Yesterday, I tried some 'new' Nike golf shoes I'd bought on Ebay. I only played 9, which was probably as well, as after 4 holes, I could (seriuosly) hardly walk. I slackened the laces off, and finished 9. Played ok, but feet really hurt.
I had blisters the size of 10p coins on both heels. This morning, I didn't want to miss my chance for 18, but really didn't know what to do. I figured bare foot was an option - partic at the time I tend to play. In the end I got my girlfriend to put dressings on both heels, and wore my most comfy DCs.
Out in 42, feet not too bad at all. On the 16th tee for 30 on the outward nine, and I realise I've got a real shot at a PB here - Scrags, I'm sorry! I couldn't help it (and you know what's coming!
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Draw the 5 round the corner spot on, 4 iron to the green, take a 5, really fired up now!
17th tee - God, why do I try to do the maths? Scrags, you couldn't be more right. Stupid. I try to really heave it one, and, for the first time for AGES, slice it right back on to the 16th fairway. It takes a nine iron back on, clear the trees, and somehow end up in a great position to the green. I thin the wedge like a chimp, through the back into the jungle. A hack (WHEN am I going to REMEMBER to take an unplayable?!) sends it 2 yards and the 5th shot puts it on the green for a two putt. 7. God damnit.
The 18th really needs to be better, and the pitching wedge feels good and looks straight; right between the two front bunkers. On the green, 2 putt for par, back nine of 45, making a personal best of 87! So pleased, it's slowly falling
31 putts, still a few stupid tops, toes, and other punter stuff, but I'm getting there. But why do I put the pressure on myself? I just need to keep my head down and get on with my game. Hmm...
Another 18 tomorrow, another on Thursday, and on Friday, my 2nd handicap card with a really nice, friendly member of the club - the one who was telling me about the league team. Bring it on!