December 4, 2017 | Posted in: Living Hartfully

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I grew up on a golf course and started playing in the 3-holer league in grade school with hand-me-down clubs from my siblings. I’m left-handed and they are right-handed, so I learned to play with their equipment and continue the sport today in a right-handed way. I always thought I was not good enough to spring for new clubs since my college days….after all I wasn’t growing any taller, ahem.

So I kept the same equipment for a few decades until recently when I borrowed a friend’s clubs and shot the best game of my life. By George there is something to this thing of using updated equipment. I was hooked once again and sought out the ladies’ line of pink, flex, petite clubs because even if I can’t play pretty, at least my clubs will look pretty.

It turns out I looked pretty foolish my first day out with my new set and my new cart. Still in the parking lot, I couldn’t figure out the new-fangled strap. It seems they now make them like back-pack straps to go over both shoulders. Who knew? I was flinging that bag around trying to figure it all out and luckily nobody was paying attention. I find that’s usually the case…nobody is paying attention.  Strike one.

Strike two came when I strapped my bag onto my new handy dandy pull cart that ever-so-swiftly folds into nothingness to fit in my trunk. I had everything in place and only got two car lengths away from my car when the wheel fell off the cart and down goes the bag and the clubs sprinkled about the parking lot. Quick look around to see if nobody was still paying attention and back to my car I went limping along with one wheel in my hand.

Returning to the backpack method, I waltzed up to the driving range to practice with these new petite, pink clubs. After a large bucket of balls, I was exhilarated and exasperated at the same time. I loved the clubs, my drives were better than ever, and I was sweating so badly my sunglasses fogged up and I couldn’t see a thing. Strike three. I’m sure glad the driving range stalls had barriers between then because I couldn’t see where I was hitting. It turns out I had severely over-dressed for the occasion.

Stripping down before hitting the links; I told the starter that I had a 10:24 tee time and instead of pointing me in the direction of the tee box, he announces – are you playing alone? You only have one person in your party? It felt like the maître d at a swanky restaurant announcing to the dining room that you are the loser eating alone or when they call price check at the checkout counter over the loud speaker for a special ointment. Yes, I’m playing alone this morning on my maiden voyage with my pink ladies and by the way do you have a pull cart, my wheel fell off in the parking lot. I also wondered if I could even see the ball with my bare eyes and without glasses with nobody watching where it goes except me. I decided to use pink balls – easier to see than white. It turned out I could see them, but maybe next time I pull out the glasses just in case. Just another reminder I’m getting older….bifocals for golf….ugh.

Turns out that after those three strikes, I got it out of my system and played pretty darn good and pretty darn fast thanks to my pretty pink clubs. Even teeing off in front of several fire engine crews who were doing training just beyond the fence line…no pressure with 100 firemen mere yards from you. Ah, but I remembered…..nobody is paying attention, so there really was no pressure. It’s all a mind game.

So you really can teach an old duffer new tricks with new clubs. I’m ready for next weekend for another tee time and more adventures on the range and on the course. I find trying new things keeps me on my toes and keeps me humble and it gives me something to look forward to….getting better. This will surely be a lifetime of getting better because there is no place to go but up. Though I did manage to get a par on the last hole, a couple bogies and a couple double bogies. I lost count on the other holes….the pink ladies helped me improve, but they are not miracle workers. I didn’t lose a ball and I didn’t hit anyone. I call that a good day.