March 19, 2007 @ 8:33 pm | Filed under: It's a Girl Thing, Uniquely Me

I am not an athlete.

When my Mom wished for a daughter who’d turn out to be a girly-girl, that’s exactly what she got. In school, I was almost always the last chosen for both, softball and Dodge ball teams. Even then, I usually somehow managed to talk one of the boys into running the bases for me.

In middle school, I briefly entertained the idea of taking up tennis. I guess this sounded plausible to my parents because they promptly enrolled me in a summer tennis course and we went out and bought a really cool racket, a tube of balls, and I’m pretty sure I even got some new tennis shoes out of the deal. My tennis career came to a sudden halt, however, when during my first-ever lesson, I was hit smack between the eyeballs with a ball…served by my instructor.

Um…no, I did not go back.

So when I casually mentioned a couple of years ago that I was thinking that maybe I’d like to take up golf, let’s just say that garnered me a lot of indulgent smiles. It even made my brother laugh out loud. Really hard. There may have been tears involved.

Still, I was persistent. Armed with a brand-spanking new golf bag and putter (thanks to a Christmas gift from Amy, my girly-girl step-daughter who believed in me and my inner golf diva:), I spent that first year just learning the basics. And I do use that term - basics, that is - loosely.

I learned how to grip the clubs, and I learned (the painful way) what can happen when you grip them the WRONG way. I learned lots of patience, which was a good thing because I putted air more that first year than I did balls. I never actually played any rounds that year; instead, I fell in love with the driving range, probably even using it as an escape a time or two.

Who knew that such inspiration was practically in my backyard? Undeterred by my ineptness, I would come home exhilerated and then spend time flipping through Golf Digest for Women. Okay, I was admiring the cute shoes more than the articles. Remember, I AM a girl, after all…

Last spring, I bought my own set of golf clubs. Now I was the proud owner of more than just a bag and a putter. When I discovered that Rochelle also played golf, well…that sealed the deal. We spent many an evening at the golf course together and - though much slower than I’d like - I did make great strides last year.

Once again, I was thoroughly engulfed with the sheer inspiration and beauty that always met me on the green. I don’t know which I enjoyed more - the sound of that deliciously firm, undeniable crack! as my club made solid contact with the ball, or the glorious streaked sunsets that would slowly fade to darkness around me. I knew last year that I’d found a writer’s paradise. A place to rejuvenate, a place to relax. Okay, and yeah, a place to sometimes (not MUCH) take out my frustrations on poor, unsuspecting balls.

I suppose that as much as I’d like to call myself a golfer now, maybe calling myself a seasonal golfer would be more accurate. I pull out my golf clubs for three to four months out of the year. Today was That Day. The first of this season. I couldn’t help feeling flutters of excitement as I brought in everything from the garage, in preparation for the driving range tonight.

Although it had been months since my fingers had slid into place around my driver, I think I might have even smiled as I locked them into place and prepared for that first swing. Skies were overcast and the wind was up a bit too high, but those facts faded from my mind as I felt my body relax and my mind sharpen.

I think that this year it’s time to take my game to the next level. I’ve been carrying a golf pro’s business card in my wallet for a year now. Though I may have been hoping that I’d perfect my swing and improve my game by sheer osmosis, evidently…that’s not going to happen. So I’m thinking that golf lessons are in order for this girly-girl.

After that, the sky’s the limit, right? Who knows? Maybe I’ll play here, or here.

No, wait. I’ll play…here.

Does that make me an athlete?

Or just a girly-girl who’s discovered another part of herself?