Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Golf
Last weekend, all alone, on an empty 9 hole municipal golf course, in a small village in south central Pennsylvania, in a constant windy drizzle, wearing a bright yellow, five dollar rain suit I just bought at the Lowe’s, I started keeping accurate, no mulligan do over, stoke counts for my golfing attempts. I used the tie, Noah, ma, rye, law... method to track my over par swings. I got tire (24) on the first 9 and dove (18) on the next 9. I added tire and dove and came up with 42. I was kind of dejected. Then, using my on board calculus device, I added that number to the par 72 and 114 flashed before my eyes. It had seemed like 42 over should have been much more than 114. Not toooooo bad I guess. But still 42 seemed waaaay to much for me.
Well, that's where I was. Live with it. Accept it. Dry off and go on. So I did.
The following Monday, I got out there again after work. A nice, warm, sunny day so others were on the course this time. I was doing kind of ok on 1 and 2. I topped off the third tee par 5 about 20 feet, grabbed the 5 iron and hit nice where I should have hit it in the first place.
I noticed the lone walker behind me had caught up. He was on tee box so I wave him to come on thru. I moved over to the side, I was over a hill and he couldn't see me. I almost got hit on the fly. But at least he yelled, "Fore!"..."Sorry!" Anyway. After he found out what a duffer I was (on my next swing), he gave me some golf swinging tips. I was about how the baseball swing arc and arm movement and hand movements were essentially the same as those that work for golf only with the back bent forward. And how the thumb comes back toward the shoulder in the batting backswing. The golfing swing needs to come back at the same angle toward the side of the shoulder and not above it which changes the good arc into a bad, digging up the earth or topping the H*ll out of the ball, kind of arc. (which I was so intimate and familiar with) (and had special names for)
Well, like a lot of times when someone shows you something on the golf course, it really works and you're excited that now, this time you've got it! "Look Out, Tiger!" I made excellent contact with the ball using the 5 iron. The ball flew off the sod with that, not so familiar to me, "Click!" that says, "Yep! You got that one!" Like it was shot out of a cannon! 'SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSHUNK!' When I woke up, I found myself in "The Pose". Always a satisfying experience and what makes you come back for more in the face of stacked odds against you. It's a sorcerer's trick, I tell you!
We did the final 5 holes and I kept making good contact with the ball. We introduced ourselves after a while. His name is Tom. He remembered my name. I had to ask him twice, like a dumb*ss. H*ll! I have Toms all around me! How hard is that? I was amazed about how I didn't even know how I was doing it. Practice the bat swing a couple of times, keep the same angle, low backswing, thumb toward the shoulder, (I could even turn my head and look at my arms and elbow and hand, and turn back to the ball, then swing. I think I just this moment know why I don't know how I did it. I bet you that it's the difference between using mental memory, which I probably always do, and muscle memory. Could be. It's a theory anyway.
Tom left after nine, but I decided to go on and do another 9. I had just chipped over a sand trap on #7 from 20 feet, one bounce, hit the pin and plopped in the cup. Sweet! On #8 par 5, I let Tom go first. I banged one off the tee up even with his drive. Two great shots in a row. Can I keep it up? It feels like putting your last chip in and hoping for a flush. Tom knocked the crap out of his with a wood, up over the hill and out of sight. I couldn't remember the last time even my third shot on this hole went over the hill out of sight. Well, here I go. Bat swing, bend, low takeaway, backswing toward shoulder. Swing! Snap! Tom must have been so proud. Like a jet on slippery air my ball cut through the now frightened molecules of gaseous matter. Up! Over the hill! And out of sight. Never! Not once. In all the times I've played that shot off the side of that hill, had I succeeded like that smack. I climbed up over the hill and found my ball in the middle of the right sloping fairway. Now, from what usually is my fourth shot to the green on this hole, I was going to try to get on in 3. Most of the time, if I don't top it or dig a bear trap in the grass, I knock it up toward the green and land up close to little bunker. Over the bunker, over the sand, over 15 feet of grass, onto the green. But I can't see the sand, I can't see the grass and I can't see the green, in fact, I can't even see the flag, but I know by faith it's there. I hope. It's not very far, an easy pitching wedge. I usually screw it up though.
