the challenge was in the first place.

Just because you think you have no shot, doesn’t mean you don’t. Smile… try something crazy... and watch as you make the craziest save of your life.

“Golf is the closest game to the game we call life. You get bad breaks from good shots; you get good breaks from bad shots - but you have to play the ball where it lies. “

- Bobby Jones

Play it where it lies… and laugh your ass off!

Sometimes you have to play solo

As a Catholic, I have spent a decent amount of time kneeling and saying The Rosary. We most often say The Rosary during times of mourning and hold a ceremony prior to the Funeral Mass actually called a Rosary. One day my uncle and I were talking about this whole thing and I sort of wondered aloud why we say The Rosary at someone’s funeral, although I assumed it was to bless their soul. On the contrary, however… my uncle explained that the recitation is for those in mourning, because there is great comfort to be found in the repetition of something familiar, and that totally made sense to me.
A couple of months ago, my sweetie, my caddy, found himself in a set of circumstances which eventually lead to him moving a few states away from me… yes, really. As the situation unfolded it was like the plot of a movie that you totally loved until the writers decided the movie needed some conflict. Well maybe it’s just me, but I’m pretty happy without conflict. So, after many sleepless nights and water hazards full of tears, my caddy was on his long drive, and this was one hell of a par 5.

Initially I couldn’t even look at my clubs without bawling my mascara off, nor could I drive past a golf course without feeling acid reflux. What is a girl to do without someone to double check her read before she putts? Sigh… you just have to replace the flag, grab your clubs and walk to the next tee box.

It took some time, but finally I just had to get back up on that tee. I went to the range, and as I walked that familiar walk, without my hand warmly enveloped by his, my heart ached and I felt like my bag had bricks in the bottom of it. I went upstairs so I could be as alone as possible, got my bucket and got ready to swing. The lump in my throat was the size of Gertie and with every swing I could hear my caddy’s voice in my head “you pulled it inside”, “better”, “swing easy”. Yep, it was KILLING me, and even recounting it now is bringing tightness to my chest. But I persevered: cleared my mind, and not worrying about where I hit, I just started swinging. Nice, easy strokes with a nice easy tempo… and in that space of repetition, fluidity of motion, without thinking about what I was doing or anything else… I found comfort (if only for that moment).

Amidst this discourse, I also began a new professional journey which I’m loving. This new situation has given me something to focus upon and a definite distraction from the feeling that I am a yin, sans yang. I couldn’t help but notice (ok and yes, feel that it is more than a tad unfair) that when one area of my life is going really well, another seems to tank. It’s like, why is it that when your drives are long and straight and your chips hit the middle of the green; you can’t sink a 6” putt? A winning streak doesn't last forever... but then neither does a losing.

Playing golf is much better with a caddy… it’s nice to have someone to have your back, to help make sure you don’t choose the wrong club or putt the wrong line, someone to carry your bag. Although it is reassuring to know that someone is watching where your ball landed, it isn’t impossible to do it alone. I am however, reassured by the fact that this situation will not last forever... does anything? So for now, I’m taking some lessons, learning some lessons and setting up my swing one shot at a time.

Golfer: "This golf is a funny game."
Caddy: "It's not supposed to be."

The finish line

I sometimes wonder if I suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder. When I begin something, I usually do so with a bit of zeal, gusto if you will, whether it's reading a new book, switching up my exercise routine, or sending out an RFP. Generally if I'm about to start something, I'm excited about whatever it is, have probably done some research and preparation and can't wait to get cracking. Vim and vigor is great and everything, but it doesn't always last. This is perhaps my biggest issue with my golf swing...

A couple of weeks ago my sweetie and I were at my little home 9 holer (yes, it really is fab to live somewhere where golf is a year round sport). As I'm sure I've stated I'm not a huge fan of the first tee because everyone within a square mile can see you tee off. Adding insult to injury, that day was the first time we had played in quite awhile so I was feeling more insecure than usual. Due to marker and pin placement, I pulled Mr. Hybrid out of the bag (yay, Callaway!). I did my thing and hit a good shot (ironically too far left since I was trying to over compensate for my slice tendency), Sweetie smashed his and off we went.

We were waiting on the second tee when two guys appeared and asked if they could join us. Ok, I love it when we get to play without another pair so I was a little annoyed, but primarily just ticked that these guys walked off the eighth green because they wanted to play another round but didn't start at one so they wouldn't have to pay. Bitter, party of 2 (Gertie was po'd as well). We were waiting for the group ahead to finish on the green and one of the guys says "you have a beautiful swing, where did you learn to play golf?" I looked proudly at my sweetie waiting for him to respond when... Omg... He was talking to me?!?! Yeah, me. Ok well chances are he knew I was less than pleased about the intrusion and was trying to butter me up (totally worked), but still. As the flush retreated from my face I set about the task of trying to play a decent round. I did all right, not my best, but not my worst… but the one thing I came away with that day was this: stop freaking out every time you start your backswing: it's fine! Instead work on finishing your damned swing!

I guess I'm half way there... I just have to see it through. It’s like not finishing a round so you can cheat your way into playing again… the hole you missed may have been your ace.

Sometimes we just have to lay up.

We are all just prisoners here...

There are situations in which I am pleasantly reminded that my job does not suck. Every year, the company I represent hosts a couple of company meetings: the sales meeting and the all company meeting. A few weeks ago we had our sales meeting, which is by far my favorite (side note: this happened to fall over the weekend of the Frys.com tournament, which was held about 30 minutes from my house… and… MY Rocco took the win! Seriously, I had to be out of town that weekend? Frick). As I was saying, the sales meeting was in Phoenix, at the Arizona Biltmore (a lovely property, book your meetings there, through me of course). I arrived a day early and hooked up with a couple of chums for 18 at the Biltmore. Phoenix was unseasonably warm for October and our afternoon round which started at 2pm, was sweltering… and I mean, freaking sweltering. I and my oh-so-fair skin were the color of a nicely reduced Bolognese, but I pulled up my big girl panties and dealt with it. Anyway, there I was, on this gorgeous course, with 2 of my fave peeps (one of whom is the travel hub since my sweetie couldn’t come, but more on that later), and I was determined to enjoy. Clearly Petey (that pink bast*&d) had other ideas. Really, Cobra? Really, that has draw basis? Oh, I seriously beg to differ… No, I didn’t play my best round ever. But I didn’t play my worst either. I was as embarrassing as anyone else and in reality, as long as you don’t slow play the peeps behind you, whatever.

