This One Goes To Eleven

I have had unfortunately few athletic goals over the last year. One has been to gain 15 pounds, all of which I could place comfortably on my thighs and calves, but which will quite likely sit inner-tube-like on my waist and sides. That is unless I work out and put it to good use. I’m about half way there.

My other athletic goal is to shoot under 100 in 18 holes of golf, or under 50 in 9. I know what you’re thinking…golf isn’t athletic. Yes and no. It certainly doesn’t push the cardiovascular system like, say, and Ironman would. But it does require, I found out, a certain amount of stamina for a person to walk a full round while humping their own golf bag. You wouldn’t know it by looking at John Daley’s figure, but it’s true (his figure happens to be a circle, by the way).

I’ve come close a couple of times to making my goal, but continually fall victim to my own mental breakdowns. On Saturday, while playing 9 holes at the beautiful Hobble Creek in Springville, I was on course to accomplish my goal and earn the reward I’ve set for myself—a pair of bona fide golf shoes. The footwear can only improve my suffering game. I had played a so-so round, and had parred a number of holes, which is good for me. I’ve yet to make a true birdie in my life, and missed my 3 attempts at one during the course of the round, but was still on track. Going into hole number 9 all I needed to do was go even on the par 5. It was pretty straight forward, without much hazard, and shouldn’t have been a problem. My tee shot came off straight and went about 200 yds, so I felt okay. But I then pulled out a wood, which I never use, and topped it twice, then sent one sailing into a tree behind the green, hit that tree’s branch on the next shot, chunked it twice on the chip, then four putted to go out. ELEVEN!

The beautiful Fall scenery was something to behold—an array of streaking reds, almost as if the trees were bleeding, and the leaves seemed to say, as they let go of the branch for the last time, “Thank goodness I don’t have to watch that horrible display of golf anymore this season.”

To Be Alone

Not long ago a good friend of mine recommended that I read Chuck Palahniuk's Stranger than Fiction. He was kind enough to photocopy some exerpts from it (I don't think Chuck would mind) for me, just to give a taste. I found the book's introduction particularly insightful. It addresses the lonely business of writing. Stories are about people, and you have to be around people in order to develope these stories, along with their tangible characters. Yet writing is largely an individual's task, and reading an individual experience. He likens this to an overall human impulse to be alone, that perhaps just as badly as many of us want and need to connect with other people we also want and need physical apartment, a place to be alone with our thoughts.

I think quite a few people are able to maintiain this balance in their lives, but there are many who gravitate to the extremes: The girl who can't be alone, who cannot drive to the corner market without convincing at least one friend to go with her. Or the guy who always refuses a social invite, and prefers to wander the streets solo, with his Walkman on ("Walkman" seems like such an old term, what would it be now, iPod?).

Just yesterday I found myself playing a round of golf all by my lonesome, and completely content that I was able to avoid being paired with anyone. I could attribute that to the fact that my game is embarressing. It's true that I don't wan't my slice on public display, but I think that just as much there was something utterly appealing about spending the afternoon ALL BY MYSELF. I can turn off my cell, intentionally not tell anyone where I am, and just enjoy that feeling you get in your stomach when no one is around. This is good. This is a time for self-awareness. This is a time for evaluation. This is a time for reconcilliation.

Then later, I turn back to the world. I turn my cell on, and write emails to friends, and kiss my wife, and become a better husband, a better co-worker, and hopefully a better human being. I tip the scales the other way for a while, because that is healthy living. And I can only take the humiliation of my golf swing for so long.