Yesterday afternoon it was 86 degrees and sunny and for some reason I decided my options were the following:

* Mow the backyard OR

* Go to the driving range at the local golf course.

I chose the driving range.

As I’ve emphasized before in my previous golf posts, for me golf has mostly been something to do with your hands while you talk.

But for some reason I got it into my head late last summer that going to the driving range on a weekly basis could be a fun thing to do. I only went once last summer and yesterday was the first time I’ve been this year.

My two youngest daughters insisted on accompanying me yesterday even though I assured them that watching me hit 30-35 shots would be as boring as could be.

I had hoped that by going on a hot weekday afternoon we’d have the driving range to ourselves but, alas, another person was there, which meant I had to shush the girls regularly.

I put them in charge of handing balls and tees to me, which they did happily, and I proceeded to unhappily hit lots and lots of slices. The vast majority of my shots were 125-175 yards (I only brought a 3 wood with me), so I was pleased about that. But it’s impossible to focus on the good things when you are also making errors (kinda like real life).

I kept making adjustments to my grip and stance and back swing and it seemed the less I paid attention to correcting the slice, the better my shots were.

The downside is that, during those shots where I hit it well because I wasn’t paying attention, I was unable to recreate it for the next shot because I couldn’t remember what I did.

See why I prefer that golf simply be something to do with your hands while you talk? When golf becomes all about golf then it heads too quickly into OCD territory. Before you know it you find yourself coming home from the driving range and doing google searches about how to fix slices when you could be, oh, having a life or something. This is one reason I haven’t ever pushed golf to my kids and encouraged tennis instead.

When I was down to my last 3 shots yesterday I was exhausted and could barely hit them. I secretly hoped I had made golfing as unappealing as possible to my daughters and that they would beg never to come back to the driving range.

But as we left  they both asked about taking lessons.

It’s probably just because they are still young enough to think that the things mom does are worth emulating.

Or maybe they were just taken with my talk of pink Flying Lady golf balls (my preferred golf ball).

But who knows. Maybe it means in a few years I’ll have two golf companions and golf will again assume its rightful place as something to do with your hands while you talk.


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