Home On The Range

Another one of my friends came out of the golf closet today. I know it was hard for her to give up her complete identity as a soccer player, but she's going to be an awesome golfer. It's so fun to go to a pro shop and range with someone who's never golfed. Why is it they always head straight to the left handed clubs?

While she was testing out a few different models with the kind young man who got stuck with us, I snuck away to the range and swung all my clubs for the first time since my surgery. I was supposed to wait until the end of next week, but the pro shop smell was making me crazy. Everyone was doing it. What was I supposed to do?

The clubs felt great and my swing was back in no time. I even pulled out the giant Cobra M Speed Driver and let 'er rip. I'm looking forward to heading out this week for a full round of normal golf, no more of this chipping and putting stuff.

When I wandered back to the sales area, I found my pal crushing the ball with a hybrid 3. It's going to be a great summer after all.

I'm Ready to You Know...Putt

As the nurse opened the door and called my name across the waiting room, I confidently stood up and walked boldly towards her, hiding any small winces of pain with a broad smile and thumbs up. Certainly I’d be cleared to golf if I could wind my way through the maze of women and babies with such a strong gait.

“Everything is looking really good; you’re healing very fast, but take it easy going back to work, any other questions?” My doctor looked at me with a smile that suggested she was ready for the first question her patients always asked.
“When can I golf?” I responded. Again, the broad smile.
Looking slightly confused, head tilting from side to side, she responded, “I guess you can start putting now, but I’d be seriously concerned about the swinging of a golf club.” That suspicious smile was back, followed by, “Don’t you have any other questions you’d like to ask.” She drew the “other” out for three or four counts while I slowly realized what she was talking about.
“Oh yeah, you want to know if I want to know about you know,” I said nodding my head in perfect rhythm with hers.
“Most women do”, she replied.

Not this woman. There’s plenty of time for “you know”, but only so many perfect golf days. For now I will save the “you know” for Victoria, my somewhat clunky Yes putter. She’ll be my partner in healing over the next two weeks as I am finally forced to work on my putting. Which is just what the doctor ordered.

Body Under Repair

On June 11th, I had a surgery that I’m told will keep me from playing golf for approximately six weeks. Six weeks. According to my calculations, that’s about one third of the best season for golf in Oregon. Given that it was a significant surgery, I had plenty of really good questions for my doctor.
“Are you sure we can’t wait until November?”
“What about chipping, okay, how about putting, a putter’s really not very heavy.”
“Do you golf? Is there something wrong with you?”

The best part of having surgery that week was the initial recovery time on the couch, feet propped up, a bottle of painkillers and the US Open. Twenty hours of golf later, even my golfing buddies could not understand how I could have possibly known exactly what color Tiger wore on each day, let alone what club he used on each hole. I grieved on Sunday afternoon as Tiger’s long birdie putt missed the mark on #18. Not so much because he lost, but because it was over. The endless commentary on the rough and the way on almost every hole the commentators would say, “I don’t understand why he’s chosen that club with the extreme left to right pitch of this diabolical green”, which was regularly followed by, “Wow, that shot worked out much better than I thought, he got just the right speed…”

This weekend is the other US Open. I don’t think they’ll play the full twenty hours of it, but I’ll take what I can get. Then, I’m going to wash my clubs again and cross off another day on the calendar.