An All-You-Can-Golf Buffet

So my favorite public course has a special deal going this season. It’s $199 a month for unlimited play on weekday afternoons, with cart, plus discounts if you buy more than a month’s worth at a time. It was an offer I couldn’t resist, so I bought two month’s worth. I’ve played yesterday and today, and if it weren’t for cold and rain in the forecast the rest of this week, I would be playing more. I already have tee times lined up for four out of five days next week. Fortunately, work is slow this year, so I've got plenty of time for golf.

I started scoring, and it's been nothing spectacular (97, 102, 99). But I haven't been trying too hard yet. I'm really enjoying just swinging the club as fast as I can without hurting myself. I think my monster drives are coming back. The other day I pounded a tee shot down the middle of the fairway about 206 yards. My 3-wood has been scooting 170-plus yards in a reliable way. I've been making par 4's in two and par 5's in 3 like you're supposed to. This morning, at the range, I was able to hit my driver so it rolled out to 200 yards. This is the first time I've ever done that in my whole life. 

Of course, my putting is a mess and my sand game needs work, but I'm just getting started. Time to break open a new box of pink balls and let the good times roll!

Monster Drives and Pitiful Putting

174, 183, 177, 186, 189. No, these are not Pick-3 lottery numbers. These are some of my typical driving distances lately. In the past few weeks since returning from my Florida trip, I’ve gotten into a bonafide, crackalackin’ swing groove. Some of my longest drives include a 185-yard climber uphill and a 256-yard roller downhill. I even hit 190 on a hole where I never used to hit past 150. My husband calls me Big Bopper now.

And it’s all because of my epiphany at TPC Sawgrass, courtesy of dear hubby who reminded me about a Greg Norman driving tip while we were practicing on the range. The Greg Norman tip involved taking the club back by imagining you’re going to shake hands with someone on your right. You’re still looking down at the ball as you do this, so it’s just a “feel” thing. Hubby and I first saw this tip in late January on a Golf Channel Academy special featuring “the Shark,” and I think Norman actually suggested imagining shaking hands with the right hand, but for some reason I thought he meant reaching out and shaking hands with the left hand, and this actually works for me. It helps me keep my left arm straight and long, and my hands relaxed. I'd already had a distance breakthrough before the Shark, but his tip is what has helped me repeat it again and again.

Even Seri has noticed. I told her I figured some stuff out on my trip to Ponte Vedra. We’ve been playing every week now, and whenever my ball lands past hers, which is more often than not these days, she says, “Wow! I really have to go to Florida!”

Now that I have a new swinger’s list for this drive, I better write it down before I forget:

Arms can reach a bit

Forward press is okay

Take club back slow

“Shake hands”
Keep eyes on ball till swing is done

Bump hips to the left to start the downswing
Keep arms long

Let forearms roll over on the release

At the tee, all of this is prefaced by a couple of violent practice swings, as if I’m doing the teddy bear drill and making loud “swoosh!” sounds as the clubhead cuts through the air. Though my actual swing is nothing like these unbridled practice swings, it helps to release nervous energy, and probably shoos away evil golf spirits too.   

However, despite all this distance, my typical score has stayed around the same, in the 101 to 107 range. Why? Well, I’ve been so focused on driving that I have been neglecting my short game. I hardly ever practice putting, and it shows. Once I get on the green, I typically take 3 putts to hole out. In the past few weeks, I’ve taken 4 and even 5 putts on occasion. So it looks like my next task is to learn some putting technique.

As they say, “Drive for show. Putt for dough.” Truer words ain’t never been spoke.
 

Day 3 at TPC Sawgrass: Monster in the Valley

The day after we played the Stadium Course, we had a 1:35pm tee time to play Dye's Valley, the "other" course at TPC Sawgrass. Although the Nationwide Tour is played here, Dye's Valley is more of a resort course and the greens fees are a lot cheaper than at the Stadium. Because it was twilight, we didn't get a forecaddie, so we bought a yardage book for $5 at the pro shop. Driving over in our golf cart to check in with the starter at the first hole, it felt like we were a world away from the excitement of the previous day. Even though it was 10 degrees warmer here than back home, the low 60s temps felt chilly because I was only wearing capri pants and a light jacket. If I'd have brought long pants and a turtleneck, I would have been just fine.

Luckily, hubby and I got to play as a twosome, and it turned out to be a calm, relaxed round, despite the constant drizzle.

 

At Dye's Valley, there is water everywhere.

And some distinctive bunkerage that reminds me of a volcano.

The course is adorned with trees draped in Spanish moss, dewy from the rain.

The best part was that hubby got to see my Loch Ness monster drive. Maybe it was the long fairways that beckoned. Maybe it was the lack of sun to distract me. Or, maybe I had finally gotten my muscles to memorize some decent technique. Whatever the reason, I was easily driving 170 to 180 yards on each hole. Although I scored a 103 here and caught a cold in the rain, I considered the round a success.

