I Putt Like a Girl

Don’t say I never won a putting contest, ‘cause I just did. Last Thursday to be exact. I stopped in at the Golfsmith Women’s Night and some reps from Adams Golf were holding a putting contest featuring equipment from their recently acquired Yes! Golf brand. They had 6 holes set up in the putting practice area at the rear of the store, and the person who holed out in the fewest strokes would win. With my 9 strokes, I beat out a three-way tie of other ladies who took 10 strokes each. I could have made it in 8 strokes, had it not been for a display of men’s putters jutting out in front of one of the holes.

Either way, this is what I won:

If only all putting greens were made of carpet and had zero break, my performance would hold up on real golf courses too.

An Ordinary, Unremarkable but Miraculously Incredible Twilight Round

Maybe it was the fact that I had no intention of keeping score. Maybe it was the fact that I’d had a rough couple of days in my off-course life that were making me feel emotionally under siege. Or maybe it was the fact that, since I work from home and sometimes speak out loud to no one all day long, spending time with friends and strangers got me back in touch with humanity. Whatever it was, I had the most fun I’d had in awhile at Wednesday’s deep twilight round.

The beginner golfer’s group met up around 5pm at the local golf course and there were a lot of us. The walkers included myself, Dodi (a dark-haired Peruvian intellectual who is a twilight regular) and Debbie Harry (I think there’s just something so rock-and-roll about her). Our threesome went out first. There’s something so relaxing about knowing that you’re probably only going to make it through nine holes, and you’re with people you know and like. The chitchat is easy when you know people well enough to ask about their lives since the last time you saw them, but you don’t know them so well that there’s nothing left to say. That’s the kind of pleasant chitchat that doesn’t interfere with my golf game.   

Speaking of which, I didn’t bother scoring, but I did keep track of my drives, and even with a new technique I’ve been working on (involving spine tilt and sweeping up on the ball), I felt that I did okay. There was a sense of progress, and the laughter and camaraderie and talking shop from the beginner golfer’s perspective – all of this added up to a deeply soul-satisfying time. Then the sun began to set and there was that moment of walking quietly along the fairway, watching our shadows grow long on the fresh-cut grass, with the twinkle of light on the reservoir as a backdrop – that moment of walking into a sunset that makes you feel like your life is a movie. Well, it inspired me to create this sketch on my iPad, an image that could be the cover of a book, if this blog was ever made into one: 

Actually, this picture looks more like the cover of a children's book about golf. Hmm, now there's an idea...

A Prayer to the Golf Gods

Dear Golf Gods... it has been a week since my last confession of utter inadequacy on the course and I pray – is praying considered worshiping? I’m not supposed to “worship” other gods, so if praying is worshiping, then let me just… beseech you, or even really just ask that you help my golf game today. I know I don’t practice enough, but there have been times when I’ve hit the course cold and you’ve helped me out with a decent drive and some glory shots here and there. So please, today, just help me not make a fool of myself or lose too many balls in the water during today's twilight round... Amen (or if amen is blasphemous, then I’ll simply just say – thanks, I appreciate it)!

Aces in the Hole

On Friday the 13^th, I witnessed a hole in one for the second time. I was playing with Seri at Mt. Pleasant. We had a morning tee time and got paired with two guys named John and Robert (which are such common names I think it's safe to use them). Looked to be a normal round (i.e. I was driving like crap and three-putting while "Fairway" Seri was striping drives down the middle and chipping close as can be), and then the extraordinary happened, the thing that all golfers dream about. The Ace.

It was on hole 6, a downhill par 3 of about 111 yards. I had a 7-iron since that's what I use for 110 yards. Seri used an 8-iron since it was downhill and reads more like 100 yards. She calculated it perfectly, since her ball started right and then curved ever-so-gracefully back to the left. Then we all watched in amazement as the ball bounced once and then dribbled into the hole. It was like watching a trickle of water run right down a drain.

We all screamed and jumped and clapped. "Oh my god! You made a hole in one!" I yelled, hugging and high-fiving Seri. John said, “Wow! This is the first time I’ve actually seen someone make a hole in one!” John had an iPhone so he had camera duty:

Seri standing on the tee ground for Hole 6. Why is there no ball on the green? Because it's already in the hole!

