I had my first golf lesson today, but I'm not ready to mark it off the 50 Things to Do List. First of all, I want to be able to play at least 9 holes before I consider the task "accomplished." Second of all, when I put it on my list originally, I intended to get real lessons. From a professional. Who is NOT my husband.
He had other ideas, though. First of all, we'd have to pay someone else. Second of all, we'd have to pay someone else.
We had a set of clubs that Sullen Teenager had used when she was taking golf lessons, so at least we didn't have to go buy new equipment. (Hubby plays left-handed, inexplicably, so I couldn't use any of the bazillion clubs he already owns.)
I had enormous reservations about allowing Hubby to instruct me in the ways of playing golf. I balanced those against having a perfect stranger guffaw at my attempts, though, and I agreed to let Hubby give me lessons. I figured he would probably be standing within striking distance, and I would have a golf club in my hand. I would swear it was an accident. Me being a novice and all.
The lessons went much better than I would have predicted. Hubby didn't give me too much grief, and I didn't take his criticisms personally. I tried to use his instruction to make my swing better and hit the ball farther, and I think I accomplished that. To some degree. Can I do it again tomorrow? Ummm..... maybe.
Golf is not without its own perils. Hubby doesn't wear a golf glove, and there wasn't one in the golf bag that Sullen Teenager had used. To be honest, I didn't think anything about it. After hitting only half a bucket of balls, however, this happened to my thumb. I apologize for the blurriness of the picture. It was hard for me to take a picture of my own thumb, and Hubby didn't really see the point. He's not very blog-savvy.
I think I might be willing to take the game up, but it's never going to be my first choice of free-time activities. Not as long as I'm physically able to ride my bike. And play Mario Brothers.