Sadly, my sweetie was unable to join me on this trip, although sigs are invited to this one. The good news, however, is that my travel hub was on deck to not only carry my lip gloss and glass of whatever, but he also filled in as proxy caddie. I have to say, I was impressed with the TH, and although we got off to a slow start, he was totally with the program by our round the next morning! OMG… So, I had been on the east coast and had been home for 12 hours prior to departure for Phoenix. I landed, hooked up with the TH and off we went for an extremely sweaty 18. The coup de gras, of course, was the 7:35 tee time for the next morning. Now then, here’s where the BGG thing comes in to play. Yes, I was freaking exhausted… yes, I was still on east coast time… and yes, this was a leisure activity. But this is golf people so we pull on our fun socks and get to it. And I sure am glad I did!

This morning I hooked with the TH and our chum from the day before, but also another colleague and a CVB (Convention & Visitor’s Bureau) dude, and had another group of chums join us. Yes it was early and we all sucked down some caffeine, but it was a breathtaking morning. The air was still and warm, and all was quiet. Quiet that is, until we arrive at the Westin Kierland. We got to the course and I was undone at how gorgeous it was… however, that was nothing compared to the pre round warm up. Our host got us situated and directed us to the practice area so we could hit a few and work out the kinks. As we approached this area I was struck by how pretty everything was… and then… I noticed that amidst the peaceful morning there was... wait... is that music? Why yes, yes it was music… and not the kind of music you’d expect on the golf course (if there ever was such a thing)… but good old fashioned classic rock!! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!? And it was cranking! I was in Heaven!! Hitting balls with the Eagles chilling me out! I have no words... it fricking rocked! However, that was kinda the end of it. Yes, I played… yes, I’ve played worse I suppose, but dammit I wanted Petey to show up!

You know what? I totally don’t care. That was a kick ass day, with kick ass peeps, and that is all I really need to remember!

In reality, it’s all about the pink champagne on ice…

Match made in Heaven... or the other place?

A good partner can bring out the best in us. When a man and a woman are well suited, for example, they will balance out the strengths and weaknesses of each other, and this symbiosis will provide positive results. However, if the two are at each others throats all day long, failure is guaranteed. The question is: how do we determine who to settle down with for the most successful and harmonious life?

In love, we usually choose our partners based upon initial attraction, followed by commonalities, and add compatibility. Of course, there are the “checklists” we all have (whether we admit it or not). At some point we decide that a candidate is “the one” and settle in, in some form or fashion.

Choosing the right life partner will make the difference between happiness and sorrow, just as choosing the right clubs can make the difference between celebrating in the 19th hole, and drowning ones sorrows (that may overstate the situation a bit but, you get it).

Lately, my driver has been the bane of my existence. I totally own that I don’t hit it well, however I had also not been fitted for a driver and I don’t think that was helping. Sooooo…. I finally bit the bullet, got down on one knee (no, not really) and asked Petey2, to be mine. He accepted, I plunked down the necessary dough, and brought home my newest bundle of joy. Now then… getting fitted for clubs is pretty cool, if you make sure to do this at a PGA certified location. The ball is teed up in front of this camera thing and you smack the ball into the net. The computer determines everything about the shot based upon several factors, including where the ball and club head connected, and how fast the club head was travelling at that moment… it is tres cool.

I decided to find my new Petey because I just couldn’t take my horrendous slicing and thought that a club with draw bias would help. However, the day before I was fitted I made a swing correction which apparently helped the situation, because the camera-computer-thingy was reporting that my shots were relatively straight. Hmmm… interesting. Regardless, I decided upon the Cobra S2 offset and promised to have and to hold from that day forward.

I hit the range a good bit immediately following the acquisition, understanding that we needed to get to know each other a little better and I did well. We went on our maiden voyage together to Phoenix and I was total big girl golfer! I borrowed my sweetie’s travel bag and when I checked into the hotel the Bel guy asked if I would “…like for him to store my clubs.” It was total big girl and I was all stupidly excited, but I mean… a girl’s gotta have something to be excited about and if it’s silly and small, well whatever. Who cares? All I knew was that I was one step closer to really being “golf chick” and Petey, my new partner in crime, was gonna help me get there. All I had to do then was tee it up and wait for the magic to happen… right?

Matchmaker, matchmaker make me a match…

Joie de Golf

I guess it's a pretty basic principle that good begets good, but sometimes it gets really difficult to stay positive about your golf game. I sort of liken it to dieting... when we're doing really well we can't wait to jump out of bed and run to the scale, watching with baited breath for some magic number to appear (kinda like playing the slots, ya know?). However, that same person who wakes up half an hour early just to prance about the bathroom celebrating his/her weight may do anything to avoid the scale the day after Thanksgiving, if you know what I mean. That is the critical moment... by avoiding the scale, the person refuses to face the negative, however the only way to overcome it is to face it, accept it, and correct it.

I've been in a bit of a golf funk lately, which has really been bumming me out. When I first started playing, I saw slow but steady progress, and then one day... I came down with a case of the "righties". Although this ailment does seem to come and go, I've had quite the relapse, and am worried it might cause permanent damage. Sigh... never has something plagued the masses the way the righties does. It is of absolutely no consolation to me that this is a fairly common issue: I don't care... I totally hate it... it makes me swear WAY too much in public... and the worst part... it's killing my golf buzz. I really only suffer this malady with my driver and 3-wood, so "I got that goin' for me, which is nice". Eh ehmm... really? So I have to slice every freaking T-shot? Why yes, yes I do. Needless to say, my usual enthusiastic attitude about an upcoming round has become lackluster.

