My husband Fred is a big golfer. He loves/hates the game, depending on the day. He attended the Masters this year, and was just totally amazed by the whole experience. I was so happy he got a chance to be there to see Tiger Woods throw up his hands in total frustration.
My husband has tried to teach me to golf several times. He is exceedingly patient and I'm happy that he wants me to golf with him, but acting out his list of demands in one fluid motion was challenging: keep your elbow straight, eye on the ball, weight on back leg, follow through your swing...for some reason, I got mad at him. And he wasn't doing anything wrong; I was.
So I attended a golf clinic at our course. The most memorable phrase was our teacher yelling "No Elvis!" meaning he didn't want our swing to be in our knees (here he did a pretty impressive Elvis imitation in front of us), but in our hips. Interestingly, because the class 1) is a little older, and understood this Elvis reference and 2) was not married to the teacher, we all immediately improved.
The next day, I was sore in muscles I never knew I had - my upper left torso, my lower legs, my wrists? Do my wrists even have muscles? If they do, they were hurting. As I ate Motrin like chicklets I assured my husband I did, indeed, love golf.
My clinic included a glass of wine and appetizer, and frankly this was the best part. But I am determined to keep swinging. My kids are growing up, so I can either get in the game, or spend a lot of time away from my husband. Plus, the outfits are cute.
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