Am I a golfer?

Growing up, my experience with golf was watching it on TV at my grandparents’ house, with my grandfather asleep in his green leather recliner by the time the round ended. My impression was that golf was always on TV, and only played by men. Beyond that, I didn’t give it much thought. 

I picked up golf in business school, because I was tired of hearing how great of a “professional skill” it was, and jealous of all the preppy outfits and perfect hair that golfers seem to have. I joined the golf club, hired a coach, and trekked across town for weekly lessons for the next two years. Tristan was so thrilled, he got me my first set of clubs “just because”. 

Dozens of hours (and thousands of dollars) later, I’ve come to the conclusion that golf may not be for me. 

In theory, I get the appeal. Who wouldn’t want to spend a few hours outside, getting some light exercise, on beautifully manicured grass, wearing preppy “elevated casual” attire, with plenty of time for camaraderie and conversation, and a roaming refreshments cart that comes to you? 

Me, that’s who. 

I have nothing against people who love it, but I can’t personally get past a few things: 

• It takes forever. I’m told there is such a thing as a sub-4 hour round of golf, but I’ve never experienced it. As a working professional, I can only play on the weekends. This means the courses are crowded, and backups ensue. 4 hours in the sun is a nice way to spend an afternoon, 6 hours is ruined dinner plans, mounting frustration, and a potential finish in the dark (all first-hand experiences). 
• You’re never good enough. I’m a 33 handicap, and recently played a round with a friend who routinely shoots in the 80s. She was having what (for her) would qualify as an off day. By the 12th hole, swearing, thrown clubs, and negative self-talk came out, which felt concerningly like looking in a mirror. I always assumed if I broke a hundred, I’d be a golfer. Golfing with my most golf-obsessed friend showed me that it would probably always be frustrating.
• It’s awkward. Ready golf? Tending the pin? Marking? Playing as a single? There’s so much etiquette. And then once you think you’ve figured it all out, you get paired up with someone new and they call out all the ways you’ve broken the rules. Not to mention how awkward that experience can be in itself. As a twenty-something woman, it’s frankly tough to make conversation with a bunch of men my fathers’ age (and pay for that privilege) just to fit in a round after work. 

I have yet to be invited to golf in a professional setting. So why do I still own clubs?

Early in my time at business school, I met a group of girlfriends who were also interested in playing and learning. We played weekly, gamely driving out to the local municipal course that was kept in questionable shape, or the driving range with an abundance of feral geese.

We went to a golf school in Florida, and still laugh about a particularly funny-looking shot the instructor called a “Runyon”. From our trip to Arizona, we’ll always remember the incredible size of the sand traps on the course, memorialized in several unfortunate photos. 

Swinging the club takes at most a few seconds, so we’ve spent all the other minutes talking about bad dates, job searches, travel plans, and apartment searches. In short, the stuff that makes up a life for 20- and 30-somethings. It’s hard to cover this much ground in sporadic texts and phone calls that have to be balanced with day jobs, families, and the stressors of everyday life. 

My husband knows this better than anyone.

Tristan played golf all through high school. He hits the ball a mile, as a former baseball player. More than his skill though, it’s his enthusiasm that inspires me. 

Tristan and I golfing on Chappaquiddick, May 2021

We planned our destination wedding on Martha’s Vineyard for the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend last May. From the earliest stages of planning, Tristan and I tossed around ideas for how to entertain our guests the day before. We wanted to be able to spend time with them, and have people get to know each other and enjoy the island. 

“What about a golf scramble?”

The idea of a competitive scenario in an activity I’m not “good” at, on the day before the biggest day of my life, terrified me. But in the spirit of compromise and making my future spouse happy, I acquiesced. On the condition that he, as the “real” golfer, plan the whole thing. 

A hundred custom golf balls later, we assembled on a rainy morning to read out groups for 36 players and hit the links. 

We had some 5-handicaps, and some people who’d never swung a club – but golf was the catalyst. It gave people who didn’t know each other something to focus on, talk about, and bond over. My dad’s friend taught my younger cousin how to hold the club. T’s uncle helped my grandmother read a green. We laughed at my grandma trying to understand Tristan’s Irish relatives, and smiled when Tristan’s college friends challenged my business school classmates to a shotgun contest. 

Seeing everyone we cared so much about come together so quickly made our faces hurt from smiling. By the end of the 9 holes, I was laughing and sinking puts, and having…fun? 

And I remember exactly zero of my shots (good or bad) from that round. 

It’s hard to make new friends as an adult, and then even harder to sustain those friendships.. So I suppose I can shake off the rust, and grin and bear it for a round or two a couple of times a year. And my friends like me enough to ignore the club throwing and threats to quit. 

And my husband married me after I became a golfer, so it turns out he’s fine with it too.