Now then... how does one overcome such a horrendous state of affairs? Well, let me tell ya: you get your sweet heiny out to that range and practice buster (or busterette?)! So that's what I've been doing. Oh and I have also budgeted for a new driver... I seriously can't take it anymore. I need to have the "it's not ME, it's YOU" conversation with Petey. However, I cannot do that until he has been replaced, so I decided to see what offerings were available and took a couple of prospects out for a spin (it's not technically cheating, because I didn't actually play a round, just hit some balls.. sheesh!). I decided on 2 possible Petey's which seemed to offer what I need (not the least of which is major draw bias, sigh) and proceeded to the range. The club I assumed would be "the one" was the Cobra S2 Offset. I liked the club, and I'm not sure if I just didn't have my groove going yet (pffft! as if I had a groove, Ha!), but it just didn't seem to do anything for me. I could use the money to buy a cute new outfit and keep on slicing with Petey for all the improvement I saw. Until... I picked up the Taylor Made R9. I only had a few balls left, but something about that club just felt so strong, comfortable and sturdy in my hand I loved it. The best news was, I smashed the ball! (I would never refer to range balls as Gertie, because of course they are not pink... doi). Yay! OK, it may or may not have had the slightest of slices, but it was a vast improvement, and I had sort of given up hope. I plan to take both on date #2 tomorrow afternoon, but of course cannot "seal the deal" until our third date.

Honestly, the new club may or may not have any real impact on my game, although I am looking forward to some better distance off the tee. However, what I do know will impact my game, is practice, practice, practice, just like anything else. Golf is not an easy sport; if it were would we all be dreaming about that "one shot"? Nope... we wouldn't care at all.

Viva la golf et laissez les bons temps rouler! (in other words, bring it!)

Be a Viking!

My grandfather is 100% Danish, but born in San Francisco. He was big and strong, just the way your hero should be. Sometimes we would point out a nasty scratch he had from trimming his rosebushes and ask him if it hurt... his response was always the same "of course not, I'm a Viking!". It's kind of a joke within my family and if I have to "suck it up", I say "eh, I can do it, I'm a Viking!". Apparently, golf brings out the Viking (or honorary Viking) in many people.

My sweetie's dad has no Norwegian in him at all, yet I would say he is welcome as an honorary member. (Today is his birthday as a matter of fact, Happy Birthday Wuuuudy!!). He plays golf 6 days per week... which would be 7 if his course was open all 7 days. He has had some issues with his ankle and although it would be swollen and I know it was killing him, he still tees it up every day. He did eventually have surgery to correct the problem, but the no-golf recovery time was not easy. I totally get that... I mean, how can you just not play golf? A few weeks ago, my right hip started really hurting. I ignored it, assumed that it would just get better, and continued playing. However, my sweetie and I played one round when I had really warmed up and I played well that day, with minimal pain, but the round 2 days later day was a completely different story. I was absolutely miserable and totally did the Viking thing, but trying to get my body through was just not working and my swing was greatly affected.

I decided that this wasn't getting better and in fact was getting so bad I couldn't sit at my desk to work, so I finally got in to see the doc. Of course I shall live, but the pinched nerve in my hip required a cortisone shot, and back brace (kind like the UPS guys wear) and a steroid scrip. OK, this all well and good, no big deal, he said it should be 7-10 days-ish... so the burning question I had was: "so, do I wear the brace when I play golf?". The doc put his head in his hands, whilst shaking it and said "I am so not answering that question". Damn.. so, what do I do?  OK, then tech dude comes in to fit me for my new fashion accessory and I pose the same question to him. He tells me that he was wearing one whilst playing golf one time and that it totally forced his body to get through completely and his righties were gone! Wooho!! Guess what I'm wearing even when my nerve thing is all better?!?!

Now then, the thing has actually hurt so much that I haven't played for the past week, however tomorrow is a new day. My sweetie and I are heading out of town to visit my bestie and play a round with her hubby (recent back surgery recovery by the way). We shall see how this works out, but my hope is that with the brace thing, Petey won't send Gertie slicing through the air... fingers crossed for dead ass straight!

Don't be a baby, Duncan!

Bunker Shmunker

Are you kidding me with that call at the PGA Championship? The 2 stroke penalty Dustin Johnson was handed stings like being smacked in the head with a flying golf ball. Ouch. Initially I was disgusted and angry, not caring about the playoff. However, that's not nice and the young'un from Germany deserves some props. After watching that round, and reflecting back on previous close calls, all I can say is "I sure am glad I don't play golf for a living!" Whew! Well it's not like the LPGA is knocking down my door or anything...

Things have been a little hairy for me lately, and golf has taken a slight backseat (just temporarily acourse). However, at some point last week I texted my sweetie and said "I want to play 18 on Saturday, find somewhere fab and book it Dan-O"... so he did. Summitpointe Golf Club is some kinda fabulous! The best news of the day was that the greens fees included a cart so I mean, we couldn't just leave it there :). However, the mere thought of luggin' at this course is exhausting because the hills require billy goat skill to traverse. Anyway, we had a cart, so my caddy chauffeured all day and I just got to swing. And swing I did...  I will not share what I scored, however I actually played pretty darned well! I decided that although Petey (my driver) has been letting me down and I decided a trial separation was in order, I am willing to try and work things out... at least temporarily (I am TOTALLY buying a new driver as soon as humanly possible.. shhh, don't tell Petey!) I think that perhaps absence made our hearts grow fonder because I used him on all but 3 holes to T off and he did not let me down! Granted I may have let him down a tad.. I had the worst "righties", but I'll own that one. There we were on the gorgeous first T.. a warm and breezeless summer day surrounded the lovely and picturesque holes. I stepped up, had a little chat with Petey and smacked Gertie like she's not been smacked before. I heard the sound of the club and ball connecting, I got my hips through and finished my swing. It was the best shot I've ever hit with Petey.. eh ehmm.. ok so apparently I came through a bit open because after the initial lovely launch, Gertie made a hard right and flew into the crazy OB rough. Oh and it was on the other side of a fence so she was toast. Honestly, I didn't get upset because although the shot didn't achieve what I'd hoped for, it felt great! So, Gertie the second hit the tee and I smacked her... exactly the same as #1. Sigh, it's gonna be a loooong day.

It actually was a long day, a bit more than 5 hours to play that round but it was so darned fun that we didn't mind at all. And, I did start to work out the righties thing which helped and I made  my first official bogie on a par 5. So I've got that goin' for me...