Me standing with the flag. That dark mark at the bottom of the picture is Seri's ball mark.

Seri retrieving her ball from the hole.

Me and Seri, sharing in the joy!

The snack shop at the turn is aptly named for occasions such as this.

Truth is, I would have been really jealous if I hadn’t already made a hole in one myself last October. So the first ace I ever witnessed was actually my own.

When you make a hole in one, word seems to spread like wildfire on the course. The players behind us also happened to see Seri's ace, so they told the ranger who was driving around. He called the pro shop, and he must have told other players too, because every time we passed some golfers, they said, "Which of you made the hole in one?"

At the end of the round -- we had to finish at least 9 holes to make the ace valid, but we played the full 18 -- we went back to the pro shop. They gave Seri a form to fill out and I signed as a witness to the miracle. Then they took a digital picture of Seri and said they would display it on the computer screen behind the check-in desk. They also said they'd send her a paper certificate commemorating her achievement.

I told Seri to go online and register at the official United States Golf Register, which is where I registered my ace last fall. There are actually lots of official and unofficial registries and websites claiming to be official. Usually they sell stuff like hole-in-one trophies and hats and glass cases to store your lucky golf ball and score card. Golf ball companies also have hole-in-one registries and they will send you free stuff, like the bag tag I got from Pinnacle since I used a Pinnacle ball when I made my ace. 

Funny thing about making an ace. If you start mentioning it to people around the golf courses, you start meeting lots of people who have also made holes in one. A golf course staffer I met recently said he’s made 7 holes in one. “Just made the latest one last week,” he said. Since my hole in one last fall, I've met at least half a dozen people who have done the same. Of course, you also meet lots of people who say, “Wow, I’ve been playing for 30 years and have never made a hole in one." 

The odds are pretty steep, after all. According to Golf Digest, the odds of an average player making a hole-in-one are about 1 in 12,000. Seri's one-shot hole-out was actually the second ace she's ever made. For some people, Friday the 13th is an unlucky day. But some people are just born lucky, no matter what day it is.

Charm City Courses: Forest Park

A couple weeks ago, hubby and I played Forest Park with Seri and her husband. Located in Northwest Baltimore, Forest Park has a totally different feel than Mt. Pleasant. While Mt. Pleasant is so hilly that riding a cart is advisable, Forest Park has a flat, wide open feel and is easily walkable. The course straddles a road called Hillsdale, but since it was a weekend, there wasn't much traffic on it.

On the outside, the Rawlings-Fulton Clubhouse looks like a modest white building, but it has been totally refurbished on the inside, with event space and some of the cleanest, newest bathrooms I've ever seen at a municipal golf course.

There's lots of tree planting going on all over the place. Or maybe they're planting grape vines next to those wooden stakes. Can you imagine? Golfing at a vineyard in the city!

The clubhouse looks shiny and new from the back too.

Yes, fairways are wide and flat.

So wide and flat, they need tall, bordering trees to separate the fairways.

Another wide fairway.

Houses are close to the edges of some holes, so it looks like more trees are in order to protect them from errant balls.

Some distinctive boulders.

And of course some stairs to look at the action ahead on a downhill fairway.

Here's another set of stairs, but obviously much more recently constructed.

One par 5 has a unique method of helping you find where your ball lands: color coded trees.

Are these wooden steps to the beach? No, just a little bunker staircase. And yes, my ball landed in that sand trap.

When play is slow, what's nicer than a bench to wait on?

Looks like someone was whiling away some time with a Natty Boh!

I shot a 103 on that round. Greens were fast and hard to read due to the overcast skies. But I would definitely play here again. Because it's flat, and adjacent holes are somewhat open to each other, it's easy to find other people's balls flying into your fairway. So just be on the lookout for that. Or wear a helmet.

I Suck at Golf

I had one of those rounds the other day, the kind that makes me doubt my skills and wonder why I even play this game. I told my husband about it, explaining how this round made me very emotional and animated to the point where I was “speaking French” quite fluently. Hubby was surprised to hear that I curse on the golf course. I am not sure why he’s surprised, since I have cursed in front of him plenty of times. But I suppose I haven’t had reason to curse much lately, since my game has been improving.

