A personal apology to Dorothy…

Coming up to the last tee box of a Saturday morning nine, one of my freshly introduced foursome, dear Dorothy, told us how she had never once hit the short par three’s green in 15 years of playing Shaganappi.

“Today’s the day,” she said, and promptly topped the ball straight into the rough.

The other two women played it safe, as in nowhere near the green. I shot last, taking a chance on my moody 5 hybrid rather than my usual 6 iron. I’ve never hit it so clean, and the ball sailed singing all the way to the very center of the green.   

I’m sorry Dorothy. I really am. But my ego has to say a little thank you, because you set me up for a shot that – with golf’s wicket sense of humor - couldn’t possibly have gone anywhere else.

Savouring dawn at the driving range

A late May dawn breaks over Calgary’s Shaganappi golf course

There is only one smell more delicious to a golfer than freshly cut grass, and if you scratch this picture on your monitor hard enough, and breath in deep enough, you’ll get a taste of it. Mmm, that’s right, it’s the sweet smell of dawn breaking over a course yet to be conquered. Good luck, and remember… smooth tempo…always tempo. I’m not trying to be poetic here, or metaphorical, or in any way philosophical, just putting a gentle reminder out into the universe that unless you’re a 14 year old gymnast, any kind of grace before 7am is going to be harder than breaking par at St. Andrews in a hurricane (ok, so maybe just a bit metaphorical). 

TOP FIVE – What NOT to do when golfing with a woman!

She will lose her mind (and not in that good way) if you pull any of these shady/condescending moves on the course. How do I know? Find out what happened when this experienced golfer was hit with ALL FIVE (in chronological order) during last Saturday’s round!

1# Don't try to stop my ball with your foot!

Don’t… try and stop my ball with your foot. This is, without a doubt, the most humiliating cruelty one golfer can inflict on another. Never mind sexist, this is downright inhuman! Go ahead and help your two year old fit her straw in her juicebox, be my guest. But pleeeease give my hand/eye coordination a little more credit. After all, I did manage, miraculously, to tie these laces all by myself. Even if my ball is supersonically blasting its way across the green, straight for a bunker, DO NOT PUT YOUR TOE IN ITS WAY. I will bite it off (you think I’m kidding, don’t you).

2# Don't coach me (in any way shape or form)!

Don’t say… “Don’t forget your club,” as I’m walking towards the wedge I left on the green while putting out. Trust me, even your two year old would get pissed at you for that one. If you do happen to have some useful advice for me, even swing tips, just ask permission first. You know, like when you’re on that first…(oops I mean third) date~wink.

3# Don't ask me, "are you having fun yet?"

Don’t ask… “Are you having fun yet?” after I’ve just made a mess of a hole. You know what? Don’t even say it after I’ve had a magical, afterlife-illuminating, hole. Just keep your mouth shut. I’m golfing. What business is it of anyone’s whether I’m having any fun at it! I’m here, aren’t I? What more can the bloody game want from me!

4# Don't try to make the game easier for/on me!

Don’t say… “You can move it out of there…” when I have a challenging lie. If I wanted to be mini-putting on Astroturf, then (and this will blow your mind) I would be mini-putting on Astroturf. Last time I checked, golf wasn’t supposed to be a walk in the park (oh wait, technically…). But really, maybe this is my mistake? Maybe it’s supposed to be easy? Just like getting rich is such a cinch, and having great hair every day is…sigh…

5# Don't laugh (out loud) if I flub a shot! Seriously.

Don’t… laugh (long and loud and luxuriously) when I flub my shot.

And there’s where it all went so wrong…
I played it cool all the way through till #5 (aside from a snarky “are you having fun yet” retort on hole 14), but I’m ashamed to say I lost my mind when he started laughing…and laughing…and kept on laughing at my blown bunker shot on hole 15. He went right on laughing even as I was charging at him up the lip of the trap!

I dropped my club and made straight for the brute. I didn’t care that he was a full ½ foot taller and about 100 pounds heavier; I had thousands of years of sexist injustices backing me up! Oh, and one rather shocked husband. Yes, the poor man who had gallantly kept me calm through all the condescension by explaining “he doesn’t know any better,” turned to find his tiny blond wife going all Hulk Hogan on his playing partner. I was up in the middle aged man’s “grill” shouting, “do you have some kind of problem,” when dear hubby dragged me away.

I’d like to say I’m exaggerating here (and so would dear hubby), but, and you girls can relate to me on this, it’s hard for any woman to be taken seriously on the course, no matter her skill level. We have so much more to prove, and so much less raw muscle to prove it with. It’s no wonder we can get a little sensitive when there’s blatant condescension in your voice. Just be warned, chivalry is a noble, but dangerous, game to play on a golf course.

