So, I decided to give this “US Mid-Amateur” thing a shot. I mean, I’m no spring chicken anymore, but I can still swing a club, right?
First things first, I dusted off my old clubs. They’d been sitting in the garage gathering, well, more dust than usual. Gave them a good scrub, felt like I was reuniting with old friends.
Next up, the driving range. Oh boy, was that humbling. My first few swings? Let’s just say the groundskeepers weren’t too happy. I sliced, I hooked, I sent balls flying in every direction except straight.
- Day 1: Pure chaos. Felt like I’d never held a club before.
- Day 2: Slightly less chaos. Managed to hit a few decent shots.
- Day 3: Okay, starting to see some improvement. My back wasn’t screaming as much.
I spent hours, I mean hours, at the range. Practicing my swing, working on my short game, trying to remember everything my old coach used to tell me.
I even booked a couple of lessons with a local pro. He tweaked my grip, adjusted my stance, and gave me a few drills to work on. It was painful, both physically and mentally, but I started to see a glimmer of hope.
Then came the qualifying rounds. The nerves were real, let me tell you. My hands were shaking so bad on the first tee, I almost whiffed the ball completely.
I bogeyed the first hole, doubled the second. “This is going great,” I thought sarcastically.
But then, something clicked. I parred the third, birdied the fourth. I found my rhythm, started hitting fairways, making putts.
I didn’t win. Not even close. But I made the cut! For an old guy like me, that felt like a victory in itself. It was a long, tiring, and sometimes frustrating journey, but, I made some progress.
