How to Turn an 89 into a 93

Wednesday was the first time I kept score all season. Bea and I had a 12:46pm tee time at Pine Ridge. I went early to warm up and hit balls on the range. When I first started playing golf, I used to get a large bucket and finish it in within two hours. I would barely break a sweat. Then came the “injury,” and since then, a medium bucket is the most I will ask my back to bear at the range. It’s different on the course, where I hit the equivalent of a medium bucket, but spread it over four or five hours with lots of walking in between.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been feeling stronger, due to pilates-based physical therapy. So I thought, a small bucket before a round couldn’t hurt. In fact, it helped. I drive my first tee ball nicely into the fairway, instead of left into the woods like I usually do. I ended up with bogey on the hole, instead of my typical “just warming up” double bogey.

I shot 9 over par on the first half. I had a birdie chance on a par 3 but blew it by rushing the tap-in. I turned another makeable par 3 into a 4 by missing a 6-incher. Bea thinks not making short putts is a mental problem. I think she’s projecting. I don’t think I have a putting any more than the typical golfer. I think the problem is the unpredictable, and sometimes downright crappy, greens on local munis. God bless the public, but they don’t fix their ball marks, so half the time, I am bent over with my divot tool stuck in the dirt. A seemingly well-read putt can turn into a surprise ending caused by the scar of an old unrepaired ball mark.

Anyway, I was focused on holding steady on the back nine. Seven holes passed in the blink of an eye, and I was 8 over. Then I made par on the 17^th. (It was a par 3 and I landed the green for a 10-foot birdie putt but the ball didn’t break toward the water, like everyone always says it does.) All I had to do was par the last hole to shoot 89, and break my course record of 90.

But the last hole is a par 5, and I teed off into the right rough. I thought I was done for. Miraculously, I pured my 3-wood to within 125 yards of the pin. That’s where I had to make a choice. 

The approach was an uphill shot, and the pin beckoned like a lighthouse at the top, guarded by a steep bunker. I knew it was a sucker pin placement. I could have laid up with an easy 6-iron, then chipped it close and made par. But I thought, why not go for the green? If I took enough club, I thought for sure I could make it over. I took my 7-wood, which I had been puring stick straight all day. I took the shot and heard that wonderful sound of solid contact. For a glorious long time, it looked like the ball would make it. Then, at the last second, plunk! The ball hit the green grassy lip of the bunker and tumbled in. It had to be no more than 6 inches short of victory. 

So there I was, three shots into the bunker. I could still get up and down to save par. I wedged out, but only to the outside of the bunker. Then, with the pin so close, I hit a tepid chip which landed only to the fringe of the green. I ended up skulling that chip and sent the ball to the far side of the dance floor. From there it was not one, but three putts to sink the darn ball. Defeated, I cursed, and I didn’t care who was listening. 

In the end, I shot a godforsaken 93. I was quite annoyed with myself. But then I remembered, once upon a time and not too long ago, I would have been ecstatic with a 93. And my thoughts turned to when I could schedule my next tee time to try again.

Later, I thought about whether I should have played it safe and laid up. There are many areas of life where I play it safe – I drive defensively, invest conservatively, save money as if it will rain every day. But in love and golf, the great games of life, it’s better to take all the chances you can get, because the rewards of winning are always far better than the risks of losing. Or maybe I really am just a sucker.

Life as a Swingin’ Single

A few days ago, I played my first-ever solo round of golf. Playing golf alone has been on my bucket list for awhile, and I finally got up the courage to just do it. My husband has long discouraged me from trying such a thing, since he is always afraid I’ll get paired with some random guys who might hit on me, even though he knows it is mostly OMGs (old man golfers) out there. 

A few weeks ago, I had a preview of going it alone, when the two golfer gal pals I was playing with had to leave after nine holes. The course was jam-packed but I had the blissful experience of playing one hole all by myself. I hit an awesome drive and went on to make par, but there was a threesome of SOMGs (somewhat old man golfers) tailing me, and since the next hole was a par 3, I really had no choice but to let them join me. There was an Asian guy, a white guy, and a black guy, so as an Asian woman, I didn’t feel racially uncomfortable. They all turned out to be very pleasant and displayed a mastery of the art of brief but lighthearted golf chitchat. It is nice to golf with others, but since that one solo hole, I wondered if I could play better without having to worry about the social aspects of the game.

So I finally went out and tried it. I was actually scheduled to play with Bea, but she canceled due to some real estate thing she was working on. Fortunately, no one else had filled in the tee time. It was 2:30pm, the sweet spot after the morning rush dies down, and before the twilight crowd filters in. I arrived at 2:15pm and the starter told me to go right on through.

While waiting for the group ahead to clear the first fairway, I saw two OLGs (old lady golfers) drive up behind me in a golf cart. One of them said, “Are you alone? Do you want to play with us?” I didn’t want to assume that they’d be slow, but I also really wanted to play by myself, so I said, “How about if I get slow, I’ll join you.” They nodded in a “suit yourself” kind of way, and off I went.

I pulled my first tee shot left into the trees, and I thought, “Crap. Maybe I’ll play worse alone.” But the twosome ahead of me was already playing like crap, and I quickly caught up to them. After a hole or two, they let me play through, so I ended up stuck behind a skilled twosome ahead of me, who also offered to let me join them. I didn’t want to be rude, but I was determined to play alone. I decided to play two balls instead, so I could slow myself down and not end up riding them the whole way. 

That’s where things got hectic. I am the kind of person who walks into a room to get something and forgets what I walked into the room to get. I have a terrible short-term memory and sometimes drive around in circles because I can’t remember which way I was heading on a local suburban road. So imagine me trying to keep track of two balls, especially if they land in the deep rough. “Okay, one was by the red post and the other was by that short tree. Or was it by the white post? And which tree was it again?”

Things got really confusing on the putting green, where I am so accustomed to scanning all the ball locations to see who should putt first, that I actually found myself saying out loud, “Am I away?”

By the 9^th hole, I had lost 4 balls and realized I only had two balls left in my bag. Fortunately, I had parked my car in the end of the lot bordering the 9^th hole, so I was able to jog over to my car and raid my shag bag of beat-up balls that I wouldn’t mind losing. I grabbed 6 balls, which I was sure would last me through the back nine.

I didn’t keep score, but I knew I parred at least 3 holes. I made a few glory shots, with only the geese and dragonflies to witness. I also made some terrible shots that no one saw either. Out of sheer exhaustion, I only played one ball on the last hole. One thing about playing alone is that you get no rest in between shots, since you’re never waiting for someone else to play. When my round was over, there was no one to shake hands with, so I called my husband to say, “I did it.”

I had a giddy feeling driving home, like I had unlocked some secret of golf. Yes, golf is a social game. But there is a serenity to playing in private. Looking back, I loved being able to take my shots in peace, without worrying about rustling snack bar wrappers or clinking clubs or whispering playing partners who don’t think talking during other people’s shots is rude.

When I told my husband these things, he smiled. “You’re going to want to play by yourself all the time, now that you know how fun it is. It’s even better when you have the course to yourself and you can take your time.”

“I’ll have to wait for winter for that, probably,” I said. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye out for that sweet spot of sparsely filled afternoon tee times. And I will bring at least a dozen balls next time.