~Visuals by brilliant illustrator Christina Nichols~

Current Blog Serial: Designing a Driving Range Club Carrier (Part One)

"Hmmm, wish I could use the range on my walk to work..."

When faced with a problem, be it an inconvenience or a roadblock, we have two choices. We can either search available solutions and choose one to adopt, or we can move beyond the explored by designing a custom resolution in the form of a new system/device.

One of SavingCymbria’s main goals is to empower its readers by demystifying the design process. Let’s make creative problem solving accessible to everyone! Our economy has entered a state of flux, and it’s time to get creative about our futures. The days of going out to Walmart and buying cart-fulls of quick-fix gadgets are ending, and I couldn’t be happier! You are about to enter a whole new freedom – the freedom to design your own reality. Welcome home!

"If only there was an easy/safe way to carry my clubs along the bike-path and into downtown..."

The first step in any design process is to clearly define the problem:

• Lacking a convenient method for transporting 1-4 golf clubs (and minimal accessories) while walking long distances through both rural and urban environments.

Step two is to define the criteria of a successful solution:

• A lightweight, hands-free, golf club carrier, of primarily waterproof fabric construction, that would hold 1-4 golf clubs, one glove, three balls, and keys/wallet/tokens/tees. The clubs would be suspended in an orientation that would maximize comfort and spacial control (for navigating bike-path/sidewalk crowds). The device would have attractive technical styling, and would be novel enough to attract the curiosity of interested buyers.

Note: Squatting mid-round for some ideation sketching is the quickest way to dull your tees, not to mention freak out the rest of your foursome!

Stay tuned for Part Two to find out how my hair elastic gets involved…

The official (embarrassing) first sign of golf season

Witness the glorious rebirth of sock-tan!

The gift of a grey morning on the range

7AM - With work and the city in the distance, this misty playground is all my own...

...well, almost. But he wasn't the only one.

His mate was spying too! Click on the image to play eye spy.

One last look at the real world...

…before ’setting up’ for the new golf season. Welcome back!

(Note: Click through to comments for answer to eye spy puzzle)

How to make a man’s jaw drop (and it’s not what you think)

So… I was walking home from work yesterday, minding my own business, when these two fellows came up and asked “can we get your opinion”? This is never a good thing, especially when one of them is wearing a suit and holding a clipboard, and the other one’s smile is just a little too wide. Keep in mind I was wearing a dirty baseball cap, rolled up hideous grey pants, a purple pyjama shirt, and a fluorescent orange makeshift backpack that I got as swag from a Geophysics convention (my job has some serious perks!). Glamazon, not so much. So I knew they had to be selling something and, be it a different faith or front row football tickets, I was just not interested.

“A new girl’s spa is opening up!” exclaimed the suited guy, waving a book of coupons at me (and ya, he really did say “girl’s”). Then the one behind him spoke up. All I heard was something about “free golf”. Oh, those two magic words were enough to stop me in my tracks. I could have been in the middle of an intersection or running with the Bulls in Spain, and I still would have stopped dead and put on my most charming smile.

“Free golf?” I asked excitedly, with raised eyebrows.

They both looked confused. “Nope, SPA,” said the suit.

“No thanks,” I said, “but now, if you were talking about free golf then that would be a totally different thing!”

The suit couldn’t quite get his tiny overly gelled head around the idea. The other fellow, a red haired scrawny twenty something, was just staring. His eyes went wide. His jaw slowly fell. It was shock; it was awe. It was fabulous! He kept repeating the word “golf” as if it was the first time he’d heard it come out of a girl (even if it was a girl with the ugliest pants ever brought into existence) – a fantastical fantasy come true. Could it be that “girl” and “golf” could be combined into one perfect-purple-pajama-shirted” package? I could see his brain trying to put it all together.

I tell you, it’s moments like that, that make those three puts on 18 and all those agonizing push slices worth it. I turned away feeling like I’d expanded the poor boy’s view of women, of maybe the whole world! But should the feminist agenda ever be put before a facial? I didn’t even check the deals! And if anyone needs to save on a massage, it would be us golfers! lol

“Pulling a Maggert” – Golf’s most dangerous shot

If you look close enough...you can actually see the pain

Who says golf is a boring game? I barely survived the second hole of my “leisurely” Sunday afternoon round yesterday. My ball was buried in deep rough off the right side of the fairway. I had about 60 yards to the green, but there was a large elm halfway between me and the pin. I knew I’d have to power the ball out of the grass with enough oomf to punch it through the leaves. No problem. I set up with my seven and let ‘er rip with maxed out swing speed and a full body turn. It hit the trunk dead square. There was a tremendous “Thwack” and suddenly the ball was heading straight for me – missile style – target locked. I chucked my club with a yell and did a ever-so-graceful backwards dive onto the grass – out of the line of fire. Time slowed, and one word, one name, flashed before my eyes as I arched through the air…MAGGERT.

What is “pulling a Maggert”?