But now I back looking at my third shot. I know where I want it to go, every time I know where I want it to go, it just never goes there. Like I said, usually comes up short no matter which club I use. This time I do the bat, thumb to shoulder type swing and that ball goes up through the air, into the groove. I couldn't see it hit because the green in above my eye level, but I didn't care, it went through the groove, just perfect, just like I knew what I was doing. Man, O, Man! I needed a mirror to see if it was really me standing there on the fairway watching that shot. The ball was pin high, 1 foot off on the skirt with about a 30 foot, down sloping run to the pin. I was thinking about chipping on. Tom said something about putting from there. I'm not sure what he said. For some reason, I was a little distracted in this dream. I pulled out my putter. I got close enough for par, came up short and took a bogey. But I didn't care. That third shot went through the groove. All else would pale while that memory still hung, suspended, freshly encoded on my Prefrontal Cortex. It put my stroke count up to tomb (13) so far with last hole remaining. It was a far cry from the 24 at this point on the Friday before.
The drive on 9 was nice and straight and pretty far. If you can't drive the green then it just where you want to be. I don't remember which club I used. I didn't put enough on it though and it fell 10 feet short of the green. I chipped on like a pro and tapped in a one footer for par. Was thinking about what that would change my word for my stroke count when I added it to 13. After a couple of mental back flips and a tumble I got it straightened out. "It doesn’t change dummy. You got a par." Wow. And then he said it backwards, "woW". So I stayed at tomb coming off the 9th green. I was kind of elated a bit.
Tom was done but I decided to go around again. I had to get this bat swing deal done a few more times before I forgot how to it. Tomorrow would be too late. I might have wasted too much time already just walking straight to the 1st tee instead of running. On my own, I screwed up all the way to the 1st green. Top, dig, dig, top. But I didn't give up. How could I have lost it so quickly? "That's golf!" they say. I fixed it on the next hole, over drove the 3d par 3 and so on. I was quite happy about playing. I got a dog (17) for a total of 30 over, a 102 this day, cutting off 12 from Friday’s 114.
Maybe this will be like when I started to loose weight last year with a nine month chart of down trending numbers. I'm not holding my breath, but I'm definitely getting out there to do it again as soon as possible.
Well, that's where I was. Live with it. Accept it. Dry off and go on. So I did.
The following Monday, I got out there again after work. A nice, warm, sunny day so others were on the course this time. I was doing kind of ok on 1 and 2. I topped off the third tee par 5 about 20 feet, grabbed the 5 iron and hit nice where I should have hit it in the first place.
I noticed the lone walker behind me had caught up. He was on tee box so I wave him to come on thru. I moved over to the side, I was over a hill and he couldn't see me. I almost got hit on the fly. But at least he yelled, "Fore!"..."Sorry!" Anyway. After he found out what a duffer I was (on my next swing), he gave me some golf swinging tips. I was about how the baseball swing arc and arm movement and hand movements were essentially the same as those that work for golf only with the back bent forward. And how the thumb comes back toward the shoulder in the batting backswing. The golfing swing needs to come back at the same angle toward the side of the shoulder and not above it which changes the good arc into a bad, digging up the earth or topping the H*ll out of the ball, kind of arc. (which I was so intimate and familiar with) (and had special names for)
Well, like a lot of times when someone shows you something on the golf course, it really works and you're excited that now, this time you've got it! "Look Out, Tiger!" I made excellent contact with the ball using the 5 iron. The ball flew off the sod with that, not so familiar to me, "Click!" that says, "Yep! You got that one!" Like it was shot out of a cannon! 'SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHSHUNK!' When I woke up, I found myself in "The Pose". Always a satisfying experience and what makes you come back for more in the face of stacked odds against you. It's a sorcerer's trick, I tell you!
We did the final 5 holes and I kept making good contact with the ball. We introduced ourselves after a while. His name is Tom. He remembered my name. I had to ask him twice, like a dumb*ss. H*ll! I have Toms all around me! How hard is that? I was amazed about how I didn't even know how I was doing it. Practice the bat swing a couple of times, keep the same angle, low backswing, thumb toward the shoulder, (I could even turn my head and look at my arms and elbow and hand, and turn back to the ball, then swing. I think I just this moment know why I don't know how I did it. I bet you that it's the difference between using mental memory, which I probably always do, and muscle memory. Could be. It's a theory anyway.