But at last Wednesday’s round with Bea and Seri, I suddenly lost my driver mojo, and this was reason to curse up a storm. On the first hole, I drove my tee shot about 180 yards, but after that, I could not driver past 165. I was walking that day, and I had become so used to having some time to stroll casually to my ball, since it was usually the farthest one ahead, and Seri or Bea, or both, would need to hit their balls before mine. But last Wednesday, I was constantly rushing to go hit my ball, since I was always away.

I told Seri and Bea that I had lost a few pounds and it was throwing off my rhythm. It’s true, I had dropped about four pounds, as part of the seasonal shedding of winter weight that I go through each year. On one hole, Seri watched me pitch a ball about 100 yards with my driver. “That’s not your swing!” she exclaimed, looking at me as if I was possessed by a demon.

Meanwhile, Bea was pounding her driver 200-plus yards up the middle of every fairway. And Seri was striping hers 160 or more every time. Whenever it was my turn to hit driver, I found myself cussing like a sailor. Fortunately, these words had little resonance with Seri and Bea. Like idioms, the potency of curses is often lost in translation. I may as well have been saying “Duuuuck!” or “Gee, that’s nice!”

I know that Seri and Bea curse too, but only because they’ve told me. “Did you know,” Bea once asked me, “there is a Korean word worse than f----?” She actually said the F word like she was saying any other word. But she wouldn’t tell me the Korean curse word. She said if any Korean person heard me say it, they would be really, really shocked.

After she told me that, I went home and asked hubby to look it up on the Internet. So I do know what the word is. And on one of the last holes of the round, I was very tempted to use it. I drove my ball into an uphill fairway, only to watch it dribble back and to the right, into rough filled with loose mulch and pebbles. I knew it would be nearly impossible to hit a decent shot out of that lie. I was so frustrated I raised my arms and shook my driver in the air, growling at the golf gods. But I didn’t sat that Korean word. Instead, I shouted, “Worse than f------!”

Bea knew exactly what I meant.

Charm City Courses: Mt. Pleasant

I'm lucky enough to live within 30 minutes drive of 10 public golf courses. Half are owned by the county and half belong to the city. Each system has its own player discount cards. Since I live in the county, I have always gotten the county card every year, which is why I have mainly stuck to the 5 county courses.

This year, I finally bought a discount card for the city courses too, so now I can play both systems at reduced rates. One of the city courses is actually located in the county. That’s Pine Ridge, where I’ve played many times this year. This spring, I am making it a project to play the remaining city courses.

I'll start with Mt. Pleasant, which my brother-in-law says is "where all the really good people play."

Hubby and I had a 10:30am tee time on a Sunday morning. The pro shop is a tiny shack with faded wood paneling that looks like it hasn't changed since the 1950s. The first thing that hit me was the smell of bacon wafting through the air. Someone was having a proper breakfast before a round, or maybe an early bacon cheeseburger.

At the starter booth, we met up with Seri and her husband, who was wearing thick black spectacles, which were kinda hip for a nuclear physicist. We all rode golf carts since it's a hilly course. No wonder it's got the word "mount" in the name. And a road called Hillen runs through it. 

On hole one, a bushy-tailed fox scurried across the fairway with a fresh-caught squirrel dangling from its mouth, and with that auspicious omen, we were off. It was quite foggy that morning, and I didn't quite know the lay of the land, so my second shot landed in another fairway. But I recovered and bogeyed the first hole. (Remember, a bogey is a decent score for me.)

On almost all the holes, the greens were unreadable, partially due to the fog dulling the nap of the short grass, but also due to general scraggliness. This, along with the sloped fairways that had severe drops and blind roll-offs, made Mt. Pleasant a tough course for me.

But it definitely had some local charm, such as...

...a concrete pedestrian bridge over noisy traffic...

...roller-coaster fairways...

...rickety iron stairs to have a look-see over the ridge...

...wooden picture-frame fences (wonder if this was here when Arnold Palmer played this course in 1956?)...

...tight par 3's deep in the valleys...

...classic Baltimore rowhouses lining some of the fairways...

