OMG, I Shot an 89 Today

OMG, I shot an 89 today. I know what you're thinking, big whoop, it's not the the first time. But to tell the truth, my game's been in the toilet all summer, so it was an exciting day for me. I had a good low-90s run in the spring, but I actually haven't broken 90 all year. And finally, today, I did.

I actually woke up with a migraine and the weather was hotter and more humid than advertised, so it didn't start out as a great day for golf. Then hubby and I were stuck behind an older-than-the-hills, slower-than-molasses twosome who moved so slow it was as if they were trying to stop time. And at one point we were joined by a single behind us who drove his cart a little too close to me and unnerved me with his snack wrapper-rustling. After one hole, I told him, "Hey, we're not in any hurry, so why don't you play ahead and try to catch up with the twosome." Of course, that old twosome was stuck behind a foursome, who was stuck behind a walking single stuck behind another slow foursome, and so on.

After the front 9, I was 11 over, so it didn't really seem like anything was going to happen. But then, it did. Because the round was slow, it gave me a lot of time to think about my putts. I actually looked at my putts from behind the ball, in front of the ball, and the side. As a result, I made a bunch of clutch putts for par. Hubby actually complimented me on my putting, and I could see that he meant it. It was sweeter than being given a dozen roses.

Six holes into the back 9, I'd made 4 pars. It's amazing how making pars helps keep your score low. I finished with 6 over on the back 9, which is the lowest I'd ever made on a back 9. 11 + 6 = 17, and 72 + 17 = 89. So I shot an 89. A very good score for me.

Life is good when the golf is good. And when it's bad, life's awful. Here's hoping for the good life... at least for what's left of the season.

The Coolest Vest for Golf

It's mid-August and I've only been playing golf once a week because it's just so darn hot. Next week, temps are predicted to be in the 90s again. My golf buddy Seri has a new accessory to beat the heat, a cooling vest. Cooling vests also called evaporative cooling vests or ice vests in case you want to shop for one. They're used by athletes, construction workers and anyone who spends a lot of time in the hot sun. Ice vests actually have packs of gel cubes sewn in them and you need to freeze them overnight. Seri's cooling vest only needs to be soaked in cold water and it stays hydrated for hours.

And it's kind of a cute look, no?

Here's a close-up:

Now all Seri needs is a matching ice hat and she'll be all set for the rest of summer.

U.S. Women's Open Championship at Lancaster Country Club

Yesterday, hubby and I drove out to Lancaster, PA, to check out Round 3 of the 2015 U.S. Women's Open Championship at Lancaster Country Club. This is the third time I've been a spectator at a major golf tournament, so I knew to wear plenty of sunscreen and comfortable golf shoes for walking the course.

I snapped plenty of pictures of the big names in women's golf, but I used my phone camera from far away, so the images are a little fuzzy after cropping. The first thing we did was go to the practice area, where Michelle Wie happened to be getting ready. Her left ankle was in a brace but it didn't seem to affect her stance.

Or her ability to make perfect contact.

She did a drill with a stretchy exercise band:

She also did practice swings with only one arm:

Here's her famous putting stance, with her caddie respectfully looking away and not staring at her butt:

Michelle Wie definitely had the largest number of people following her around. Not as many as Tiger Woods, but this is women's golf after all. I would imagine that a lot of the male golf fans are deterred from watching a women's golf event because they don't want their wives to catch them staring at women all day.

The current world Number One is Inbee Park. Very few people followed her around, but then again, she wasn't playing spectacularly well.

Here's Lexi Thompson, with the petite I.K. Kim, who is famous for missing a 14-inch putt at the Kraft Nabisco Championship in 2012 and losing the tournament as a result. As someone who could find a way to miss a 6-inch putt, I totally sympathize.

The current world Number Two player is teenage sensation Lydia Ko, shown here walking with what I think is too much forward head posture. If she keeps it up, it could be a problem in middle age. Take it from someone who knows.