Tom left after nine, but I decided to go on and do another 9. I had just chipped over a sand trap on #7 from 20 feet, one bounce, hit the pin and plopped in the cup. Sweet! On #8 par 5, I let Tom go first. I banged one off the tee up even with his drive. Two great shots in a row. Can I keep it up? It feels like putting your last chip in and hoping for a flush. Tom knocked the crap out of his with a wood, up over the hill and out of sight. I couldn't remember the last time even my third shot on this hole went over the hill out of sight. Well, here I go. Bat swing, bend, low takeaway, backswing toward shoulder. Swing! Snap! Tom must have been so proud. Like a jet on slippery air my ball cut through the now frightened molecules of gaseous matter. Up! Over the hill! And out of sight. Never! Not once. In all the times I've played that shot off the side of that hill, had I succeeded like that smack. I climbed up over the hill and found my ball in the middle of the right sloping fairway. Now, from what usually is my fourth shot to the green on this hole, I was going to try to get on in 3. Most of the time, if I don't top it or dig a bear trap in the grass, I knock it up toward the green and land up close to little bunker. Over the bunker, over the sand, over 15 feet of grass, onto the green. But I can't see the sand, I can't see the grass and I can't see the green, in fact, I can't even see the flag, but I know by faith it's there. I hope. It's not very far, an easy pitching wedge. I usually screw it up though.
But now I back looking at my third shot. I know where I want it to go, every time I know where I want it to go, it just never goes there. Like I said, usually comes up short no matter which club I use. This time I do the bat, thumb to shoulder type swing and that ball goes up through the air, into the groove. I couldn't see it hit because the green in above my eye level, but I didn't care, it went through the groove, just perfect, just like I knew what I was doing. Man, O, Man! I needed a mirror to see if it was really me standing there on the fairway watching that shot. The ball was pin high, 1 foot off on the skirt with about a 30 foot, down sloping run to the pin. I was thinking about chipping on. Tom said something about putting from there. I'm not sure what he said. For some reason, I was a little distracted in this dream. I pulled out my putter. I got close enough for par, came up short and took a bogey. But I didn't care. That third shot went through the groove. All else would pale while that memory still hung, suspended, freshly encoded on my Prefrontal Cortex. It put my stroke count up to tomb (13) so far with last hole remaining. It was a far cry from the 24 at this point on the Friday before.
The drive on 9 was nice and straight and pretty far. If you can't drive the green then it just where you want to be. I don't remember which club I used. I didn't put enough on it though and it fell 10 feet short of the green. I chipped on like a pro and tapped in a one footer for par. Was thinking about what that would change my word for my stroke count when I added it to 13. After a couple of mental back flips and a tumble I got it straightened out. "It doesn’t change dummy. You got a par." Wow. And then he said it backwards, "woW". So I stayed at tomb coming off the 9th green. I was kind of elated a bit.
Tom was done but I decided to go around again. I had to get this bat swing deal done a few more times before I forgot how to it. Tomorrow would be too late. I might have wasted too much time already just walking straight to the 1st tee instead of running. On my own, I screwed up all the way to the 1st green. Top, dig, dig, top. But I didn't give up. How could I have lost it so quickly? "That's golf!" they say. I fixed it on the next hole, over drove the 3d par 3 and so on. I was quite happy about playing. I got a dog (17) for a total of 30 over, a 102 this day, cutting off 12 from Friday’s 114.
Maybe this will be like when I started to loose weight last year with a nine month chart of down trending numbers. I'm not holding my breath, but I'm definitely getting out there to do it again as soon as possible.
Thursday, April 07, 2011
One of These Days
Once again I enter the blogosphere to hone my shiny skills. It seems the only three things I am consistent with are waking up and dropping off to sleep. Like a wound up clockwork, every day. It's not boring or difficult. It's just something I seem to be good at repeating.
Reading Blogs I am very consistent doing. Well really, only one blog in particular as it turns out. Pharyngula. I am probably repeating myself here.
I returned to the VA nutritionist the other day after 9 months or so of being on the TLC diet deal. I had lost 31 pounds, my blood work and other labs came back so good that she felt compelled to call my home and leave a message to call her. Both the nutritionist and my physician were very impressed. The doctor even immediatly sent out a letter of congratulations and praise that very day. The nutritionist lady told me that the doctor never sends those kinds of letters so she must have been very, very impressed and happy.
