Unfortunately for most of us, golf isn't our life and therefore the time spent perfecting it is compromised.  Nevertheless, we press on.

For my last round this Saturday, I tackled a 6,368 yard course that only two weeks earlier got the better of me as I shot a 97.  This time around, though, thanks to my driving being slightly better, leaving me with more accessible approaches, and my putting much more rhythmic, I shot an 89.  What's more, because of fluid strokes with the flat club and an 8-Iron chip in on the first hole, I accomplished an earlier goal I set out for myself: playing a round of 18 with 36 putts or fewer with at least two birdies.  

The chip in on No. 1 marked the first and after a 120-yard pitching wedge over towering trees to within four feet on No. 10, I had two birdies in a single round for the first time in my playing career.  Having finished the round with 29 putts, I'm happy to report a 2010 goal has officially been checked off.  But not without some psychological angst.

Before I get to the four foot putt on No. 10, allow me to backtrack to the first overbearing mind hurdle I encountered.  Not to bore you with the details of a horrendous hole, let's just say it had it all: a three-putt, a penalty stroke, a little ping pong golf back and forth over the green, all culminating with a quadruple bogey.  Now look, writing an eight on a scorecard isn't new for me, but handling the necessity of overcoming it is.  

Maybe it's because, in order to promote timely play, it's the limit for a par 4 on most courses.  Or because it's a "snowman".  Or perhaps, and I think this is where I have a hard time, somewhere in the back of your mind you realize you just added four additional strokes above par to the day's total.  

On this particular day I wrote an eight and allowed it to muster around in my head for a good three to five minutes.  It suddenly became three dimensional.  Lifting itself from the scorecard, I began seeing the intersection of two circles joining forces to crush my front nine.  And then out of nowhere the training I'd been working on took over and I refocused for my next drive, which, by the way, was probably my best or second best of the round.  Immediately after I picked up my tee I thought one last time of the "eight" and said goodbye to worrying about it for the remainder of the day.  

The next psychological challenge  was my four foot birdie putt on No. 10.  My two playing partners took a little longer than usual to get inside my ball and actually holed out before I attempted the putt.  During this time I desperately fought back potentially damaging thoughts, having first stuffed down the reality that it was in fact for birdie.  What was worse, I found the thought creep into my mind that if I missed, my back nine might be doomed.  It was at this point that I settled myself down and instead concentrated on the line.  It was mostly straight on, with about a half of a cup right-to-left break.  As I let it go I knew it wasn't as firm as I wanted it, but it had just enough revolutions and dropped for a mentally-battled three.  

Some might worry less than I do, but controlling our thoughts is an art that must be nurtured in order to play good golf.  It's the unseen variable that makes this game so fascinating.  Other methods might be better suited, but personally, I seek to find the moments that need work and then proceed to make concerted efforts to stay mentally strong within them.  Like we all realize, golf requires focus on every shot, but the key is to train the mind to avoid outcomes, and instead worry about execution.

With this in mind for the future, I hope to have a more level-minded approach.  

And if I can find optimal balance, better scores will come.

Hours of practice: 446

Before I report the lesson, allow me to digress on a few highlights.  I drove the ball, overall, decently.  There were a few holes where I didn't move the ball the way I would have liked to, but this isn't to say I completely mishit them either.  

On 14, a 327-yard uphill dogleg right, I envisioned a slight fade just inside the right tree line.  After attempting to hit a similar shot on the previous hole, only to hit a straightaway bomb, I adjusted my arms on the downswing and came inside the ball more.  As soon as I hit it it felt great.  My ball hugged the overhanging branches and bent slightly right only to land dead center of the fairway.  It was a perfectly placed drive, which led to a GIR and a two-putt par.

Because the course was short (6,011), my longer irons weren't needed much, but I consistently went fairway to green to par.  And if I didn't hit the fairway, I stayed calm and managed to scramble for hard earned pars due to some solid well struck putts.  But back to the lesson learned.

For the entire day I stay focused on the task at hand.  At one point I parred four in a row and five out of six but refused to let it get to my head.  When I'd hit a good shot, I'd move on.  Same with a bad one.  Yes, for 17 holes and three shots, I was determined to play well.

But then I relaxed on the very last shot and the dilemma began.  

On 18, a 155-yard slightly uphill par 3, with water on the front, I easily threw a 7-iron directly on line with the pin.  Because of my eye injury, I couldn't tell if the ball was pin-high or long.  It turned out it was 20 yards long, and that I'd need a 2-putt to finish with an 84. (Of course I didn't know the final score at the time.)