...and other historic housing (like this mansion owned by the neighboring Taylor's Chapel) giving a sense of place and a feeling of another time.

So how did I score on this round? Well, I broke 100 in the other direction, unfortunately, and I shot a 102. But not too bad for playing a course for the first time. I'll do better next time.

The Fox’s Wedding Day

Last Wednesday, I had a noon tee time with Seri and Bea. Rain was in the forecast, and I had woken up with a vicious migraine. But when it comes to golf, the show must go on, especially when other people are counting on you. Bea and I arrived first, and as we waited for Seri, Bea revealed that she, too, wasn’t feeling well. Her stomach hurt, so she didn’t want to “get too excited.” When Seri met us at the starter booth, we told her about our ills, as a pre-apology for playing in a subdued manner.

I have been plagued by migraines since I was a child, when debilitating headaches would leave me wiped out for entire afternoons. Since then, I have learned to live through the pain. Medications seem to make my migraines worse, so I just suffer through. The headaches usually last about 6 to 8 hours, after which the pain breaks, like a fever.

As we teed off, I knew my headache would last for the duration of the round. I triple-bogeyed several holes, though my drives were decent and I even managed to make par on a par 5. But dark, grey clouds were gathering in the sky, and I could feel the air growing cold. Just after we teed off on the 9^th hole, there was a loud peal of thunder in the sky, followed by a sudden, drenching rain.

Seri and Bea took cover in their cart. I was walking, so I ran for the trees. But I still got soaked to the skin. There was more thunder, which meant lightning, so we decided to take shelter at the clubhouse till the storm blew over.

“Let’s get some coffee,” I suggested. “Then maybe we can go out again.”

We went to the clubhouse grill, and once we sat down with our Styrofoam cups, there was an awkward moment when we suddenly realized that this was the first time we had all sat still at a table together. I looked at Seri. “You know, I have never seen you without a hat on.”

She peered up from under her wide brim. “Really? I’m sorry!” she said, removing her hat. She wore her hair in a long braid, and as she smoothed some loose locks away from her forehead, I could see she had a kind face without a wrinkle on it. It seemed to explain why she never expressed anger on the golf course, except sometimes when her ball didn’t fly straight, and she would scold it by saying, “Where are you going?” in mock frustration.

I smiled at her. “Now I could recognize you if I saw you on the street!”

We all laughed and began chatting about golf and other things. Even though we’d already spent many hours together golfing, we didn’t know much about each others’ off-course lives. Bea looked out the window at the outdoor terrace and view of the first tee ground. She told us that it reminded her of a house she used to own. It was on so much land she could practice hitting driver in her backyard. But then one of her businesses suffered a loss, which forced her to sell the house. After that, she went “a little crazy.”

Seri and I nodded in understanding. After 40, life is bound to make anyone a little crazy.

We looked outside to check on the weather.
“Did it stop?” Seri said.
“I still hear thunder,” I said. “We could get struck by lightning.”
“I think we can go out now,” said Bea.
“But no one else is going out,” I said.  

We stared out the window, waiting for the weather to change. Suddenly, the sky brightened and the sun shone through a break in the clouds. But the sprinkles of rain remained steady.

“You know this kind of rain?” said Seri. “We call it ‘fox wedding,’” She said there is a Korean fable where a fox and a tiger marry.

“Oh, I get it,” I said. “A fox and a tiger are so different, so when it rains and it’s sunny, it’s like the marriage of two incompatible animals.”

Bea continued to look longingly out the window. Now I understood her crazy, her pain. Sometimes life is like a sun shower. Alongside the sun, there is rain.

“I know you really want to play,” I said to Bea. “But golf is not worth dying for.”

She looked at me as if she didn’t agree. The clouds gathered again and the fox’s wedding ended. Now it was just pouring rain.

“I’d better go home,” I said. “Maybe we can play next week?"

We went to the pro shop to set up a tee time. Then Seri and Bea went to the range, as consolation for not finishing the round. I went home to nurse my headache. Even though we parted ways early that day, I felt somehow we’d grown closer. For one bittersweet afternoon, we were bridesmaids at a fox’s wedding, and that’s a bond that will never break.