Learning to Golf at Age 42 Changed my Life

 

My friend was reading my manuscript for Dakota Blues, and she was too nice to say it directly, but she didn’t like the chapter where my heroine, although rusty at it, manages to excel in a round of golf. (In North Dakota. Did you know they have golf courses there? I played the Bully Pulpit, right in the middle of the Badlands, and it’s awesome.)

My friend, who is blessed with a big, egalitarian heart, feels that the game represents arrogance and privilege. Not true, as evidenced by (a) my golf-playing, blue-collar family, and (b) my local course, which charges less than $20 for a round. But that’s not the topic of this post.

I want you to know that golf changed my life, and I recommend it to women of every age. Yes, I know the economy is horrible and Hugo Chavez thinks golf is bourgeois and Bill Maher says it’s an environmental disaster. And yet, golf helped me more than any number of self-help books, a squad of therapists, and my closet full of crying towels.

As a formerly shy child and anxious adult, golf has developed my confidence. It gave me the ability to see myself in a more powerful way. It provided a foundation to the development of personal and professional relationships.

Golf is very Zen. It taught me that sometimes the harder you try, the worse you do.

From golf I learned to stick up for myself in the face of sexism and rudeness. I once stood on a tee box in Monterey, California, ready to hit the ball, but I couldn’t block the noise coming from the dozen or so male golfers waiting their turn behind me. (It was a crowded day, it was the first hole, and the course was backed up. So, no, it wasn’t me holding everybody up, but thanks for asking.) I knew if I tried to ignore them, I’d shank it, thus confirming their low opinion of women on a golf course. But did I have the courage to demand that they observe one of the most basic rules of golf etiquette and maintain silence as I addressed the ball? Did I have the self-respect to demand their respect?

I stepped away from the ball, turned around and faced them, waiting until they noticed. One did, and he shushed the rest. When they were all quiet, I stepped up to the ball, took a calming breath, and crushed it.

The men clapped. My smile could not have been any broader.

Not only did I enjoy their acclaim, but I felt so proud for standing up for myself.

In the years since, golf has taught me self-reliance and composure, given me a common language with total strangers (like the Japanese man who celebrated my parring an island green in Hawaii, even though we didn’t speak a word of each other’s language), and opened up a world of friendships with other women.

As I began to play, the rest of my family picked it up, and now golf is something we do together. Even my 85-year-old mom joined us recently. Her job was to drive a cart at a 9-hole municipal course near Visalia on the day after Thanksgiving. She could barely see over the steering wheel but she loved it! And we made sure she stayed away from the ponds.

Although my friend assumed that golf doesn’t burn any calories, playing 18 holes with use of a cart requires a golfer to walk the equivalent of a mile. And unlike so many other activities, golf isn’t ageist. If you can stand up, you can play. (Actually, there are special carts for people who don’t have the use of their legs.) My sister has had both knees replaced, and she gets a blue handicapped flag for the cart, enabling her to drive closer to her ball.

It takes too much time? Yes, but you can golf just 9 holes (2 hours), or play an executive (shorter) course (3 hours).

I’m probably going on too long because I miss golf. I haven’t been able to play for a couple months, and (due to recent surgery) it will be a few more months before I can physically try it again. I can’t wait to see if I’m still a 19 handicap!