We were tired and looked forward to relaxing and watching the highlights from the Saturday round in Wisconsin. I caught a glimpse of the leader board and saw that my guy Dustin Johnson was a few down from the top, but not as low as "some people".. eh ehm (you know who I am talking about). Anyway, I told my sweetie that I predicted DJ would come from behind and win. I actually bet him a dollar and we shook... On Sunday we headed out to play a quick 9 so we missed a fair amount of the final round. As soon as we got home we turned it on and guess who was coming to play? Oh yeah.. DJ! I was excited and my sweetie has decided that I should pick his fantasy line up this year. However, DJ missed "the putt" and now was headed for playoff round... until: "wait, that was a bunker?" I have no words. I think I blacked out for a while because I don't really remember much after that... except, poor DJ's interview. I have a huge amount of respect for him  The man is quite a gentlemen, and for his sake, let's all hope that nice guys don't really finish last.

Where's the beverage cart?

Radio Silence

My mom always told me: "if you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all" and that is exactly why I've been at a loss to come up with something to say about my golf game for the past couple of weeks... sigh. The thing is, my sweetie was gone for about 2 weeks and I didn't play whilst he was away... oh... he was out of town... playing golf... every day. Did I mention that? Bitter, party of one. Anyway, so since he was gone I didn't play, although I would normally at least have gone to the driving range, but I only did that once. Adding insult to injury during this time, I had the brainy idea to quit smoking. Yeah, I know it's the right thing to do, which is why I did it, but ummm... the process isn't really enjoyable. So, my sweetie was gone, I was in withdrawl hell, and work was stressing me out to no end. Fun stuff. It was actually a good thing that I hadn't played golf during this time, because if you want to see a physical manifestation of what's going on in your nugget, play a round when your world is in shambles... your game will be too.

Hitting balls is usually a totally peaceful place for me, so last week I was feeling really crappy and decided to go hit a bucket. That was quite a mistake. There was nothing peaceful about this little escapade as I hit one crappy shot after another. Each shot was indicative of how I was feeling inside and it just reinforced it. The thing is, I am usually a really positive person. Of course situations bum me out, or I get stressed about things, but negative feelings don't usually last very long, I don't really have the patience for it. So after this round of hitting, I felt even worse than I had when I arrived. (I have learned that nicotine stimulates the sensors which release dopamine, the feel good hormone, so until the receptors fully detox, this explains the funky factor). The following week, my sweetie came home and a golf pal called me for an impromptu round. I met her at the course, and we went for it. OMG. Who the hell was that impostor carrying around my golf bag? I have no idea, but I assure you, the chick swinging my clubs did not resemble me in the least... even poor Gertie had furrowed brow in confusion. I was utterly horrified. Also, this was the first round I've played without lighting up, and I was just really out of sorts. Coincidentally, my sweetie was coming down that afternoon, so he met me at the course and I played round #2 with him. I thought, OK, I'm loose, I should be in good shape. Uh no. I didn't think it was possible, but I played even worse than round 1. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! My sweetie said "you don't look much like my sweetie today"... that is how crappily (adverb, no?) I played. I was seriously freaking out... Please dopamine receptor thingies, please start working again!

Sadly, my week actually went downhill from there. However I persevered and slapped a smile on my face determined to get through it. We played on Friday night... I played like crap. We played on Saturday... I played like crap. I asked my sweetie if he noticed a particular flaw and he said that I was sort of lifting up a bit during my back swing. Of course with the stress factor my shoulder and neck are totally jacked up with knots, and I realized that my range of motion was not what it usually is. So, I stretched out and focused on the swivel.

Sunday afternoon, I started to feel like my old self again. I suggested that we go play a round and of course my sweetie agreed, but I imagine that inside he was praying that I would play well :). So we get out to my itty course and we were paired with another couple. My sweetie and I as well as the man from the other pair teed off. Oh thank God! I hit a nice shot with Mr. Callaway (21 deg. hybrid) and breathed a sigh of relief. I assumed then that the other chick would tee off but she said she was playing from the reds so she started walking. I was like: "are you freaking kidding me?!"... the reds at this course are actually junior t's.. for like 4 year olds or brand new, freshly baked golfers. If it's the first round of golf you've ever played in your life and you're a chick, then by all means play from the reds, but this chick has been playing for like 15 years. Now then, to make matters worse, a: before I teed off the dude asked me if I was going to play from the reds, and b: the chick said that she was trying to beat her personal best of 36 (grrr, 36!), however apparently this best score was the result of her playing from the reds. You know, fine.. whatever.. I don't honestly care what you do on the course (as long as you follow etiquette of course).. but this chick kept going on and on about how she needs to beat her PB and after hitting from these forward tees, IF she landed on the green (if!! really?!?!), she would be rather boastful about "being up for birdie". Annoyed doesn't really begin to describe it. And then.. this chick proceeded to totally chunk-a-lunk for most of the round, although she was way less annoying once she realized she wasn't putting Annika Sorenstam to shame. Anyway, I slowly got over my annoyance with this chick when I realized that she was feeling insecure. Imagine, she's been playing for 7 (or more) times longer than me... and her PB was 36 from the reds. Eh... poor kid. She just needs to shuddup and get over it.

The point is... stop yammering and play golf!

Drag it back. Big arch. Finish your swing.

The Line-up

The Golf Channel has become a regular part of my television experience. They offer tournament coverage, tips and tricks, and everything in between. Although I'm not a fan of the television being on as a source of white noise, there is nothing quite like the hushed sounds of a tournament to help me relax.

Of course watching tournaments is great; however there are a few shows that really do it for me. Number one on my list is "The Golf Fix". Michael Breed is my hero, with his high energy and tips and drills to help us with everything from swing flaws to overcoming mental barriers. I totally love this guy. Last night, using his trusty simulator he demonstrated how to successfully get out (in one) of the crazy bunkers at St. Andrews. Although I have no immediate plans to disgrace the Royal and Ancient Golf Club with my divots, that is some really helpful info! The technique Breed used in the simulation is something I am certain to put to good use in the near future (I really need to work on my bunker shots). But that's just the beginning. The Golf Fix takes videos sent in from viewers, analyzes their swings, and then provides corrections. Here's what I totally love about that: almost every flaw I have watched Michael offer corrections to, somehow helps me with my game. And his little drills using floaties and clothes hangers? Funny, yes. Effective? TOTALLY! (and always inexpensive). I give TGF and especially my boy Michael Breed an Eagle.