 I left my first putt about seven feet short.  The slope of the green led me to think the ball would roll a lot faster than I thought, especially considering the greens were firming up due to the hot sun pounding them all day. (One aspect I really have to start paying attention to is the direction the grass grows on the greens.)

On my parr putt, avoiding any thoughts that it was indeed a parr putt, I lined it up confidently but simply pushed it right, leaving a one and a half footer for bogey.  

Annoyed by my three-putt (my third of the day), I assumed the tap in and proceeded to pull it left.  Now this wasn't your typical stand-over-the-line-and-make-sure-there's-no-break putt.  It was a simple tap in, set to conclude everyone's day.  I could have easily scooped up my ball and given myself an 85. (It was also one of those putts that those you're playing with declare, "that's good" or, "we'll give you that".  I'm not a fan of those and always tap in anyway.)  

I struggled with my final number.  The individual keeping everyone's score asked what I was taking.  Still indecisive, I declared an 85.  But knowing I didn't knock down that 85th shot was screaming at me.  After contemplating it for the entire hour-long ride home, I decided it was a lesson I had to learn, and that an 86 would be my new best.

The lesson learned: until you shake the hands of those you've played with, never let your guard down.  For every shot, the same mental concentration is required.  Regardless whether it's a 300-yard drive or a one foot putt, taking it for granted only leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

And I had a bad taste in my mouth.  Maybe others would have taken the 85, but knowing my aspirations to someday participate in competitive golf drives me to play by ALL the rules.  (Otherwise, why keep score in the first place?)  And those rules consist of having every hole end with the ball hitting the bottom of the cup.

Perhaps the sweetest sound in golf. (Aside from the birds chirping.)

Hours of practice: 430

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About a week later, and a little bit more obstruction in my eye, I played two rounds of golf with my in-laws, but refused to succumb to the displeasure I was experiencing, at least for the second 18 anyway.  During my first round I encountered a range of emotions.  On one hole I'd hit a great shot, only to struggle as I looked down on my ball for the next.  This didn't necessarily affect the shot, but it would remind me of what I was dealing with, which in turn had an effect on my psyche for the next shot.  Needless to say I didn't play well.  

After another week, as the light in my eye increased with intensity, I decided to visit an optometrist and was told of liquid leaking behind my retina and that if it reached my macula - the part of the eye responsible for seeing - I'd have a problem.  

Well, I'm sad to report that it has, and in doing so, has entirely blurred the vision in my right eye.  And as of this past Sunday, has officially affected my ability to play golf.

Perhaps in denial of my issue, I to hit the range for a few hours of iron work.  

About 15 balls in I realized I'd made a huge mistake.  I contemplated returning the buckets I'd purchased, but instead pressed on.  The ball stood near my feet, but my inability to have any depth perception made it appear closer (or farther) than it was. (If you want to understand how I see the world right now, cross one eye and leave the other straight.)

At first I couldn't believe it was my eye causing the shanking to occur.  I passed it off as some mechanical flaw and worked on fixing it.  But as my shots continued to be offline, and my frustration grew, the session spiraled out of control.  Maybe it was a mechanical issue, but not being able to clearly see the ball confused my common sense to the point where I worried about my grip, left elbow, weight distribution, top hand through, eye on the ball, etc.  Was it my eye or my game?  

I finally came to a conclusion: even if it was my game, I couldn't play golf again until I my vision returned to normal.  To me, It made no sense to play a game that requires so much emotional stability with a mind that had none.  The irony of it all is that I approached this practice with an enormous amount of confidence.   

By the end, though, I felt discouraged, resentful, embarrassed, sorry for myself, uninspired, and concerned that I'd never play golf again, let alone see. (I know.  I need some perspective to comprehend it not being the end of the world.  But taking away my ability to play golf is, well, think of your absolute passion in life and imagine it being robbed from you.)  

Truthfully, I'm not sure what's bothering me more.  My eye or the idea that I'll have to regain the form I've attained to this point.  I feel as though, because my session was filled with utter nonsense, the blow my confidence took is going to have more of an impact on my game than my eye will, at least in the short term.

But then again I'm really not thinking clearly right now.  I know one thing: you really take for granted how vital both eyes are when hitting a golf ball.  When watching the pros play now, it's all I can think about.

As for my game, from the time I left the range to the point you read this now, all that keeps playing over and over in my mind is my ball dashing off to the right, and the feeling as though I've never played this game before.  

Two eyes or not, it's simply a terrible feeling.

