Rainy weather has cut through our August/September heat this year and allowed me to reflect on life away from the media buzz.
Winter arrived without her date, that first week of October of 2018 the year I turned seventy. Our late summer and early fall had been rainy and cool, much like it has been this late summer of 2025. One day the forecaster gleefully announced the temperatures might fall to the 30's. All of this happening on the weekend of The Trails Golf Club Women's and Senior Men's Club Championships.
How to dress for such unpredictable weather created a problem, a layering problem, and forecasting when the rain would be pushed out by the polar express made the day a real challenge.
I'd chosen to play in the Championship, not to win, but to have fun with the ladies in our group and to play the best I could. I'd set my goal on breaking 93, that seemed to be my reoccurring score that year, and I still don't like it one bit.
Our three lowest handicappers, likely to win, teed off first and our foursome followed. Dressed like little snow bunnies, we laughed immediately at the absurdity of playing in this weather.
Before teeing off on the first hole I felt my thick tights slipping from my waist. These were tight black pants that I saved for winter because they were long enough to cover my ankles from the cold winds or rain. I did notice that the hanger was turned backwards when I pulled them off the hanger, which generally means, I didn't wear them last year. I missed the most important clue of the day. At least I'd been smart enough to wear a heat wrap across my back and stretch at home.
My golf swing and focus held steady until the third hole. Walking up the hill to the green I felt my tights sliding down to my hips, with a gravity like pull I jumped and hiked up my britches as my friends snorted quietly facing away from me.
Carol's sincere response followed, "I love my new Puma pants. You really ought to buy some like this." Where upon she showed me how nicely they fit her body and did not slide down the hips. I didn't think Amazon could accommodate me instantly. But I thanked her for the advice. At the nearby bathroom, I added a layer of rain and wind protecting pants.
Before we'd finished nine holes that day, the pants had stretched even more and I found myself reaching inside my outer wear to pull up my stretched tights before each shot, after each shot, and sometimes in between.
The rain came in sheets and then flew through. Riding with Anita, we'd sometimes break into laughter over what this must look like. How could women as smart as we thought we were think this was the way to spend a fall day?
We'd dropped behind the group in front, simply because we were talking and laughing about clothing and weather. Suddenly, we realized that at this pace we'd be caught for sure in the cold winds coming from the north. So onward we moved, quickly hitting our shots without taking time to think about the shot or the how to hit the shot!!!!!
To speed up play, on number nine green Kathy held the flag so Carol could tap in her two-inch birdie putt while Anita and I walked to our lengthy putts. Suddenly, we heard a piercing sailor's voice clearing the deck with four letter words. Not wasting a moment we finished the hole and asked what caused the frustrated scream.
"Carol missed her two-inch birdie putt!!" Kathy yelled, "She broke the ice with the F bomb so now we can relax."
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On hole #14, I powered through a drive and suddenly my belly button felt exposed. "Oh, dear heavens," I snorted from the embarrassment, "if mother in heaven could see me now, she would scold me for exposing my body."
The pants by now had to be held up by my hands when I walked. Then we noticed the calm. Two holes to go, 'please frigid weather hold off'' we whispered. In the end, we hugged each other on the eighteenth green, raced to the golf carts and off to the parking lot where we unloaded our wet belongings. After gathering ourselves we compared scores, signed the cards and turned them in.
Keeping one hand on my pants, I walked to the ladies locker room to clean up. With our small gaggle of women gathered round, I began to notice the scores. Several of us played quite well, a couple were truly disappointed. Scores ranged from 109--85. Then our golf pro, Alan Hager, turned away from the score sheet, picked up the Silver Champions Bowl, and said, "Congratulations Letty, on winning the 2018 Women's Club Championship."
I don't know that I've ever been that stunned in my life. I stood to accept the trophy and grabbed the pants to hike them up. Awards were handed out to all of the winners. We were a cheerful group, and thankful to be inside warm and out of the weather. (No pictures of this event could be found. Perhaps we looked too shabby for the camera's eye?)
It was suggested that I keep those black sagging over-sized stretch pants and wear them next year. I threw them away that night.
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