Tuesday, May 20, 2014

My golf journey takes an unexpected turn

Usually when I'm offered something for free, I accept it.

Even if it's a 30-minute golf lesson. (With a PGA golf pro, might I add. The company I work for is cool like that.)

When I told my dad what I was doing, he took it upon himself to warn me about what was ahead:

"You do realize that you might like it right? Are you willing to take that risk?"

I laughed it off. I had more important things to worry about, like finding the driving range and not breaking the clubs a nice stranger graciously allowed me to use.

After a couple of lucky coincidences, I arrived at the driving range for my lesson, only five minutes late. My teacher handed me a lady-sized club, which meant it was too short. This was a bit of a relief, though, as using a too-short golf club drastically reduces the chances that you'll accidentally pound the club into the ground and snap it in half.

I was ready to begin. It was pleasantly warm, if a little windy, and I was surrounded by grass and sunlight, about to play a sport during work hours.

Maybe my dad had a point.

It was a very productive lesson. Since I started at the I've-only-been-golfing-once-in-my-entire-life-because-my-dad-never-took-me-golfing-when-I-was-a-kid level, I had lots to learn. My teacher recorded my swings and replayed some of them for instructional purposes. I've watched enough golf, unfortunately, to be able to recognize when someone knows what they're doing. My first few swings were pathetically wimpy, but by the end I could detect a little bit of athletic grace in my stance and swing.

And boy, did it feel cool when the ball actually moved more than a couple yards.

That's when my thoughts entered dangerous territory.

Maybe I'll start coming to the golf course on Saturday mornings to work on my technique. 

Are you seriously considering giving up your Saturday mornings for golf?

I think if I was good at this it would be a fair trade. Besides, Lorie says I'm a natural.

You don't even have your own clubs, freak.

Maybe I'll ask Santa to take care of that for me.

Only then did I realize what was happening: I was trying to figure out a way to incorporate golf into my life. Because it's—oh heck, I'll just say it—fun.

I tried to deny it the moment I made the admission. But let's look at it logically. Golf is a sport. I like sports. Guys like golf. I like guys.

I'm in.

1 comment:

  1. Haha. Awesome. Maybe we should get a professional skier to take you skiing next and see what happens... Wink, wink.