There is another show about which I was kind of on the fence; however I am starting to get into it: "Golf Fitness Academy". When I began the process of learning this game, I remember searching for exercises that would help me strengthen whatever should be strengthened. I had a really difficult time finding anything. Of course, some of this is obvious, like ya know, work on upper body strength, but I still felt like I was missing something. I think I can speak for the majority of casual/amateur golfers when I say that we are ready and willing to do pretty much anything that will help our game. Although GFA has been worked into my regularly scheduled programming I can't say yet that I love it or find it quite as helpful as The Golf Fix, so I give that one a Par.

Now, enter the "Haney Project". What can I say? I want to be his next problem child. I love the show (although the Charles Barkley season was downright painful, ya know?). Haney is to golf what Jillian Michaels is to weight loss: Bad. Ass. Granted I can't imagine hitting 1,000 balls a day, as it is, if I hit 100,  2 days in a row my shoulders and forearms get pretty sore, however, I guess that's how to get results. I give Haney a Birdie.

Now... the show that brings tears to my eyes: "The Story of Golf". Even saying that made me feel like I should whisper. This is a five part documentary which tells the story of this crazy game throughout the ages. Part one discusses the origins of golf and is presented in such a masterful way that I find that I almost hold my breath while watching. Stories about Bobby Jones and the 2 Morris' (sob, sob) as well as the evolution of the golf ball and clubs leave me with a sense of awe. This "game", steeped in history and rich in tradition is depicted in a way that makes me proud to carry a golf bag. Who knew that the holes were originally rabbit holes? I mean seriously? I love that kind of info!!! After watching that I felt mildly embarrassed that the Robert Trent Jones' of the world have spoiled us with gorgeous courses and perfectly planned holes. I could watch this every single day (I have got to remember to order the DVD’s!). It inspires me and makes me feel privileged to be a part of the club. This show is hands down the most beautiful depiction of the story of golf and I give it an Ace.

The Golf Channel: it does a golfer good.

Rocc-On

I have a list of golfers whom I have affectionately named  "my guys". This means when my sweetie is looking at the line up for the current weekend's tourney I say "Oh! Are any of my guys playing?" Now then, for one of these lucky individuals to be classified as one of "my guys" it probably means I have an autograph from them. My very first guys were Tim Clark and Paddy Harrington, after I scored their autographs on my pink visor at the AT&T Pro Am a couple of years ago. That list grew exponentially after I filled an entire visor at the Heritage Tournament in Hilton Head, this past Spring. However, there is one guy in particular who tops this list, yet has remained elusive in terms of autograph capturing: the one, the only (go ahead with the drum roll if you like).. Rocco Mediate! I totally love this guy! It all started one innocent Saturday evening, during the 2008 US Open. That weekend happened to coincide with the North Beach Festival and after a lovely day (which may or may not have included cocktails) we found ourselves at Joe DiMaggio's in NB. The place was jam packed with happy patrons feeling the glow that one too many libations provides. The day was quickly nearing dusk, as the Saturday round neared completion. All of the TV's in the bar were tuned into the Golf Channel and everyone was cheering for Tiger. Eh ehm. Really people? Sigh... I was irritated...

I am not now, nor have I ever been a fan of TW, and no, I do not shed a tear when he slices it deep into the rough (although no one has that kind of luck when it comes to lies). Anyway, because I actually am a nice chickadee, I shall not belabor that point and suffice to say I was not cheering for him to win. Instead... in the midst of throngs of dudes rooting for Tiger, I quite happily and confidently voiced my opposition and stood behind my newest "guy". Go Rocco! Of course I received looks aplenty, but I cared not. In fact, I made a bet with a bartender from Kokkari that Rocco would win. sigh... ok so I haven't been to Kokkari in a while...

Everyone hears stories about the woman's husband who was late for work the day the Twin Towers fell and that fact saved his life. Sometimes a minute... a last minute decision to take a different route, or pressing snooze one more time can change your life. At the US Open in 2008 it all came down to a putt. One... single... freaking... putt. In the words of my sweetie "that's golf baby".

Although Rocco did not prevail (I will not say that he lost because truly he did not), he is my #1 "guy".. and as one of the most loyal people on the planet, I will not waiver in my support of him. Here's the thing: he was a cup lip away from claiming the title at Torrey Pines, but beyond that, he is every one of us on the course. He smokes... he grabs a granola bar from the little shack thing at one of the holes, he has great days... and he trunk slams. He is the real deal. And I want to play 18 with him (After I get my new driver acourse).

My quest has become to simply say hello to the guy, perhaps obtain an autograph and if I wish with all of my might, stay conscious long enough to have someone snap a picture of me with him. Sigh... I could totally die a happy woman. I have tried on a couple of occasions. This past year at the AT&T Pro Am (yes, the one where Bill Murray dissed me... whatever.. ) we followed Rocco's group. That day he was playing with Tim Herron (aka: Lumpy, and I did get his autograph!) as well as Bill Murray and an amateur with whom I am not familiar. Bless my sweetie's heart for making sure we followed them... I thought for sure that at the very least I would get to say hello and get his autograph at the end of the day. Alas. It was not to be. Yes, I moped most of the way home, but figured it just wasn't meant to be.

Fast forward to March... The Heritage Tournament in Hilton Head. I knew that Rocco was playing and since we were being hosted in 2 of the sky boxes (especially the one on the 18th green) I thought for sure I would get my wish. We didn't go to the tourney on Friday (seriously, I really was there on business) but we toured several hotel properties. Since we get some inside scoop on the hotel stuff, I was asking everyone if they knew where Rocco was staying so I could ya know.. hang out in the lobby just in case, hehe! So... there we were... having dinner on Friday evening and I received "the text". My sweetie sent me a text with only two words. It read: "oh Rocco". Yeah.. he missed the cut and I'm sure was trunk slamming before I even knew. Are you kidding? No Rocco? I was bummed like I can't even tell you. My hotel/CVB chums were taking pity on me and joking that they were going to get a cardboard cut out of him so I could have my picture. So. Very. Bummed.

Again with the fast forward... to this weekend and the John Deere tourney. Although my guy has not had the best luck of late, he totally killed it! In a cruel twist of fate, so did Goydos and Stricker. Don't get me wrong, those guys played like they had been kissed by the golf gods, but all I could think was: "Rocco should have won this". He aced one for pete's sake, and played as if he too had a little peck on the cheek.

