Golf Fore the Good

The day started out innocently enough and with every good intention. I planned a quick stop at the golf course cafe for breakfast and then an early start on a catch-up day at the office. The last few weeks had been filled with computer glitches, hard drive failures and disc errors. I needed a day to make some headway on the tasks that had piled up on my desk during the high tech mayhem. But the best laid plans and all that stuff… it just wasn’t meant to be a work day.

I slid onto a stool at the bar at the golf course concession next to one of my my tried and true golfing companions. In unison, we gazed wistfully out across the eleventh fairway to the pond, a perfect glassy mirror without a ripple in sight. The sun flickered through the clouds like a cold fluorescent light bulb, suggesting future warmth and brighter rays to follow. It was the first glimmer of sun we’d seen in a series of long and gloomy winter weather.

We stole a sideways glance at each other. “Whadda-ya-think?” was on the tip of both our tongues. “Can you make it in an hour?” It was a no-brainer. “See you at the course,” we agreed.

I blasted out a good solid thirty seven and a half minutes at the office before hustling home to throw on the Under Armour and grab my clubs. Work could wait.
The mercury stood at just above freezing but the stillness of the air and the steadily improving sunshine bode for a good round. It was a winter day that could easily be spent indoors without guilt; not quite nice enough to force you out of doors but extremely pleasant once you were out and moving. The early morning low temps had apparently kept the crowds at bay and we zipped right to the tee.

As we strode quickly down the fairway the northern horizon was steaked with but a few high thin clouds. The majority of the sky hung seemingly frozen with the clear blue color of icicles, so pale it was nearly devoid of color. Our nearly always present wind offered not a gust, not even a negligible breeze worth mentioning and the sun grew strong and steady. By the third hole my ski band came off, by the fifth we were stripping off layers. Good call, this unexpected bonus round.

As we made the turn the sky ripened to a brilliant cloudless blue. It was the kind of blue you see in television golf, where the ball hangs enhanced against the sky, the better to follow the flight path. No matter that the air still held enough chill that our balls flew more like lead balloons than the promised dimpled wonders of new technology. And true, the fairways were winter-tight and somewhat sodden with snow melt so that what little roll one could achieve was hindered even more by gobs of mud and muck. We were golfing, and it was good.

Too soon our round had ended, a mere 3 1/2 hours of a glorious day. On the seventeenth hole I expressed our common sentiment - that the round has passed too quickly, with our winter being far from over, and not knowing when we’d get the chance to play again. As if to mark my comment with an exclamation point, on the eighteenth hole I lofted up a perfect nine iron and watch it settle just four inches from the hole - a birdie to finish.

As eager as we were to play on, winter golf takes more of a toll on the body than at first you realize, even on the most benign of days. As often happens, the spirit was willing but the flesh was weak. It was time to quit for the day.

In an unusual maneuver, we all skipped the 19th hole, whether from time restraints or exhaustion I’m not sure. I stopped briefly at the office but found it was too late and I was too tired to get any real work accomplished. This had become, after all, a day about golf not a day for the labors of a staid and ordinary vocation.

A wall of heat hit me and brought a glow to my face - that familiar burn that comes from hours of exertion in an outdoor activity in winter. Later as I washed up I felt the sting of the warm water on my hands offering yet another reminder of our round, a subtle abrasion caused by the gripping of clubs in the cold. I felt the ache in my bones, the tightening of muscles acknowledging their awakening after weeks on non-use and the day’s abuse.

Not much later, as I settled down for a quick nap, I watched from the couch as the grandeur of the sky faded to gray and it grew dark. I knew in my achy old bones and deep in my heart that we’d made the best use of the day.