Saturday, December 18, 2004

I suppose it was Josiah Bartlett's fault that I foolishly walked the golf course today.

I always use a cart, even if I sometimes walk between shots since many of them are shorter than I would wish them to be. I always use a cart.

But I have wondered what it would be like to walk 18 holes.

By the 8th hole my feet were numb and tingling with pain. [How is it that a limb can be numb and hurt at the same time?] Even so, at the turn I told my stepfather that I wanted to continue.

By the 12th hole, I was calling myself all kinds of foolish, trembling a bit, blowing most every shot, wincing at my steps, and trying to hide it all from my stepfather.

Darkness kept us from finishing the last 3 holes. But I found myself a bit like Odysseus when he taunted the Cyclops from his ship after barely escaping the giant's rage after his previous taunts. I found myself trying to convince my stepfather that we still had light enough to finish. My words fell on deaf ears and we left the course. However, we were about the farthest you could be from the clubhouse.

It was a long, excruciating walk back.

For the record, the idea of backpack straps on a golf bag is far more attractive than the reality of having those straps. If you have them, then that means you are carrying your clubs instead of rolling them along on a hand cart.

I did have my first successful sand save...

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