I guess the moral of the story is: you can't win 'em all. I get that, I really do... but Rocco sure could have used that win today, and I sure would be a happy girl if I'd gotten that picture.

Keep on Rocc-in'

What a rush

I think I am still suffering with a "golf hangover" from last weekend... I'm not complaining though, it was totally fab! It all started on Friday afternoon... I had been stuck on jury duty and we were released early that day, for whatever reason. Since I had been in court all week and didn't know we'd get out early on Friday, it was kind of like a free day, which is a rarity in my world. My sweetie called and said he was on his way down and asked if I would call for a T time because he was jonesin' to hit his big dog. Wow... 18 on a Friday afternoon?!?! What a treat! I got the T time at Sunnyvale Golf Course, which was new for me and I was pretty excited.

We arrived at the course and were paired with another couple, and after a few minutes we were off and running. The course is really beautiful and it was a perfect, warm summer afternoon. Of course we did not take a cart so the luggin' commenced. I don't know what was up, perhaps it was my compressed spine and the tired factor from being stuck in a jury box all week but I played like hell. However, I made a decision early in the round, that no matter how I played I was NOT going to get upset. The course was so darned beautiful, and I was enjoying this perfect day with my sweetie, so seriously, who cares?!?! (OK, well I totally do, but 4 hours is a long time to beat yourself up). The round was long and fairly exhausting, but I had a great time. Then... it came to me: we were walking from the 17th green to the 18th T box... as we came around the corner I could see the green... and I was transfixed. The sun was low in the sky and cast this breathtaking, golden, glow on the fairway and the green off in the distance. All was quiet except for the birds chirping in the distance, and various other sounds of nature. I was undone. The scene completely enchanted me. The sweet scent of the grass cooling after the warm day, the quiet that surrounded me... this is exactly what drew me to golf in the first place. I realized that being pissy about a bad shot, or a 12 putt (kidding), serves only one purpose: to totally ruin a perfectly lovely day. I've decided that I'm just not going there.

We finished the round and headed home... I was utterly exhausted. I mean like my hair hurt... the good news is, that although I was initially thinking that as a big girl golfer I shouldn't be so tired, I took one look into the driver's seat and saw that my sweetie was feeling exactly the same way. Whew! Of course we decided to suit up the next day and do it again! Woohoo! We didn't play 18 (thank gawd), but instead went to my itty course and started with a session of chipping practice. I really needed that, and when I heard (and felt) that clean connection of a good chip, I felt great! We headed to the first T and it was game on!

Before I tee'd off, my sweetie suggested a minor swing correction. I took a few practice swings but when I hit the ball I was too much in my head thinking about the correction so the shot was totally lame and I had to take a mully... I mean for gawds sake it was the first hole and that is NOT way to begin a round. So... treasured hybrid in hand, I took a breath and looked down at Gertie (I swear sometimes she winks at me) anyway... I was lined up perfectly, took the club back and let 'er rip... My sweetie and I play Tiger's Wii Golf game and when you make a perfect swing it makes this noise, kind of like a gun shot in a way, and the screen goes into slo-mo. OMG... that was this swing! I had perfect rhythm, perfect form, and absolutely perfect connection with that ball. I've never felt anything quite like that... it was like, when you watch the lotto numbers being drawn and as each ball drops into the slot, it has your number on it. It was literally a perfect golf swing. As I finished my swing and held my finish for what seemed like days, I wasn't even really watching my ball because the weird, but amazing, rush of endorphins had completely overtaken me.  It was the best shot I have ever hit and the swing... it was flawless! Who knew? My sweetie was speechless, and I was frozen but watching Gertie land on the green, exactly where I intended for her to land was... it was... ummm, I don't think that even Roget's can help me find the adjective to adequately describe it but it was freaking awesome! Oh and... to quote my sweetie: "it was DAS".. Dead. Ass. Straight. Booyah!

Here is what I learned from last weekend:
1. Stop and smell the sand trap every now and again, because that is what is really important.
2. Anything is possible... even a perfect golf swing on occasion.
3. Golf courses are beautiful and tranquil for a reason, remember that.

The world is, the world is. Love and Life are deep...

Fire in the hole

There is nothing more sad than having to be out of town on business on two of the best golf weather weekends in the recent past. Sigh... that was me two weekends in a row. However, I got back into town and was chomping at the bit to get out there and smack Gertie around. Although I love my home course, it's itty... 9 holes, par 3's, I would like to at least once a month get out there and play 18. Even better, to try out a new course. In theory I love that idea, however there is something to be said for being familiar with a course. For example, I know what clubs to hit on every hole at my itty course, no matter where the markers are placed or how the wind is blowing. However, there is a bit of horror, mixed with terror, topped off with a bit of a thrill and excitement when you tee off from a hole you've never played.

This was the case 2 weekends ago, when my sweetie and I headed to Sharp Park Golf Course in Pacifica. I can't believe I had forgotten about this course... let's just say that as a teenager I had been there many times. Funny how I had no clue what it looked like in the daylight.., but that's a whole other blog. Eh ehmm.. I digress. Now then, we tried to get a T-time but they were booked and suggested we just show up and they would get us out when they could. We showed up, probably about 10:00 (oh did I mention that this was US Open weekend and uh yeah.. I'm still totally bitter that I wasn't at Pebble.. hmph!)... so we get to the course and they got us right on! Yay! I was so excited! They added a totally nice guy to play with us and we were ready to go! So, we teed off and my drive was EXCEPTIONAL! woohoo!! Of course I used my 3 guy because I am so over my driver (dammit I wish Christmas was closer)... Anyway, I felt totally fab and my sweetie was beaming like a proud papa. So I grab my clubs, throw them on my back (no, no we didn't have a cart.. omg).. and went to find Gertie. There she was, minding her own business right in the middle of the fairway! Good girl Gertie!!! woo hoo! So, I pulled out my prized 24 degree hybrid and took a swing... I smacked her just right yet again and off she went for a nice ride. My sweetie suggested we just call it a day and head to the bar! Well uhh.. we totally should have.