At least Lydia Ko stays hydrated. Drinking plenty of water is a good habit at any age.

And she has a very balanced finish.

Here's Morgan Pressel, who we saw texting on the practice green:

Occasionally, she practiced her putting too.

Here's Paula Creamer and amateur Muni He. These are two golfers who know how to strike a pose. Muni was leading Paula by two strokes. That must have been embarrassing.

Off in the distance, we saw Stacy Lewis. That's about as close as we wanted to get to her. Let's just say we're not fans. 

The leader so far is Amy Yang, and here she is looking cool and confident with her caddie:

I hope she strides on to victory. I'll be tuning in later today to find out.

Mid-Season Update

So it's July, and in case you're wondering, I didn't join that ladies league. The first day I was scheduled to play, it rained and the league canceled, and then the following week, the league starter "forgot" to put me on the tee sheet. By then I'd heard from various rangers that the leagues are notoriously slow. Most of the ladies are actually high-handicappers (like 25, 30 and even 40) and take up to 5 or more hours to play. Plus I had a new work project and wasn't sure I could commit to a regular league.

Lately I've been playing mostly with hubby on trips and weekends. My handicap is trending toward an 18.7, due to traveling to unfamiliar courses, which always adds on strokes, and soggy weather. It's just more of a challenge to play on wet fairways that haven't gotten mowed and hail-pelted greens that haven't been rolled for a week.

My driver and woods are in a slump and my wedges still need work, though I finally started using this 58-degree wedge hubby bought me last year. It's perfect for high lob shots over bunkers and mounded rough. At least my irons have been somewhat consistent, so over the July 4th holiday weekend, hubby and I played the local course where most of the par 3s are 139 yards and in from the red tees.

While I got stymied by the overgrown fairways and matted rough, on one of the aforesaid par 3s, I got reacquainted with that feeling that every golfer lives for -- that moment when you realize you've got a sure-fire, tap-in for birdie:

Walking down to the green to mark your ball, you feel a combination of joy and relief. It's a short-lived moment that reminds you what golf is all about.

If you look closely at the photo above, you can see where my ball landed, a few inches left of the ball. Hubby said my ball landed at that mark and actually bounced toward the hole, and if the green hadn't been so wet, it might have rolled all the way into the hole. Ah well, I already had my first hole-in-one years ago. These days, the way I've been playing, getting that close is close enough.

The "Secret" Beach at Port Royal Golf Course in Southampton, Bermuda

After our day at Riddell's Bay, hubby and I went back to the cruise ship. The pool areas were crowded with screaming children and tipsy adults, and I longed for a quiet place to relax in the sun. We had a map of Bermuda that marked beaches with pink splotches, and we noticed that three pink splotches flanked the Port Royal Golf Course, where we had a tee time the next day. It appeared that you could literally walk off the 18th hole and dive right into the ocean. I decided to wear my tankini under my golf clothes for the round, so I could be ready for a post-golf beach adventure.

Port Royal Golf Course was host to the PGA Grand Slam of Golf from 2009 to 2014, so its layout may look familiar to television viewers. Greens fees are $150 per player, and sometimes they have a special deal offering free rental clubs to cruise ship passengers.

The course is strikingly tournament-class, though it still has a tropical island charm. The golf attendants wear crisp white uniforms, which gives them a naval vibe. The rental club selection consisted of late-model TaylorMade Burners, with a choice of ladies flex, regular men's flex and stiff flex shafts. Hubby chose stiff flex, while I opted for the regular men's flex, without realizing that the irons were heavy steel shafts. But the driver and woods had graphite shafts, so I fared okay.

The practice area includes driving mats facing the ocean. If you can hit one that makes a splash, pat yourself on the back.

The first hole is a long drive downhill. The guy in the maintenance truck on the right seemed quite confident in our abilities.

Here's a shot of where hubby's ball landed, taken once we got down the hill.

I could sense immediately that I might be taking more photography shots than golf shots during this round.

