Playing Golf While Legs Are Fucked
Getting back out there, enjoying it, then immediately convincing myself single figures might still be possible.
It’s been somewhat of a mental struggle at times—playing a sport where 35-year-old you would be beaten by the 13-year-old version of you.
But all the shit in between those two ages meant the chance of me playing again could have been slim.
Now 38-year-old me gets out generally once a week for six months of the year, and I’ve gotten it out of my head that once I was good and just enjoy playing…
Well, that was until I posted six rounds on the spin of 80–84. I generally feel like I could be single figures still. Currently 17.5.
Then came the bad round—a stinking 90. Couldn’t keep the ball in play off the tee, and it’s a downturn in form that tends to occur when Royal Ogden dries out. It doesn’t suit my game, and this year I’m going to do something about it.
If I can rebuild my golf swing to take pressure off my joints, surely I can do something that helps with the conditions.
I think I need a lower flight from both tee and fairway—something I am shit at.
So when I’m playing alone in the mornings after staying up for the World Cup, I plan to try to improve that skill.