I had some good shots throughout the day, primarily on the front nine, but by the time we made the turn.. yeah.. I was tired. The thing is... since my driver sucks I usually tee off with my 3 guy, which means with a totally killer shot, downhill, with the wind behind me, the farthest I'm hitting is like 150. That's all fine and dandy on a par 3, but anything bigger and I've got a few swings before I get to the green. Add to that the fact that we don't do the cart thing... it's all lugging, all 18. Whew. Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining at all! If the boys can do it, then we, the biggirlgolfers will do it! However... that doesn't mean we'll do it well :). My swing was some kinda tired...

We get to the 15th hole and I'm like "OMG, what is this?!?!".. initially I was happy because it was a par 3... well sure, that's fab and all but uhhhh... you cannot see the green from the tee box because there is a ginormous (yes, that is the official term) patch of reeds and fluffy shrubby things that are taller than I am... Gulp. So, it's all about a wish and a prayer because I have no clue where I'm aiming. The minute I realize this is the situation I start to freak out (internally of course) worrying that if I top the ball I'm totally screwed. So, I spend a bit of time freaking out, address the ball and yep... there goes Gertie, right into the reeds. Really? Really did I just do that?!?! Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!! So... whilst I belt out a rousing rendition of Taps for poor Gertie who took one for the team, my caddy (my sweetie), grabs Gertie #2 from my bag. I was hitting my hybrid from the tee and honestly, if there is a club that can summon a great shot outta me, it's that one... so I took a deep breath, reminded myself to "try easy" and let 'er rip. Thankfully this time, Gertie got some air and cleared the crazy rough... but I was totally irritated.

In all honesty I did have fun. I mean, I don't expect greatness but do have to constantly remind myself that I'm just not good enough to get all pissy about a bad shot. Golf is a game of misses, it's just a matter of how bad the miss is. It's just like sales... a game of numbers really. The more shots you take, the more chance you have of scoring a good one. So, I better just keep shootin'!

Ready... Aim... Fire

It's in the bag

About a million years ago, I often watched this show called "This Old House". There was also another show (the name escapes me), where this guy "Norm" would renovate old, old houses. Norm was this amazing master carpenter guy who could fix and build anything... seriously.. ANYTHING. I remember having conversations about this guy and often mentioned that while he was obviously an amazing craftsman, he also had every tricked out power tool known to mankind. Skill is important, of course, but so are tools. I am a fairly decent domestic goddess and while I possess a good amount of skill in the kitchen, without my tools of the trade, things would be a lot more challenging... As with most things in life, this translates to golf.

When I started on my little journey to become a golf chick, I began with a set of inexpensive, hand-me-down clubs. Once my sweetie saw that I was "all in" and not only committed, but obsessed, we drove straight to Sport's Authority and looked at "all the pink golf stuff"! That day was like Christmas morning for a 4 year old! We found a full set of clubs (omg they are pink!) and they came with bag. We actually left the store and drove right back to the range so I could take them for a spin. I was glowing... I know I was!

Now then... a full set of nice (yet not horribly expensive) starter clubs are perfectly fine for the freshly baked golfer. But, what's a girl to do once she's moving into toddler-hood?

Well, I don't know yet. Although I am the most instant gratification person on the planet, I know that patience will pay off here. I do know that the driver in the bag of rentals I used in Hilton Head made a big difference for me. So, save the pennies and then, get fitted for a driver that maximizes the positive aspects of my swing (there's got to be something that isn't horrible about it right?), whilst minimizes the flaws (those I know for a fact exist). I sort of equate clubs to shoes (OK I may equate many things to shoes).. for example, that pair of hot pink, satin, peep toe, Christian Louboutin pumps I tried on at Barneys made me look like a movie star. No seriously, I was wearing jeans and had been walking around the city all day (and perhaps sipped a cocktail or two, but who's counting), and the minute I slipped my pups into those shoes, it was like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz with the ruby slippers. Sigh... those shoes are a work of art, but my feet were killing me within about 2 minutes (they also happen to carry a price tag of just under a grand so there's that). The point is, they are FABULOUS... but they just didn't fit me or my feet (however should I ever come up with $1k to blow on a pair of shoes, I'll order them in a different width etc). My point is, just because they are fab doesn't mean they are a good fit... like clubs. So, if I threw down a mortgage payment on a top of the line set of clubs, would my game be better? Maybe... maybe not.

A month or so ago my course was hosting "demo days". All the big names were there, Callaway, Taylor Made, Ping, etc. After we played our round my sweetie and I checked out the sellers wares (by the way, if anyone is on the fence about deciding whether or not to start playing golf, keep in mind that it offers fab shopping opportunities... that should sway you over to the green side). Anyway, I decided to check out some Callaway hybrids. I have a 21 degree hybrid in my bag, but I don't love it. When I was in Hilton Head, I used a 27 degree and was like BOOYAH, that is my club! So I swung a few hybrids, thankfully hit some kickin' shots (the reps are standing right there, I mean the pressure was on!). Anyway, we left for a quick trip to the 19th hole and I had dreams of hybrids swinging in my head. At one point my sweetie briefly disappeared (I assumed to nip into the loo), and we left shortly thereafter. Guess who's bag was just a little bit heavier on the way out? Yep! My sweetie went to the pro shop and bought the 24 degree Callaway! omg.. I have no words! I LOVE THAT CLUB (not as much as the hot pink peep toe pumps, but close).
Every time I pull the head cover off of that club, I get a little thrill and often hit a great shot with it. And yes, I intend to buy a full set of hybrid irons because unlike my sweetie, I do not possess a perfect natural swing. Hybrids are very forgiving and a really good call for a casual golf chick. They don't catch the grass like irons can and I use that club for pretty much every approach shot. Sigh... I love it. Haven't named it yet, must work on that.

It is not necessary to go into financial ruin to start playing golf. In fact, it's better to wait until you've found your swing. Just like fingerprints, we all have our very own swing... and we should embrace it for exactly what it is.. good bad or ugly. :)

Swing battah, battah... swing!

Try Easy

Since I am in sales, I have a lot of pressure to get results. Sales results equate to bills paid (and golf of course), which is the point of it all. I was having a conversation with a friend of mine who does the same thing I do, for the same company. We were discussing the frustrations of being commission only and how difficult it is to work your heiny off, and perhaps have an entire week (or longer) without closing a deal. My friend mentioned that it just shouldn’t be this difficult… sigh.

