Winter 2015: S.O.S. (same old shit)

After two months encased in ice, the doorway to golf has finally been opened again. Time to get back out there and see what condition the conditions are in--both on the golf course itself, and on the one between the ears as they say.

It's still cold, low 40s with small helping of wind chill. Silver Lake was bustling, not quite jammed but I saw a good number of foursomes about. On the first tee a duo of pizza-faced teens had just teed off. Not the most appealing type of human, but without much shit to give and just wanting to get the whole thing overwith, I wasted no time introducing myself and butting into their group.

From a distance the course looks great, none the worse for all the snow. I'd like to say it's all wonderful to be back out here, but to be completely honest I am not feeling it for whatever reason.

Up close, the surface is muddy and diaper-soft. Along with the low air temps and swirling breezes this course, probably like every other one in the northeast right now, is playing really long. Nope, not the welcomiest of welcomes.

I slogged through eleven holes before I had to self-admit that I wasn't having much fun at all. But hold on now, this is the first round of the new season, after an excruciating layoff. By rights I should be happier to be here. I struggled with this existential mini-crisis for most of the round.

After yet another dehumanizing double bogey on the 16th I stood on the next tee trying really hard to care. The tee shot at 17 is unforgiving, with OB all along the right, which is why I've never once hit a driver here. At this moment though, not really caring about the sum total of strokes on the card, I almost do it. But somewhere deep inside, a tiny ember of giving a shit still glows, and so I gave in to course management, pulled the sensible 3-wood and launched a really nice one down the fairway.

So disaffected and disengaged at this moment I can't even be bothered to take a proper photo.

I kept pushing hard until the end, but thanks to a bushel of double bogeys I finished with a shoddy 91. The best I can say about the round is that it was 18 holes of normal regulation golf, which is 18 more than I had grown accustomed to in these past couple of months. But sadly there would be no catharsis, no transcendence, no "hope springs eternal" type of welcome-back moment. One round in and already this new season is seeming like a bust.

Then on the way home, I started to understand why I had such a lousy time. It's still winter you idiot. It's not even spring on the calendar yet. Somewhere in my simple mind I had assumed that now that the permafrost has retreated and the golf course is open again, the trees would be blooming, the birds chirping, signs of spring shooting up from the ground and I would step onto the course, take big deep life-affirming breaths and get that feeling like everything is okay again.

That stuff will have to wait. If it is to come at all. For now I'm going to keep the vacuum flask out and ready to go.