Recently, I celebrated a milestone birthday. At a certain point, the years seem to come faster and faster than ever before. I wanted to try something different to help me reframe this annual event and the number associated with it. So, I invented a new game simply for my own amusement, but if you like the idea, feel free to use it yourself.
I enjoy golfing. I wouldn’t say that it is a passion of mine, rather a pastime which I often appreciate. I don’t take it seriously enough to be overly concerned about the score or my handicap. In other words, I’m not that good. I don’t allow that fact to prevent me from going out and enjoying what Mark Twain called golf, “A good walk spoiled.” In fact, I choose to walk instead of riding a cart. This way, even if I have a bad day golfing, I am getting in a good walk in a beautiful environment.
I am what is known as a “Bogie” golfer, meaning that I usually score at least one, sometimes more than par. However, often enough to keep me coming back, I will score par or one under par. It is a funny game.
My new annual tradition is to golf my age each year on my birthday. This last one, I turned 60, so what that means is that I will take precisely 60 whacks (aka strokes) at the ball. Wherever I happen to be on the course after 60 strokes is where I pocket the ball and call it a day. Truth be told, 18 holes for me is a grind. I start to lose interest after about 12 to 14, and then I become like an old horse on Mackinac Island, thinking exclusively of the oat bag that awaits them at the barn. They forget the rider on their back and high-step it back to their stall.
It is a great metaphor, but for the fact that I am not high-stepping it but rather dragging myself across the finish line with thoughts of a hamburger on my mind and not an oat bag. Regardless, my indifference much past 14 holes lends itself perfectly to my new tradition.
I ciphered in my head that as a bogie golfer, I often average around five strokes per hole. I am fairly proficient in math, so I took the number of strokes (60) and divided it by my expected strokes per hole (5) to estimate that I could probably finish 12 holes on my birthday. I reasoned that because it was a celebration of me, I would pamper myself by riding in the cart instead of walking.
Wouldn’t you know it, on this particular day, the course was hosting a Traverse City Junior Golf event, and they had the front nine blocked off for these young golfers. Ordinarily, I would be happy for them, but today this would throw off my whole plan. I quickly adapted to this unfortunate change by going off the back (starting on number 10 instead of 1). I reasoned that the plan would still work, but instead of finishing on hole 12, I would finish on hole 3.
Joan was playing too, and golfing with her is always fun. She is easily impressed with my skill and very supportive and encouraging. I started ok, but after 5 holes, I was 6 over and my cumulative score was 25. So far, my math was working out exactly right. We pressed on another two holes, and I got my first par. Yippee. Then bogie and double bogie to finish the back nine with a 46. I had only 14 strokes to go. If I had started this tradition when I was 46 years old, I would be done after nine. But I have been blessed with more years, for which I am exceedingly delighted.
I bogied number 1 and number 2, which left me exactly 3 strokes for the final hole, which happened to be a par 3. If I could par this hole, I would have completed exactly 12 holes. This is poetic (in my mind). I just had to have an easy swing, land it somewhere on the green, and two-putt for a par. Previously, I had scored a hole-in-one on this very hole, so a three was not out of the question.
My mind recalled the hole in one, and my nice easy swing turned into some sort of chop and chunk which flew over the green near the cart path and hard-packed earth. I hoped for the best as I rode up to see the position of my ball. I could still chip it close and one putt, which was my plan. As you probably know, things in life don’t always go as planned. My chip shot left me a makeable (but unlikely) ten-foot putt. I have made putts like this before, but it should be remembered that I am a bogie golfer and bogie golfers don’t routinely knock down such simple putts, that’s why they aren’t par golfers.
I would like to tell you that I looked at this critical putt from every angle, lay down on the green to feel the grain, and focused like my life depended on making it; but I treated it just like every other shot that day and did my best. The ball headed straight for the hole with enough speed to make it up the slight hill, it appeared that it was going to go in, but as luck would have it, the ball met the lip of the cup instead of hitting it straight in, and cruelly curved 90 degrees around the cup and back onto the green and came to rest about 4 inches away. My 60th stroke did not go in the hole. After I left it short, it went into my pocket.
We rode back to the clubhouse in quiet contemplation. Just kidding. I was partly thrilled with the outcome, knowing that next year, I would get one more stroke. And the following year, another additional stroke, and the year after that, and so on. You get the idea.
The reason I like this new tradition is that it turns something that many see as a disadvantage, like an increasingly higher age each year, and turns it into something to be celebrated. With age comes benefits. One of those benefits is that next year, I will take my revenge out on the course and get an extra stroke with which I hope to get past 12 holes and at least tee off on the 13th.
In theory, if my game improves, I would like to see if I could finish all 18 holes. At least it’s something to shoot for. I suppose lessons wouldn’t hurt, but again, I don’t take it too seriously and would rather pour my energy into other endeavors, but it’s something to think about.