Although we may joke about wishing to be ladies (or gentlemen) of leisure, few of us truly want to lie around the house eating bon-bons all day. I can certainly speak for myself when I say that I like hard work, because the reward is so much sweeter when you know you’ve earned it. This frame of mind is exactly why we casual golfers have a hard time “letting go”. In terms of hard work, golf can prove the most challenging because one practice on the range does not a pro make. However, our golf games are constantly evolving, and eventually we improve. No instant gratification to be found here… and we have to learn to be ok with that.

Take the golf swing for example. The harder you try to hit the ball, the worse your shot will be. The backswing should be nice and smooth, and after you’ve engaged your lower body, centrifugal force will kick in and give you a nice club head speed. But the club has to do the work… the smoother the swing the better the connection and in turn the shot. We all know the feeling of that great shot, perfectly timed, perfectly connecting the ball and the sweet spot, and that is what keeps us coming back time after time. That shot really isn’t that difficult, yet it can often be the most elusive thing to find for 18 holes... or 36.. or... or.. or..

Why can’t we just chill out? Why can’t we just relax? Why do we strive for perfect results within every aspect of our lives? Isn’t the journey supposed to be the good part?

Shades on. Windows down. Wind in your hair.

Get on your bad motor scooter and ride...

The Peanut Gallery

Yesterday, my sweetie and I played a round with my brother in law. Since we played on Mother's Day he and my sister have been bitten with the bug and I am thrilled! We were waiting for the group in front of us to tee off and just kind of hanging out. The first guy in the group took his shot and totally pulled it landing far left of where he had intended. The guy he was playing with said "you made great connection and had killer hang time". The second guy stepped up and took his shot. He topped it, and the grounder rolled a fairly decent distance. His com padre said "hey at least it was straight, now you've just got to get up and down". You see? Golfers are so nice to each other! The constant words of encouragement from the peeps in your group keep you going and allow you to not feel like a complete fool. Rhetoric is something I find fascinating. When people use certain words or phrases and the reasons why they use them has a multitude of variables. The golf course offers a plethora of situations just like the ones those guys had on the first tee.

Words and inflection can evoke any number of emotions from the person for whom they are intended. Case in point: My twinster is a brand new, freshly baked (that's what I call newborn babies because they're all warm and soft) golfer... but so is my brother in law. Since they've decided that golf is their game, they have hit the range and looked for any opportunity to play. My sister had hoped that golf would be something they could do together, but separately. Meaning, they could go to the range together, play a round together, but also work on their own games independently. My sis has a crazy work travel schedule, still does hair when she's "off" and has three girls (the most precious nieces I could ever dream of) with which to contend. Needless to say life tends to be a bit crazy for her. It would be wonderful if she could use the driving range as I do, as a way to clear her head and find peacefulness amidst a hectic day. Hopefully this will happen, however...

Let's just say, she doesn't need anyone throwing salt in her game: [enter, brother in law]. My bro in law is of course a guy (duh), however he was also a baseball player. Can you see where I'm going with this yet? Anyway, he's still freshly baked but has a serious advantage over my sister: he's a dude, and he played baseball. The idea of hitting a ball and the physics behind that are not as foreign to him as they are to my sis. Now then, there they are at the driving range. My sis is still working on finding her full swing and is working with her 9 iron and 7 iron. This is exactly as it should be. Sigh... my bro in law says to my uber self conscious sis "do you think you should have a solo lesson". oh no... really? here's the thing: although that sounds like an innocuous and even perhaps a supportive comment, it was the inflection. Here's what my sister heard: "you are so remedial that you need extra help to not make a fool of yourself". The day after that comment was made my bro in law was coming down to play with my sweetie and me. Prior to his departure my sis asked that he leave her 7 and 9 guys because she was going to try to hit a bucket. My darling, precious, yet idiotic male of a bro in law said: "ummm don't you want your driver? you should start practicing with that so you can hit the ball further". omg. NOOOOO!!!! Not only is my sis not ready to swing her driver, she's got a ways to go before she tackles the woods. AND THAT IS OK!!! whew. Yes, yes I wanted to smack my bro in law, but he really is the cutest and had no idea he upset my sis (and let's all cross fingers he doesn't read this particular post.. love you MW!!! you know I do!!).

Then there is my sweetie. He's my caddy, my Fluff Cowan. He lugs my pink golf bag without a second thought. He also happens to be a man of few words (clearly opposites attract). However, he's never at a loss for words when it comes to "stating the obvious". Yesterday, I made my first official GIR (green in regulation) on the 4th hole at my little home course (not my first GIR ever, I've done that plenty o'times, the first time on this hole, yay me!). This hole is the hardest on the course and getting your ball to stay up on the green takes a fricking act of God. The green plays about 156 from the tee and is elevated. That would all be fine and dandy if the green didn't have a center elevation equivalent to the crest of Mt. Everest. You have to give the ball a good smack to get it to the green, however if the ball comes in hot )or even warm), it will just keep on rolling over the green and down into the grassy ditch. You try to land it short, and chances of it rolling up and on to the green are slim. Needless to say I could have jumped up and down at the feat! Ahh, but never fear, putting on this green is worse than sticking the drive. I had a crazy long putt and the break is brutal. I felt good and hit the ball with what felt to me like a good stroke and the right distance and a good line. The ball has to have enough gas to get up the slope, but if you don't give it exxxactly the right amount, it makes it up the slope and catches the beginning of the down slope. Once that happens: bah-bye Gertie (my ball is always named Gertie, for some reason I like it better when she has a name, don't ask). There goes Gertie, rolling and rolling and rolling.. off the green and yeah.. you guessed it.. lands at the bottom of the grassy ditch. FRICK! So much for the GIR, I have to chip it up onto the green from the bottom of this darned ditch... soo irritated! At this point throwing my club (or perhaps entire golf bag) into the bay is the most innocent action I'm contemplating taking. I'm trying to be cool, be all "big girl golf" and then.. my sweetie says.. wait for it, waaaait for it... he says: "you hit it way too hard". Really? REALLY?!?! Wow... thank you for stating the obvious, because clearly I never would have figured that out. He knows that it makes me nuts when he states the obvious. Statements like that climb up my last nerve and screeeeeech their way back down. The thing is, words have the ability to lift you up or to push you down. I know that my sweetie would never push me down, he's the "wind beneath my drive" for pity's sake but for the love of gawd I can't take it!

Word to the wise: don't speak without your attorney present.