sportsfanIQ

Even after 20 inches of northeastern weather, I managed to drag myself to the range with a seven-iron and eight in hand. Before I recap the session, allow me to express my developing boredom with range visits.  

I realize the time spent practicing is extremely relevant to the hopeful success translated on the golf course, but eventually we all want to see our hard work come to fruition. For the love of the golf gods, give me 18 holes already. Tucked neatly into a six-by-six heated net region for the last few months, I'm beginning to experience golf's version of cabin fever.

Nevertheless, my latest visit had some ups and downs. The most notable up: my discovery that I now possess the ability to draw the ball—sort of.  

After watching a short video on how to go about doing so, and after hitting a lull with the club anyway, I decided to give it a shot with my eight-iron.

Literally, on my first attempt, I shifted my right hip back a bit, made contact, and watched as my ball traveled right to left. I can honestly say it was magical. As quickly as my practice was hitting a rough patch, it was uplifted into a state of euphoria.

From that point, until I moved to the seven-iron, I was imagining a line just right of my target and shaping my shot right on course. It was truly awesome!

(One question I have, though: Do professionals ever attempt to hit a straight shot? Or do they consistently rely on fades and draws? I began thinking about this after I hit about 10 draws. Once my mechanical alignment was out of sorts, I thought, "Am I screwing up my stance to the point where I won't be able to hit a straight ball?" Any insight here would be appreciated.)

But as quickly as my draw appeared, it disappeared. And my frustration level resurfaced. So much so that I decided, at least for now, that I wasn't ready to devote my entire time to right-to-left shots. So I moved on to my seven-iron.

The seven-iron began with a handful of easy, successful shots. Then not so many.

Up until my transition to the seven, my session unfolded as such: good start with the eight (up), sudden lull with the eight (down), newfound draw shot (up), lost draw shot (down), few good shots with the seven (up), many bad shots with the seven (down), more bad shots with the seven (further down), and then the cabin fever kicked in full throttle (rock bottom).

I found my composure completely rattled. Everything within me that had been training to be capable of handling these moments malfunctioned: tension in my body arose, mental distractions ensued, and, worst of all, I had fits where I simply one handed a few balls five to 10 yards in front of me. I was breaking down—hard.

But then I stepped outside myself and saw a version months younger. This impression actually helped me understand how far I'd come. Months ago I wouldn't have been able to realize the missteps I was taking. This time, I recognized and made the necessary adjustments to ensure the final 10 to 15 balls left would be pure and golf-like.

And they were.

I regrouped my mental and physical states and, nice and easily, connected with the last few shots remaining. And, as always, you know what they say: "It's that one shot that brings you back for more."  

This time, however, it was about five to 10.

Hours of practice: 352