Hours of practice: 424

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Josh had written a book about golf entitled Straight Down The Middle: Shivas Irons, Bagger Vance, and How I learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Golf Swing and because I wrote about my game here, asked if I'd be interested in reading it.  

Without any hesitation, I said yes and eagerly awaited its arrival. 

To put it simply: I enjoyed every word.

If you're like me and love reading about golf and other peoples' experiences, then please make this book your golfing choice for 2010.  It's honest, funny, insightful, relatable, and above all, inspiring.  Josh's style is fluid and gives anyone with a plus 20 handicap an escape from their over-analytical mind (or any handicap for that matter).

It may not provide concrete guidelines on the mechanics of a swing or offer instructions on how to hold a club, but the encounters and stories told allow the reader to behold their own endless possibilities, all because Josh had the drive to pursue his.   

Josh didn't hold back when finding his golfing partners, either.  He sought an "effortless" swing with Yoni Zaluski; balance of body and mind with Jim Waldron; played 18 with Dr. Joseph Parent, the creator of Zen Golf; combined martial arts and golf with the "Golf Sensei"; and even flew across the pond to play a few rounds in golf's homeland, Scotland. 

Along his quest to find the meaning of golf, if you will, Josh lowered his handicap from 18 to 11 and found moments of "golf ecstasy."  While reading, I couldn't help but imagine what a round of golf with Josh would be like, and couldn't help but admire his journey.

One day I hope to in fact play 18 with Josh, but until then, Straight Down The Middle showed me that it's not all about shooting a perfect score.  It's more about enjoying the ride.

If you pick up this book, I promise you'll feel the same.

Thanks, Josh.

Hours of practice: 411

So many factors attribute to a good golf game.  There are the mechanics, the decision making, and of course, the poise, just to name a few.  To reach an elite golfing status, all must eventually be tuned to perfection.

Personally speaking, the mechanics are never a problem.  Each of my range visits consist of repetitive swings with a particular club, working out any flaws in the motion.  As for the other two, only the challenges of a given course can provide me with the ability to know whether I'll make a good decision, or that I'll have the composure to think clearly.

Nevertheless, even a leisurely afternoon, on a challenging course with a few friends has the potential to mask the true beast that swallows us all in the heat of the moment—the pressure.

When I created this blog I did so to allow the extrinsic motivation to be my driving force, constantly pushing me to excel in this wonderful game I love so dearly.  Now, close to a full year later, as my readership continues to grow, so too do the expectations I place upon myself.

Each time I tee it up, no matter how much confidence has developed within me, somewhere in the back of my mind is a thought that looms, "You'll have to report this round."  But it isn't this concern that worries me the most.

This Sunday I had the honor and privilege of playing alongside seven great friends for 27 holes.  There were four teams of two, and each nine holes we switched opponents allowing every team to face all three.  We chose best ball as our format, which meant you had the freedom to know that if a duff reared its ugly head, at least you had your partner to back you up. (Best ball means that each team hits one shot from the tee, chooses the best hit, then repeats the process from there. The one caveat for us was that on a par four, teams had to use two shots from each player, as well as on a par five. On a par three it was two and one.)

So in essence, with best ball in play, pressure might seem tamable.  

Well, not in my head.  

Knowing some of my friends (hopefully on occasion) read my aspirations for golf, the pressure to show them my practice was actually paying off took over my thought process beforehand.  

I combated this thinking by simply allowing my thoughts to float by, giving no credence to any one in particular.  Sure enough, however, as I'm partaking in my pre-round ritual of pitching and putting, three friends arrive and one greets me with a sarcastic reference to my recent play.  Here comes the doubt and expectations bellowing up in my mind, "You must back up all the hard work you've been putting in!" (Deep gulp.)

Then a light went off.  To master the game of golf, you must be opportunistic.  Here was a moment that presented itself for me to learn from.  When I'm on the range, or even out for a round, the pressure to play well isn't usually part of the equation. 

Now it was.  At least sort of.  

With this in mind, I embraced the heaviness that was mounting, accepted it as part of the process, and insisted on gaining perspective from it.  In addition, I reminded myself to trust the hard work I've been devoted to, and stay present when presented with every shot. (Don't think ahead or behind; don't harp on a bad putt only to have it affect the next shot; don't think about a potential birdie after nailing a drive dead center of the fairway; don't decide to go for an impossible shot when a punch out is the best play.)

Because of the format we played, I can't report a score or whether I hit any greens in regulation.  Overall, though, I felt good about my game.  My driver had some great moments, and really only failed me once or twice.  My putting was probably the best aspect of my game, offering itself with well struck lag putts and consistent eight-to-ten foot bottom-of-the-cup ones.  

