The Golf Gypsy Roars!

I Am Woman

Murphy offered support but he couldn't hold me up either. 

Between roaring and growling I pushed myself up from my lazy chair, and off my lazy duff, threw down the yoga mat and tried to perform a plank for two minutes, while Murphy watched me from the side. When that failed, I grunted and moved to the hallway where I could use the bands to twist and imitate a golf swing, Murphy stood at my feet. Next, I walked the dog around the block muttering to myself "How could I have let this happen?" "Why did I think I couldn't work out?" "I am not an old crippled lady, I am a older woman who is angry at herself." "It's my job to stay healthy, no excuses." I felt better for it but Murphy seemed worried. 

The evil twin replied, "Yeah, but...remember how much it hurts to turn your hips; You know how you feel the next day after 90-100 swings on the golf course; why don't you go write or read another book like you did yesterday and avoid the pain?"

The evil twin has been with me since childhood. I know her well, but over the adult years I have learned to meet her head on and force her to leave. This winter, the injuries I sustained from the "dog fall" set me back. I rehabbed like a athlete, but it was winter and I still ached. Day after day I chose not to work out, or if I did it was only for a short while, not enough to get stronger. 

Snoopy is so wise...

Spring came and I entered a state tournament at Belmar Country club only to shoot a 100 on the first day. The last time I did that was in the late 90's at Prairie Dunes. I have never withdrawn from a golf tournament because of my game, even though my pride felt bruised. Instead, I sat down for dinner on the patio with golfers. Listening to the woes of other women who had shot scores way above their average, let me breathe and laugh. That evening I laughed on the way home rather than crying. 

Helen Reddy sings I AM WOMAN

The next day I played a respectable game and thought all was well enough. I sat down and told myself to accept that this cranky old body would keep me from playing a solid, consistent, and a respectable game of golf.  

My new Mantra--Accept who I am, Accept that I'm older. But something was missing.

I write words on my golf ball to remind me to stay in the moment. The words may range from sing to smile, shoulders to hips, flex and bend, relax shoulders, one shot, be present, rhythm to timing....

Bob Hope once said, "If you watch a game, it's fun. If you

play at it, it is recreation. If you work at it, it is GOLF."

When my mind wonders to the grocery store list while I am playing golf, I tell myself, "This is where I am. This is what I enjoy." This summer I have been saying, "Accept who I am, adapt to the old body." However, it felt empty. Something was missing in that mantra. 

Walking cleared my head and made Murphy feel better. He can tell when I'm out of sorts. Then I stepped out in the backyard and began swinging my 7 iron using only my left arm and left side to pull me through. Murphy thought I wanted to play, and he began to bark and bounce around me. Not safe, I told him.

He continued to bark at me. That's when I smiled and told myself to go hit golf balls. To really practice. To see if I could strengthen this older stiff body. My father's words pounded in my head, "If you don't practice you can't expect to be a better player." In my case, I wanted to be consistent and not embarrass myself. 

For the first time since last summer I hit range balls with my hybrids and woods. (Practicing my chipping and putting doesn't hurt and it reaps great rewards. Hitting the big clubs hurts my hips.)  Using dad's method of hitting 3-6 balls with my left arm following through and keeping my right arm/side from overpowering the swing, I could feel how weak I had become. I only practiced 20 minutes, but it was the best 20 minutes I could have expected. 

"I was determined to play the game well

or not at all."  Babe Didrikson Zaharis

The realized the word practice was missing in my mantra.  Can you see me smiling?

One super-duper muscle vibrator/relaxer, one squeeze ball for the hands, and the
golfer's second best friend, Voltaren. The Bio-freeze is on the
closet shelf and an extra one in my golf bag.  

New Mantra: Accept who I am. Accept that I am older and I will practice on the driving range only 20 minutes when needed.  

 I think I can. I think I can. I know I can. I will.

A Funny Ending After All

Between Braum's malts, with an extra dip of malt please, hitting golf balls on the driving range, and walking, I let go of all things that consumed my gut earlier this month.  This only took a day of my life and lots of laughter therapy at myself, and then I read this cartoon. "Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go." I could have played in the leaves and forgotten everything instantly.  *Previous blog link Looking for a Funny Ending

Except our leaves haven't fallen and now we have a snow and ice storm tearing our tress apart. This is why Oklahoman's have such a humorous backbone when it comes to weather. It is, after all, October 26. Why should we be surprised at icy roads and closed schools?

The computer is no longer in danger of a dastardly virus, and so far we haven't caught a virus either. Best of all my new car adventures reached closure with the purchase of "Helen Reddy."

2020 Ford Escape

This purchase reminded me again of how resolute we women need to be when taking on the world of car buying. After I relaxed from three days of golf competition, I returned to the computer for info on new smaller SUV's.  I also queried women friends who had newer cars with safety and technological advances.  Then I put together a list of what I wanted and what I didn't need. I didn't need all of the space I once needed for golf adventures across Kansas and Oklahoma. I needed new safety features and wanted a sporty color, not white, not black, not gray.

Within three days, the dealership worked with me and found a red Ford Escape. Only people who are five foot five or shorter might appreciate the most important feature on my new car, the seat belt that crosses my chest fits me. For decades I wore the seat belt under my left arm, knowing that on impact I would crush my left boob, my lungs, and my heart and die! Now I feel safer than ever. 

Owning a new car and with confounding technology, like remote start, travel apps, audio messaging, warning systems that light up without explanation, means that I have to learn to drive all over again. 

Let's start with the beginning. Immediate success doesn't happen when learning how to start the car with NO ignition switch. My right hand is trained to insert a key, not push a button; trained to reach for a gear shift, not a shift dial; and besides that the car runs so quietly that I can't tell if it is running or not. Older cars can be heard.

My weekend reading highlights included "Memory Function." It seems my car knows more than I do. "Intelligent Access Remote Entry Icons"-- directions that anyone can follow IF they've done it before. The cold temperatures yesterday pushed me to read and learn how to use the remote start, but now I need to know how to program myself or "smart phone" to warm the seats and the steering wheel before I get in. (Matthew please come home from New York and teach me how to be as smart as my car and phone.)  "Intelligent Access" but nowhere does it explain the training involved in changing the mind of a woman who could still start a car with a clutch and run it through the gears. Best laugh of technical reading: The index refers to a "bonnet lock." Where was this when the pioneer women needed it?

My favorite technology is a BLIS (Blind Spot Information System). Even after cataract surgery I worried that my eyes might not see a small car coming along side of me. Now my car tells me with orange flashing indicator lights on the side mirrors when a car is in the blind spot. Relief!

 Somewhere on the car the book tells me I have a "panic" button. Where was that panic button when my car vibrated and tightened the steering wheel when I was test driving the car? The manual tells me to use the panic button only in case of a "Post Crash Alert." I hope I never have to learn that system. 

1972 Capitol Records

Sadly, I can't play my Helen Reddy music.  A new challenge of learning how to upload or download music to the cloud creates a sense of stress. Yes, Sirius plays my music until the contract runs out. I can plug in my EYE phone and listen to Pandora, but I have
no EYEdea of how to listen to my favorite CD music. Turning my head to the right of my computer, I see three shelves of CD'S. Oops, and a pile of records.  What to do?

I think I will simply listen to the ice hit the roof,  watch the house finches flutter around the bird feeder, hope that our trees are strong enough to withstand a freak winter storm, and give thanks for all we have. 

Ironically, in a time of smart phones and cars, we still need candles and matches lined up on the kitchen counter, just in case the power and brilliance of our world goes out. It must still be 2020. 

The End. 

The Never Ending Story/Storm rages on....