Who pulled the first Maggert? Jeff Maggert, of course, on that infamous Sunday afternoon at the Masters five years ago. It remember watching it (on TV, tragically) as a fledgling golfer and thinking – “No, this can’t be happening, this game can’t be that cruel!” An oh, oh yes it can, as I have learned many times over since then. And as I picked my grass stained self up off the ground, I learned it all over again. My bullet ball had come to rest a good 25 yards behind where I’d first hit it… touché golf, touché.

(photo source: sportsillustrated.cnn.com)

Teetering on 100 – waiting for David Feherty to give me a nudge

I’m teetering on the precipice. Below me stretch miles of wide golden green fairways and shimmering funnel shaped greens. The water hazards are safely iced over, and off in the distance I can just barely make out David Feherty cheering me on from one of the bunker trampolines. Turns out he’s as subtley graceful in the air as he is on the mike lol.

Where is this gilded heaven, you ask? It’s that tantalizing promise of glory beyond 100. No, I’m not talking about blowing out candles and getting a letter from the Queen. I’m talking about shooting a golf score below that magic number. Only after breaking 100 can a golfer hold his/her head high. No more “but I really do enjoy it” or “I’m using my husbands clubs” excuses. Because let’s face it, sure you may enjoy moments when you’re shooting 100+, the birds, nice sunshine, a decent put here and there, but there’s no way you are enjoying golf - the full body/mind/spirit fight to the death against physics, grass, and (toughest of all) yourself!

Now with my own set of clubs, a stiff cotton skort in cream, and a pretty pink polo top, I’m all out of excuses. This is my summer to break 100. I absolutely have to shoot 99 or lower! I’ve been going for it, with every muscle keyed up and every gray cell focused. Last round I was sure I was gonna do it. So what does a warrior woman do on on the eighteenth green when her husband tells her she just holed out for and exact 1-0-0 score? She starts to quietly cry, of course. I blame the pink polo.

(photo source: golf.com)

Time to say “adieux” till next season (but not to you!)

Fernie, British Columbia. Some of the sweetest skiing in Canada! See you next year snow. See you next year crazy long traverse (across that far wall). See you next year powder coddled trees. Oh… and snow, if you miss me, please, please, just don’t come visit me on the golf course!   

“Gripped” by golf

I knowingly, willingly, married a golf nut five years ago. I was so infatuated with this man that I happily agreed to watch endless hours of golf coverage on our weekends together. I was blissfully captivated by his joy and all his adorable reactions to the shots on TV; I barely even looked at the screen. And really, why would I? I mean, is there anything more boring to watch? (Note: The Masters are not included in that terrible generalization. That tournament is actually almost, dare I say it, thrilling : ) 

My infatuation with my new husband even led me out onto the golf course. I couldn’t bear to be separated from him for a long lonely 4 hours. I was determined not to become another bitter “golf widow”. I hacked around with his 5-wood, and puttered around with his putter. The emotional rollercoaster of the game came as a shock. How could this game, so seemingly effortless and dull on TV, make me want to gnaw off my grips and scream bloody murder? 

As my infatuation for my husband grew and matured, so did his love for golf (oh, and for me too of course : ) His handicap dropped. He read mountains of golf magazines, cover to cover. He became addicted to the golf channel. I watched it all, and listened, boy did I listen. Without knowing it, I too became literate in the language of the game: the techniques, equipment, players, rules, etc. It osmosed slowly from his brain to mine. Little did I know, it would one day pay off. 

That day was yesterday.

My husband’s golf obsession took the ultimate step a month ago. Long story short, he now sells golf clubs for a living. He’s brilliant at it, and loves it. The man is living the dream. Ok, so the PGAwould technically be “the dream”, but he’s a whole lot closer than he’s ever been before. And what was my darling’s first order of business at his new job? Why, to set his wife up with a sweet sweet set of clubs, of course. (I’ll post a picture on an upcoming post for your drooling pleasure) 

I played my first round with my new clubs yesterday. And I tell ya’, it’s a whole new game. Suddenly, yardages came into play, and pin placement, and course management, and everything I’d learned about over the years. Most importantly, for the first time, I felt like I had a chance. Each hole was a new opportunity for success, instead of just another shot at grim humiliation. I was shaking from the thrill of it, and then two seconds later I was shaking from the frustration of it. Craziest thing about the round was that I was actually eager for more after the 18th. And believe me, that’s never happened before! 

My score was still too high to share with the internet world, but was 7 shots lower than my previous record. And taking into consideration some sketchy putting and painful mis-hits, it could have been a lot lower. It should have been lower! It will be lower next time! Mark my words!

Oh no.

Sigh.

I should have seen this coming.

This was his plan all along.

And I’ve fallen ”fore” it!

Oh ya, I’ve got it bad. I’m even making golf puns, groan.