First Ever Round of Golf
There comes a time in every girl’s life when she’s gotta come clean. It may come as a surprise to some, but I am incredibly reluctant to say the quiet part out loud. And that is to say, I’ve just played my first ever round of golf. I’m reluctant mostly because whenever the topic comes up and my ability into question for the last two years or so without missing a beat I’ve said, “I’m better than Tiger… you should see my car.” The car in question: affectionately duck taped after a freak accident, and on a separate occasion totaled in what some may say was the universe or an omnipresence trying to get a point across and end an argument. (Luckily, the only thing harmed was my ego.) There are lovely stories to be told, but myself and my iCloud storage might rather forget. I digress.
The course was a beautiful and recently renovated 9-hole par-3 at Golden Gate Park. My mates for the afternoon were a woman I met at a local women’s clinic, her husband, and a charming young lad in search of a group. The woman as it turns out lived in the same building as I currently do when she moved to San Francisco. Totally kismet. I’ve chosen to take it as a sign there will be an eventual avenue of opportunity to escape the financial district. We played fourball, and for what it’s worth after teeing off on the first hole and it landing on the green, I may have if even subtly redeemed myself for the last two years.
Things I love about golf so far:
Going toe to toe with my perfectionism.
All the red flags. Feels like a fitting place to spend my time. A bit like home, if you will.
It’s a relatively independent sport- similar to skateboarding and good clean contact with the ball is as satisfying as bombing a hill at 60mph and making a smooth turn down a mellow side street.
The odds of a collision, yard sale, and concussion seems pretty low. Wonderful news, because I do occasionally experience a bit of lag time. Result purely from being an adrenaline junkie.
Clean contact and distance is also as satisfying as a grand jeté.
It’s more civil than rugby which I do love playing. Having an entire field to let my aggression and puppy energy out is great and all, but it’s nice to have a quiet place.
There’s endless opportunities to touch grass.
Finally, I have to accept that it will take practice to break 80 and I shouldn’t expect to be the best player on a random Tuesday at noon just because I decided to step out and play. It’s humbling.
Despite my triumphs, and lack of time at the driving range there does also come a time in every girl’s life when you gotta ask, “Are you there God? It’s Me, Margaret.”