In hindsight, my 6-iron and 7-iron need some work, along with my 3-iron and 4-iron.  Even though my driver was solid, a little extra work with it never hurt anyone's game.  And as for my mental state of mind?

This Sunday provided me with a glimpse into what's needed to overcome anxiety on the course.  Although the friends I played with would never give me a hard time (at least most of them, and you know who you are), I wanted to play well just because.  

After it was all said and done, the time spent catching up with guys I don't get to see much meant more to me than any 6-iron I struggled with or putt I nailed. (Except maybe a 60-yard pitch that hit the pin.)  Which is why golf is so special.  As we all age, and surround ourselves with responsibilities more pressing than golf, we sometimes forget about the world not immediately circling us.

For 27 holes I was reminded of how special the seven guys I had the opportunity to play with really are.  Thanks for the memories, fellows.

And thanks for helping me work on handling the pressure!

Hours of practice: 411

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I'm not complaining, because as my brother-in-law would say, "It beats working."  But I am here to report that golf is frustrating and difficult enough when the weather is pristine, let alone when it's cold, windy and rainy. 

These last two rounds have given me resolve beyond anything mechanical or psychological.  They've proved to me the length I must go before anything remotely close to good golf is played.  Hitting a 5-iron 170 yards with wind in your face requires another gear I simply don't have.

Yet.

To avoid the effect the wind would have on a particular shot, a "punch shot" is needed.  To this point of my quest I haven't adopted this shot to my bag.  But even with the wind at my back, I stood over a 160 yard, slightly uphill shot, and pulled out my 6-iron.

As I made contact, I watched as my ball sailed wonderfully through the air destined for the green.  When it landed without any sign of a bounce, I began to think that perhaps I underestimated how much the wind actually carries a given shot.

When I approached the green, I finally found my ball twenty-five yards past the pin, lying in the rough on the downward backside behind the green.  

Now in my readings on golf, many preach how important it is to forget about distance and instead concentrate on contact.  With this in mind I focused on the trajectory of my shot rather than the end result. (Perhaps I should have worried about my up-and-down because I left my "up" four feet from the hole and missed my "down" par-putt.)

The point being that wind is a factor of the game, and unless you can learn to equate how much of a factor it actually is, you should forget about considering yourself a good golfer.  I don't mean this in a jaded way, but only that golf's elements demand that you play at your best regardless of the conditions.  Going out on a beautiful sunny day as opposed to a treacherous one separates the men from the boys.  

I used to think that because the rain had such an impact on my psyche when I played in it, I could never consider myself a legitimate golfer when encountering slippery clubs and sloppy lies.  

Now it's the wind disrupting my ability to see myself clearly.  

I'm sure I'll get some feedback on how to adjust in it - and for that I'll be forever grateful - but here's what I gathered from two days of averaging 35 mph winds:

-Never mind trying to hit "punch shots" through the wind or changing anything in my stance or grip.  For now, all I can do is be myself on the golf course and one day hope for more productive results when the weather calls for it.  If I hit a high arching shot with a 5-iron or 6-iron and the wind takes it someplace else, oh well.  At least I can try and counter that movement by aiming left or right of my target.  

-A handicap, like age, is simply a number.  The next time someone asks me mine, I'm going to reply with, "It's around 17 in good weather.  But if it's rainy, windy or cold, then your guess is as good as mine."  

I consider myself a decent golfer in nice weather.  But if Mother Nature doesn't cooperate, then my confidence takes a significant hit.

And with that said, maybe working on my confidence is where I should be channeling my energies.  

Hours of practice: 399

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Surprisingly, my putting was uncharacteristically off and failed me mostly on the back nine.  I'm usually pretty stable with the flat club—strategically playing for two-putts at the most—but this round couldn't have been more up and down.  On two of the first four holes I gently rolled in a 20-foot, right-to-left downhill putt with a six-foot break in for birdie on No. 2.  Then I preceded to watch a 35-foot right-to-left with a 10-foot break sink in for an up-and-down par on No. 4. 

After that, it was downhill.

The round consisted of 37 putts total, including three three-putts and a four-putt on No. 9 which completely blew up my front nine.  With a par I would have made the turn at 41, but instead skulled a three-iron off the cart path and over the green.  From there, with water staring me in the face, and a 40 degree downhill green tensing my muscles, it took me two to get on, and four putts to get in. (I rushed my final two-foot putt and agonized over it until I teed off on No. 11.)