This is the fourth time over the last 15 years that they've wanted me to fix myself and the other times I just never followed through with the goods. Now I am their poster child of success and a job well done. I'm not done yet, but it is a very concrete milestone set in the ground of time.
Since I last reported, I have started learning to play the blues on the guitar. I am learning the scales surrounding that sound. And in the process, I am learning a lot of the different scales on the neck. In all my 57 or so years and years of playing the guitar I never knew even one single scale at all. I could sorta pick out some plucks on the strings that sounded better that others and I knew many players could really string them together, but I wasn't able to do it. Of course I knew in my head there were such things as scales, I never thought beyond do, re, mi etc. I didn't know there were such things as Major and minor Pentatonics in every key. I pretty much only knew some chords that some of them sounded better together than others. A little bit of training early on would have been good for my progression. My teacher probably didn't know the scales, but he played the notes that are actually framed and built on particular scales. He was doing it by ear and copying what he saw others doing. I could only watch others and try to do what they did. Turned out to not be too efficient in my case. 40 years later and I am just getting around to learning the A minor Pentatonic scale. Immediate revelation: Oh....That's how they do that! Sigh. I couldn't even remember the names of the six strings except for the 2 E strings. All these years. I definitely didn't know any of the notes on the finger board. They were all just sitting right there under my fingers. I knew a lot of the basic chords and shapes, but no note names. Oh well, it gives me something to do in my waning years. I figure I have 40 or 50 left. If my fingers don't fall off, I'll be playing the whole time.
In a related vein, I am getting a Mac from Ef, probably this afternoon. It will run the software I have to record music in my room. It’s a professional level type deal with a box I can plug in instruments and stuff. Maybe I will upload some more to YouTube hyoidbone54 if anyone is interested. Well, I'm stoked about my weight and my blues. Later.
Reading Blogs I am very consistent doing. Well really, only one blog in particular as it turns out. Pharyngula. I am probably repeating myself here.
I returned to the VA nutritionist the other day after 9 months or so of being on the TLC diet deal. I had lost 31 pounds, my blood work and other labs came back so good that she felt compelled to call my home and leave a message to call her. Both the nutritionist and my physician were very impressed. The doctor even immediatly sent out a letter of congratulations and praise that very day. The nutritionist lady told me that the doctor never sends those kinds of letters so she must have been very, very impressed and happy.
This is the fourth time over the last 15 years that they've wanted me to fix myself and the other times I just never followed through with the goods. Now I am their poster child of success and a job well done. I'm not done yet, but it is a very concrete milestone set in the ground of time.
Since I last reported, I have started learning to play the blues on the guitar. I am learning the scales surrounding that sound. And in the process, I am learning a lot of the different scales on the neck. In all my 57 or so years and years of playing the guitar I never knew even one single scale at all. I could sorta pick out some plucks on the strings that sounded better that others and I knew many players could really string them together, but I wasn't able to do it. Of course I knew in my head there were such things as scales, I never thought beyond do, re, mi etc. I didn't know there were such things as Major and minor Pentatonics in every key. I pretty much only knew some chords that some of them sounded better together than others. A little bit of training early on would have been good for my progression. My teacher probably didn't know the scales, but he played the notes that are actually framed and built on particular scales. He was doing it by ear and copying what he saw others doing. I could only watch others and try to do what they did. Turned out to not be too efficient in my case. 40 years later and I am just getting around to learning the A minor Pentatonic scale. Immediate revelation: Oh....That's how they do that! Sigh. I couldn't even remember the names of the six strings except for the 2 E strings. All these years. I definitely didn't know any of the notes on the finger board. They were all just sitting right there under my fingers. I knew a lot of the basic chords and shapes, but no note names. Oh well, it gives me something to do in my waning years. I figure I have 40 or 50 left. If my fingers don't fall off, I'll be playing the whole time.
In a related vein, I am getting a Mac from Ef, probably this afternoon. It will run the software I have to record music in my room. It’s a professional level type deal with a box I can plug in instruments and stuff. Maybe I will upload some more to YouTube hyoidbone54 if anyone is interested. Well, I'm stoked about my weight and my blues. Later.
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