On each drive, I had that simple swing thought about shaking hands. On the backswing, I imagined I was reaching out with my left hand to shake the hand of an imaginary person standing to the right. Hubby and I had seen Greg Norman give a tip about shaking hands on the Golf Channel, although we still weren't sure if he had meant the right hand or the left hand. I thought it was the left hand, and that's what worked for me.

But, swing thoughts can be fleeting, and I wondered whether my longer drives would hold up back home. But we still had another day left in Ponte Vedra, and another few days before I would find out.

Day 1 at TPC Sawgrass: Shaking Hands

The day after Valentine's Day, hubby and I flew down to Ponte Vedra, Florida, to spend a few days at TPC Sawgrass. In case you don't know, TPC Sawgrass is home to two championship courses, the Players Stadium and Dye's Valley Course. The 17th hole par 3 at the Players Stadium course is one of the most famous golf holes in the world. Each May, during The Players Championship, you'll see the world's top golfers take aim at this heart-shaped island green and either miss completely or land the shot only to have the ball dribble off into the water. If they make it on, then it's a nerve-wracking putt or two or even three. The green has some diabolically tricky breaks that make it a challenge for the pros. But that doesn't stop regular golfers coming to try their luck here. Last year, about 120,000 golf balls were fished out of the water here. That's a lot of lost balls.

We arrived in the early afternoon and checked into the Sawgrass Marriott. Contrary to popular belief, you don't have to stay at the Marriott to play TPC Sawgrass, but if you do, you'll be closer to the course than anywhere else. Our room had this view of the 13th hole of the Stadium course across the water: 

To be honest, this Marriott could use a renovation. It's a busy resort, but we had stains on the curtains and the armchair looked so worn and dirty I had to put a towel over it before I sat on it. The bedsheets were clean, but I wouldn't go barefoot on the carpet. Enough complaining about the hotel, though. It is what it is.

To get into the Sawgrass frame of mind (by the way, sawgrass is a kind of grass and it is sharp like a saw), we headed over to the Clubhouse, which is about a minute away by car from the hotel. Even in low season, this place is bustling. As you can see, however, the weather was not the greatest. It was cloudy and drizzly. Temps were only in the mid-60s.

 

The Clubhouse is open to the public, and there are two restaurants for public dining, one casual and one more formal. We opted for the casual restaurant, Nineteen, and got seated outside on the covered verandah. There were several other couples and foursomes around, mostly older white people who looked rich and retired. Our waiter was super-friendly, though, and made us feel comfortable and welcome, as if weren't just another couple of golf tourists from up north.

I ordered the appetizer of kobe beef sliders, which was a big enough portion for me to consider it lunch.

My husband ordered a barbecue chicken sandwich that had avocado slices on it and came with fries.

Our waiter told us he gets to play TPC Sawgrass for free. I asked if he was some kind of golf pro, and he said no, he "only" shoots in the 80s.

After lunch, we went back to our hotel room for a nap. Then we returned to the Clubhouse to hit balls at the practice range. We brought our golf bags to the cart drop and staff members loaded them onto a cart. The practice balls come in green drawstring sacks that you get at the pro shop. We got three sacks apiece. We drove over to the practice area and then another guy in a golf cart suddenly drove along after us.

"Sir, sir," the guy said to my husband. "You can't wear jeans at the practice facility."

I looked at my husband. He was indeed wearing jeans. The only other pants he'd brought were golf shorts and it was too chilly to wear them. Rather than run back to the hotel to change, he decided to go buy a pair of golf pants at the pro shop. About 15 minutes later, he returned wearing golf shorts because they didn't have any long pants in his size.

"How much were they?" I asked.
"Forty-eight bucks," he said.
I shook my head.

Once we started hitting balls, it was so foggy I could barely see where the balls landed. The shortest flag was 88 yards away. The next one after that was 123 yards, then no flags till the 200-plus yardage. This is definitely a practice area for the pros.

The ground was hard and the grass was worn down to show soil. It was like hitting out of other people's divots.

There is an area reserved for tour academy students and pros, but the public is not allowed there. I bet their grass is greener.

After my husband finished his sacks of balls, he watched me hitting the rest of mine. I had been focusing on practicing with my 8-iron, in preparation for the 17th hole at the Stadium Course, which is 92 yards from the forward tees. Then I switched to woods and driver. My driver was piddling around 150 yards, as far as I could tell.

"You don't really do that 'shaking hands' thing," my husband said quietly.
"Huh?" I said. "Oh yeah."

"Shake hands" was a tip we had seen on the Golf Channel recently. Greg Norman was explaining that when he drives, he reaches his arm out like he's going to shake someone's hand. It encourages good extension. I hadn't tried it yet. But somehow, in the shadows and fog, and with my husband's voice calm and devoid of any hint of offering advice, I was open to trying it out.

So I tried it. On the takeaway, I extended my left arm like I was going to shake someone's hand. My follow-through felt slower, but more effortless in some way. It felt the same as those long breakthrough drives I'd had on the back nine that day I'd played with Seri a couple weeks ago. The result was the same: a monster drive.