The ocean is, like, everywhere on this course. Here's an amazing view of my ball on a green, with some seriously aqua blue waves. How's a girl supposed to make a putt with that in the background?

Here's the same view but taken horizontally, suitable for framing. I think I'll enlarge this one and put it over my couch in the basement.

Port Royal is a hilly course, like Riddell's Bay on steroids.

I didn't make a single par during the round. I blame the distracting ocean views.

From every vantage point, you can see that this is a course made for television.

As if the ocean weren't enough, occasionally there were inland water features to contend with, too.

But the 16th par 3 is a jaw-dropper. If your ball goes in the water, you're almost jealous of it.

The slope on the 18th makes it look much longer than it actually is.

After the round, hubby and I asked one of the uniformed staff about the beaches we saw on the map. Of the three, he said Whitney Bay is a private beach for the cottage residents and Pompano Beach is very small and more of a water sports beach. But West Whale Bay is public. He said he'd drive us there in a golf cart.

I'd worn my bathing suit under my golf clothes, but hubby had to change into swim trunks at the clubhouse. After that, the staffer drove us in a golf cart down to the 14th hole and showed us the way.

The "secret beach" is off of the 14th green, which has houses along the border.

The beach path is hard to spot, but if you follow one of the white hazard posts, you'll see that there is a path.

Here's a shot of hubby on the steep path, which I snapped on the way out. On the way in, I was trying to keep my balance and prevent myself from getting caught in the prickly stuff.

Once down the steep but short footpath, you'll see a narrow road. The ocean is in sight.

The beach is part of West Whale Bay Park, a tiny grass field with a park bench and a brick shack with restrooms. You can also get here by taxi (from the island's main thoroughfare, Middle Road, take Whale Bay Road). But if you're golfing at the Port Royal, walking off the 14th green is the way to go.

Beyond the sign, follow the path to the beach.

It's a small beach, but perfect in size just for two, with no one else around.

The sand is white, not pink like other Bermuda beaches. But the water is clear as far as the eye can see.

Hubby and I stripped off our golf clothes and took a dip. After a tough round in the hot sun, ahhhhhh!

We stayed almost an hour, till the tide showed signs of coming in and hubby got pinched on the foot by a crab. If I had it to do over, I would have planned a morning round, so we'd have more time to spend on this wonderful little beach. The next day, we'd visit Horseshoe Bay and Church Bay, which were on the beaten path and crowded with cruise tourists. Nothing would compare to the seclusion and calm waters of West Whale Bay.

It was about 5:30pm when we decided to head back. I threw on my pink cover-up dress over my swimsuit and hubby put his golf shirt back on. The course was empty by now, but drenched in a warm afternoon glow. As we walked slowly back through the course, hubby found several errant golf balls, including a Titleist he'd lost.

From the clubhouse, we called for a taxi to take us back to the dockyard. But we paused for one last look at the course.

I don't know if I'll ever get a chance to return to Bermuda, but if I do, this day definitely deserves a replay.

Riddell's Bay Golf & Country Club in Warwick, Bermuda

In mid-June, hubby and I went on a cruise to Bermuda with his family. Now I'm the kind of person who would rather poke my eye out with a knitting needle than go on a cruise, so the only thing I had to look forward to was the two rounds of golf we had planned. Bermuda is a small island, but it has a total of nine golf courses, which is the highest per capita number of courses than anywhere else in the world.

We decided not to bring our golf clubs on the cruise ship, which was a good decision. Cruise ship rooms are tiny and we would have had to store two golf bags and two travel cases under the bed for the three days at sea, then once we docked in Bermuda, we would have had to lug our clubs ourselves off the ship and race down the pier to the taxi stand. It just seemed like asking for trouble. So we decided to rent.

Our ship docked at Heritage Wharf on the most northwestern tip of the island. Our first round was at Riddell's Bay, which is a 30-minute taxi ride from the Royal Naval Dockyard. It cost about $30 including tip. Built in 1922, Riddell's Bay Golf & Country Club is the oldest golf course in Bermuda. It's a private course, but tourists are welcome to play there. Greens fees aren't too steep: $95 per player plus $50 for rental clubs.

