Recovers special

It’s true – some times you eat the bear and sometimes the bear eats you.

It was beautiful Saturday. At about 0800 I left my house, golf clubs in the back of my pickup truck and plans for 18 holes for the first time in more than a year. I felt good vibrations heading to a pretty nice municipal golf course – DelCastle in picturesque New Castle County.

I was especially positive because I’ve been working out almost every day after work as a way to help my recovery along. On alternate days I will walk, lift weights, or ride my bike. While I am as strong as most tenth grade members of the chess club, I have made a lot of progress.

So I was pretty sure I was ready to knock it dead with a bunch of septuagenarians and bloated middle aged men trying to survive the game so they can smoke cigars behind their wives backs and drink a pitcher of beer to top off their athletic endeavor, all while keeping their heart rates pretty much the same as when they drove in the parking lot. Think about it -- when you ride in a cart how tough can golf really be – it is actually the world’s longest outdoor parlor game.

Well the bloat crowd had the last laugh yesterday. For the first few holes things were going okay. I was feeling pretty good and looking forward to telling lies and engaging in hyperbole when the round was over.  I really can’t drink yet so I figured I’d get all strung out on Coke (the beverage) when it was done and make fun of pro golfers on the TV that’s always playing in the clubhouse. I usually stink at golf and yesterday I was playing usual game, but without losing any balls and not double parring most holes. Okay, okay, I must admit an eight may have snuck in on a par four.

So at about the fifth hole my feet get numb and tingly. Neuropathy! Poop! Double poop!

At this point it’s not too bad so I figure I’ll just tough it out for the next 13 holes. I really want to get a cheeseburger with the fellas when we are done. Although it’s distracting I drive on and do okay. When we were done on the seventh hole (which I did miraculously well on), I tried to trot across the green to get to the cart and my legs just went wobbly as if they were asleep. I had been down this road before and I knew my day was coming to an end.

We get to the eighth tee and I completely distracted, have lost my enthusiasm, and now have a shooting pain in my right hip. Who hell knows where that came from? I don’t want to be the wiener that doesn’t finish the game (like Tiger Woods did last week), but I know I’m done.

Almost in tears because I thought I was a bit further along, I tell my buddies I’m done and am going home. They understand and one of my friends drives me to my truck where I am so disgusted I just throw the clubs in the truck and head home (golf shoes still ON).

When I get home I lick my wounds, suck my thumb, take a nap, have a sandwich and vegetate in front of the TV for the rest of the day.

I’m okay today, but the whole thing kind of sucked. I guess this recovery stuff is a longer road than I thought. Oh well.

Love to all,

Bill

I hope to play again real soon! J