Wednesday, February 8, 2017

My Day On The Links

After a long morning which involved my assistant redoing a pile of paperwork which I had screwed up, I grabbed a quick lunch then headed to Sycamore Creek for a round of golf. My goal was three fold, to enjoy a rare 70 degree February day by spending it outside, to walk 18 holes while carrying my clubs, and not to stink up the place by shooting 100.

I was paired up with a 67 year old, newly retired man named Ken. He had spent 40 years teaching middle schoolers in Powhatan county. I felt like I should have been carrying his clubs too! 40 years teaching middle schoolers? Are you Freaking kidding me?? We enjoyed lively conversation over the next four hours and very much enjoyed each other's company, although I must say, the man was certainly no fan of Democrats. Whenever he would offer a treatise on how Democrats were responsible for everything from the Trilateral Commission to slow lines at the grocery store, I would change the subject..."So, how 'bout those Patriots?"

I accomplished goal number one with ease. I hadn't been outside for four hours in probably three months and I was feeling the effects. The worst part about winter for me has always been having to spend so much time indoors. It was a glorious day. I actually wore short sleeves, and even got a bit of a tan.

I accomplished goal number two...barely. I can't remember the last time I have walked 18 holes and carried my clubs. I've used a pull cart many times, but carrying one's own clubs is usually reserved for teenage boys and caddies. But, I was determined. I turned on the gps device on my cell phone to track how far of a walk I was about to take, then silenced it and zipped it up in my bag. The first nine holes were surprisingly easy. I congratulated myself on being in such fine physical shape. Then the back nine arrived and promptly added fifty pounds to the weight of my bag. I began to feel the burn in my thighs and calves. By hole number 14, my feet began to ache. Ken, who was riding alone in his cart sensed that I was slowing down and began constantly asking if I needed a lift. I refused his kind offers each time out of pure stubbornness and hubris. When I walked off the 18th green everything I had was stiff and sore and I was worn out, but I made it, a four hour, 4.28 mile march.

Goal number three was the most surprising. As is my custom, I didn't hit any balls to warm up, just walked out to the first tee and let it rip. I had determined that I would take no mulligans, and hit each ball where it lay, despite the somewhat soggy, winter conditions. I mean, why not, right? I'm not totally sure but I think the last time I had played was in Maine back in July of last year. So, to my considerable delight, I hit the ball great, only lost one ball all day, and shot a very respectable 85. This despite the fact that I continued my 30 year run of being the worst putter in all of Christendom. Trying to explain just how bad a putter I am isn't easy. It's an acquired incompetence. Imagine someone trying to putt while intoxicated and suffering an epileptic seizure. Or maybe, think of trying to putt with a push broom while blindfolded.

So, this morning my shoulders feel like I've spent a week carrying Lena Dunham around in a backpack. But the good news is...I lost three pounds!!