My husband smiled. And so did I. I had finally found a way to repeat my long (but really pretty average) drive. Would this help me out on the Stadium Course? Stay tuned to find out...

Fried Eggs, Bunkers, and Body Shots

Last Tuesday, Seri and I met up for our second game together. We had a tee time at one of the more expensive municipal courses, which was offering a reduced winter rate. The yardage from the forward tees is 4762, about a thousand yards shorter than the course where Seri and I first played. But, as I would soon learn, a shorter course does not mean an easier one.

It was the first full round I had played in a week. My weekend round with hubby was cut short due to rain. I had been looking forward to showing off my new monster drive, but it never reared its head, leading me to nickname it the Loch Ness Monster Drive, since it was acting like a mythical creature hiding in a lake.

Even though the course where Seri and I were playing was short, riding a cart is advised, due to lots of hills and some long distances between holes. “It is walkable,” said the pro shop cashier. “But I only know three people who have walked it.”

So Seri and I shared a cart, and it was my turn to party because, as it turns out, Seri is really fun. This time she wore a navy blue puffy vest over a bright blue windbreaker, embroidered with the name of some designer I would surely recognize if I were into designer labels. I wore a pink fleece pullover with an orange vest, so we were a pretty colorful pair. I also wore golf shoes, an old pair of Foot Joys that I don’t wear often because they lack decent arch support.

But having rubber spikes do make a difference, and I parred the first two holes. This seemed to impress the young man who was playing with us. I’ll call him Lefty, for the usual reasons one would call someone that name. He said he played on the state’s professional lacrosse team. “Lacrosse is too easy, so you decided to take up golf, huh?” I said, and he laughed.

Truth is, we all had trouble with this course. Short as it was, it was full of blind fairways, rolling hills, intricate bunkerage, and putting greens wavier than a potato chip. Seri and I kept it fun with our exuberant exclamations after every shot and dramatic outpourings of “Ohh nooo!” each time our ball landed in a bad lie.

Whoever designed this course must have had some military training, for all the psy-ops at play. The hills and slopes played tricks on the mind till you didn’t know which way was up. It reminded me of a tourist attraction in California called the Mystery Spot, where you step into what looks like a normal house, only to find that the floors are not horizontal and the walls are not vertical, so gravity seems to be pulling at you in odd ways.

To psych us out even more, this course also had some diabolical tee placements that had us teeing off directly over hazards. And those tree shadows didn't help.

After nine holes of torture, Seri brought out some coffee and tiramisu cake for all of us to snack on. I think the real reason she always rides in a cart is because she brings lunch.

Seri speaks English with a Korean accent, and I can usually understand her, since I was raised by immigrants and I have a lifetime of experience interpreting Asian accents.

But when we were on a putting green and she asked Lefty about a “body shot,” I was stumped.

“Body shot?” I said. “You mean if he makes this putt, we should all do body shots?”

“No, no!” she said. “Body shot, body shot. I am asking, this is his body shot?”

“Oh, you mean birdie shot!” I said.

Seri also likes to abbreviate the word “bunker.”

“I hate landing in the bunk,” she would say with disdain.

But she’s right. Bunkers are bunk.

Whenever I land in a bunker, I try to make light of the situation by saying something like, “Looks like I’m going to the beach,” or “Guess I could use a little sand practice.”

But on one hole, I landed in a “fried egg,” which is when the ball embeds itself in a bunker so the surrounding sand makes it look like a fried egg. I was playing with a yellow ball, so this situation really looked like a fried egg.

But it wasn’t just a fried egg. It was a fried egg on an uphill slope. Notice the shadowy tufts of grass showing how close my ball was to the bunker’s edge.

I have read a lot about how to get out of bunkers, including tips specifically for women but I can’t possibly remember it all. I just try to keep it simple with these rules:

My Quick and Dirty Bunker Guide

1. Never ground the club (it’s against the rules).

2. Plant your feet and dig in a little by squiggling your ankles.

3. Sit down into your stance like you’re about to sit in a chair.

4. In a fairway bunker, take your normal club for the distance and try to pick it clean without hitting sand.

5. In a greenside bunker, lean into your front leg, choke down on your sand wedge, aim for the sand behind the ball, and hit as hard as you can.

Some people say you should open your clubface, but I don’t really know how to do that without being afraid I’ll miss the ball. Turns out that it was fine not to open the clubface, because on a fried egg lie, you’re actually supposed to close the clubface.

And on an uphill fried egg, the rule about leaning into your front leg doesn’t apply either. You’re supposed to lean back so the ball has a better chance of shooting straight up.

But I didn’t know any of that at the time, so I just dug my heels in, leaned forward, and whacked as hard as I could. The ball shot up the slope and backward, landing a few feet behind me, still in the bunker. But it was in a flat lie, so I got it out from there with no problem.

Yeah, bunkers are bunk. Maybe we should all do body shots after getting out of them.