Golf

In 2009 I bought my first golf membership.  I joined Williston County Club with three of my friends.  We played 9 holes most days after work, and 18 on Saturday and/or Sunday.  I went out by myself when no one was available.  For the first time I was playing enough golf to see myself improve.

The next year we upped the ante.  We became junior members at Burlington Country Club.  We didn't get the perks of the real members, like a locker, bag storage, club cleaning, or preferred tee times, but we also paid a small fraction of the cost.

Sitting at the bar in the newly remodeled pub, fresh off a day in the office and 9 holes at a private country club, I felt like I had arrived.  And my game continued to improve as I learned how to hit my driver to its full potential, draw the ball with my long irons, and consistently emerge from the sand trap unharmed.

And I learned how to play real golf, without the gimmes of a friendly game.  I learned how to putt with confidence and play without mulligans.  I played in tournaments and lowered my handicap to single digits. 

I became the kind of golfer who could play with anyone and make a respectable showing of it.

That winter something happened.  I didn't feel the same.  But when it came time to pony up for another year of golf, I did.

A friend and I took our golf games to the Country Club of Vermont ("CCV") in Waterbury.  CCV is an incredible picturesque, private course laid out in the links style.  With views of Camel's Hump, Mount Mansfield, and the nearby Worcester Range, it feels more like heaven than earth.

Before the course opened, I played a round at Lang Farm in March.  The weather was in the 40s and raining.  I couldn't grip my clubs and was freezing cold the entire time.  I attributed my experience to the weather.

When finally the driving range opened at CCV after a cold, wet early spring, I found it wasn't just the cold.  I wasn't making solid contact.  I couldn't hit the ball nearly as far.  And all I could focus on was my tight grip on the club.

I went to a doctor in April, but it would be a long time before all of their poking and prodding would provide any information.  For the time being I just knew that my golf game, and anything else that required strength and coordination, had gone to shit.

I tried everything I could think of to get stronger, keeping my mysterious ailment to myself.  I actually improved my short game, but everything else was so terrible it was embarrassing.  I don't know what people thought because I didn't ask, but those who had golfed with me the year before had to know something was up. 

I began to choke up on my driver for more control.  I couldn't hit my long irons for shit.  I'd go to the driving range alone, and shrink with embarrassment when I couldn't reach the 90-yard green with a pitching wedge. 

I was embarrassed at my futility, and soon I quit playing.

Now when I drive by a golf course I feel a range of emotions.  I feel a sense of longing.  I feel sad.  But mostly I feel nothing at all.  My memories of summer evenings on a peaceful golf course seem so foreign; so distant they’re dead and buried.