I was kind of looking forward to playing rental clubs, but I was disppointed in the scraggly old set of ladies' TaylorMades I was given. I ended up borrowing clubs out of the men's TaylorMade set my hubby was given. I was also disappointed that there was no driving range and a very meager practice facility consisting of a small soccer net that we were expected to bat golf balls into. It was also cloudy and drizzling, so the day just didn't seem to be starting off the way I expected. But after being held captive on a noisy cruise ship for 3 days, being outdoors on stable land was refreshing.

Riddell's Bay is a pretty course. When there's a roundabout with nicely landscaped flowers to greet you, you know the grounds crew takes pride in their work.

Hubby played the blues, and I played the white tees, since the pro shop staffer said, "Our ladies play the whites." But I probably should have played the reds. The 5457 yardage from the white tees seemed doable to me, but it turned out to be quite challenging due to elevation changes.

I thought it was a hilly course, but walkable if I wasn't bloated from stuffing myself at the cruise ship buffet.

The fairways were Bermuda grass and the rough is Bermuda rough which can hang onto your club like a comb in tangled hair.

The rain eventually gave way, leaving behind a searing heat. It was only in the mid-80s temperature-wise, but it felt hotter because of the humidity.

But the amazing views were a cool distraction.

Finally, the clubhouse was in view. I did not break 100 during my round, but at least now I can say I've golfed on Bermuda grass in Bermuda!

My next round was at Port Royal Golf Course, which has a "secret" beach. Tell you about it soon...

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I've been playing the local course so often that almost all the staff knows me by name. I guess I am not hard to miss, since I've been showing up 3 times a week. I've been playing solo, which is unusual for a woman. But I finally feel comfortable holding my own no matter who I'm playing with. I've been going out solo mainly because I really want to focus on my game, which is easier to do when you don't have the social obligation of talking to the people you're golfing with.

When you play with strangers, you can talk as little or as much to them as you want. Since the starters know me now, I feel like they make sure I don't get paired with douche bags. And the rangers always wave or stop and say hi when they see me on the course. But still, because it's 90% guys out there on any given day, I've learned survival skills such as wearing shorts instead of skorts, and mentioning my husband within the first few minutes of meeting male players. (It's kind of sad that I have to even do these things, though. It's 2015 and the male-to-female ratio on a typical golf course is the same as the female-to-male ratio at any given Yankee Candle store.)

With one or two exceptions, the staff at the golf course is probably the friendliest bunch of folks I've ever known. Of course, who wouldn't be happy going to work where the grass is greenest. Plus, they get to play for free.

The other day, I happened to go out when there were a bunch of staffers going out. These were the top-of-the-food chain guys, the ones who worked the starter box in the mornings or did marshall duty on weekdays, not the peons who wash carts or worked the weekends. I ended up playing with one of the rangers and his friend, a former pro at a private club. Hubby and I had played with that ranger before. I'll call him Ralph, since his white curly hair and blue eyes reminds me of the designer Ralph Lauren, though he's actually a contractor by trade. He's a single-digit handicap, as are pretty much all the staffers. He paid me a compliment by saying that I played like a 9 handicap. "Are you kidding? I'm like a 20," I said. (Since that day, though, I've gotten down to an 18.5.)

Ralph's friend hit long but errant balls. He said he gave up golf for a number of years after working as a club pro and seeing the evil in it. I was curious about specifics, but there wasn't time to delve deep. Strangely, I think I had an inkling about what he was talking about. When rich people are involved, evil must lurk.

It's June now, and my 2 months of unlimited afternoons of public golf has come to an end. Tomorrow I try out for that ladies league. The forecast says there's a 70% chance of rain and it will be unseasonably cool. Not exactly the best conditions to start, but that's the rub of the green, as they say.