Okay, so let's talk golf, my favorite sporting past time. Hitting that little white ball looks so simple, yeah not so much. Although I didn't start playing golf until the kids were older and I had more time to do something for myself, it meant spending time outside, hopefully basking in the warmth of the sun. As a much younger person, I could sun-bathe for hours, just keep lathering on the protection and I was good to go, listening to loud music, soaking up the rays...outstanding! As the aging process began, the thought of laying around, listening to music in the sunlight, was not much more than a distant memory. My mind wouldn't rest and allow me a chance to lie in that sun induced vegetative state, doing absolutely nothing!
Enjoying the game of baseball, my thought process being, golf should be easy. No longer wanting to run the bases, the knees a bit weary from playing catcher, walking a golf course would be a sophisticated adult form of exercise. Heading to the local driving range with a mix and match set of golf clubs, I felt very confident. For the record, there is NOTHING natural about swinging a golf club. Admitting, had I started the game as a toddler, my flexibility would have allowed for such movement. At age forty, not so much! But I persevered, manly to prove my husband wrong. All the while knowing his reverse psychology of "you will never be a golfer," would tick me off enough to prove him wrong!
The process of learning the game of golf began with lessons from Mr. Bill, proof we have a solid marriage, although I am sure there were times he feared for his life. On occasion he sought transportation home from some one other than his pissed off wife. Not so much because he didn't want to ride with me, I had thrown his clubs off the cart, leaving the course without him. He deserved it! Understand, the thought of clubbing him to death did appear as a pop-up in the brain, thankfully never taking a firm hold. Once I learned, throwing your club after an errant shot proved to be a useful way to relieve tension, remembering to throw them in a forward direction, was an added bonus stress reliever, he never had to hitch a ride again!
Almost twenty years have passed since those name calling, club throwing days of golf. He now plays much more golf than I, only because retirement has afforded him the time, working at the golf course makes the game affordable. He is a formidable opponent for many and as team, we rock. His patience with my game is outstanding, reminding me, "you do fine considering you never get to practice." He's pretty smug, he shoots his age, not every time, but he's pretty consistent. I, on the other hand, will never shoot my age, unless of course I am still playing well, at age eighty three. Who am I fooling, I'll just be happy to make it to eighty-three!
Enjoying the game of baseball, my thought process being, golf should be easy. No longer wanting to run the bases, the knees a bit weary from playing catcher, walking a golf course would be a sophisticated adult form of exercise. Heading to the local driving range with a mix and match set of golf clubs, I felt very confident. For the record, there is NOTHING natural about swinging a golf club. Admitting, had I started the game as a toddler, my flexibility would have allowed for such movement. At age forty, not so much! But I persevered, manly to prove my husband wrong. All the while knowing his reverse psychology of "you will never be a golfer," would tick me off enough to prove him wrong!
The process of learning the game of golf began with lessons from Mr. Bill, proof we have a solid marriage, although I am sure there were times he feared for his life. On occasion he sought transportation home from some one other than his pissed off wife. Not so much because he didn't want to ride with me, I had thrown his clubs off the cart, leaving the course without him. He deserved it! Understand, the thought of clubbing him to death did appear as a pop-up in the brain, thankfully never taking a firm hold. Once I learned, throwing your club after an errant shot proved to be a useful way to relieve tension, remembering to throw them in a forward direction, was an added bonus stress reliever, he never had to hitch a ride again!
Almost twenty years have passed since those name calling, club throwing days of golf. He now plays much more golf than I, only because retirement has afforded him the time, working at the golf course makes the game affordable. He is a formidable opponent for many and as team, we rock. His patience with my game is outstanding, reminding me, "you do fine considering you never get to practice." He's pretty smug, he shoots his age, not every time, but he's pretty consistent. I, on the other hand, will never shoot my age, unless of course I am still playing well, at age eighty three. Who am I fooling, I'll just be happy to make it to eighty-three!
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