On the back it was nothing but poorly rolled putts and a duff that is still bothering me.  On No. 16 I nailed my driver (which I hit well all day) about 280 and straight. (For the record I was trying to hit a draw into a dogleg left.)  From there I had to hit my second with an oncoming twosome patiently waiting for me to stand and deliver with my four-iron. 

As of late I've taken pride in overcoming any fear in this moment.  But my nerves got the best of me on this occasion.  I hit an anyway, as Dr. Joseph Parent would like to say (an anyway is when you get that uncomfortable feeling over the ball but hit it anyway) and stood in frustration as my ball dribbled 30 feet.  It was at this point that I knew my stamina was becoming an issue.

My 18-hole stamina is definitely one aspect that I took away from this round as "needing work."  Of course my putting was another, but everyone has bad putting days.  My energy level, though, cannot disintegrate like it did, causing me to lose my cool a few times.

For the round overall, I hit three greens in regulation, five fairways, had 10 shots inside 75 yards and 17 chips from just off the green.  Of the 17, only one translated into an up-and-down.  Ouch! (An up-and-down is a short shot off the green—either in a surrounding sandtrap, rough or fringe—that requires two shots to get in the hole.  The up, which is the pitch onto the green, and the down, which is the next shot into the hole.) 

Regarding this last one, I used to rely on my seven-iron around the greens to bump and run my chips, but lately I've been working on soft pitches with my PW.  This reliance, and my unsuccessful round, goes to show you that you must have multiple shots around the green in your bag.  You shouldn't become comfortable with one over the other, but rather have the capability to pull any one from your bag according to the circumstances.  

I think I'm going to work on a few things before my next round (which is this Saturday): getting accustomed to a bump and run nine-iron as well as a seven-iron, get back to fading more (the draw I've been working on was actually successful twice this weekend), and learn to release my chips more with my PW better.  

I was finding that most would bite way too early and not roll as much as I had hoped.  It was obvious I was coming down on them too much and getting the ball to hit the green with backspin. 

Aside from these areas, because my driver was cranking on all cylinders, my long irons didn't get much work, which means I should concentrate on them some as well. 

And of course there's the putting.     

Hours of practice: 389

When I was 16, my driving instructor and I were stationed at a stop sign.  Upon entering the intersection, I smoothly transitioned my right foot gently off the brake and accelerated without any hitch in the motion.  As the blinker came to a standstill, I glanced in my rearview mirror for any oncoming traffic; there wasn't any.  All this took place in a matter of seconds and I didn't stop once to think about it.  It was at that moment in time that I realized I knew how to drive a car.  But I digress.

That experience was related to one quality we all aspire for in life - confidence.  

And as with driving a car, or hitting a golf ball, our confidence fuels the inner belief that we can accomplish what we want to.  In my particular journey, it's hitting a tiny white ball into the air and getting it close to my target.  Prior to my mechanical epiphany, there was occasional doubt of the former even occurring (forget about the latter).

So many times before, while watching the pros play, I often wondered if they ever stepped up to the first tee box and feared "shanking" one into the crowds.  How is it that they, no matter what, get their ball airborne without any follies us amateurs are so accustomed to?  I now have that answer.  It's confidence in their ability.

This realization may sound obvious, but next time you play, if you happen to hit a few duffs in a row, check your level of confidence and get back to me.  I guarantee it's entirely absent at that moment. 

As for me, although I don't experience it much on the course, on the range I'll have bouts of shanks with my easiest of clubs even after 20 consecutive successful ones hit.  And after each bout, I'll struggle to regain my form through confidence-rebuilding drills.

I'll step back and take a moment to gather my composure.  I'll remind myself that I've hit this club before and can do it again.  I'll navigate my thinking away from doubt, resting instead safely in the hands of reassurance.

Nevertheless, it usually fails.   

But my golf's version of learning to drive came this Saturday when it dawned on me my wrists were not coming through at impact.  I was simply chipping balls 15 to 20 yards and every so often shanking a few to the right.  It finally hit me: My arms were ahead of my wrists.  At last!    

Now don't get me wrong, this won't elevate my game to superior status.  I will certainly have duffs on the course where I bend down too far and jam my club right into the ground creating a divot the size of my driver cover.  But what it will do is give me the wherewithal to know I CAN do it.  

And that's the point.  

On Saturday, April 17th, 2010, I no longer mentally strain with my abilities to hit a golf shot.  

It's now a matter of hitting a good golf shot.  

Hours of practice: 379

But not because of my scores.

In my first round I hit the ball well, though my score didn't reflect it.  Due to the problems I was having with my new driver, I constantly found myself scrambling to get on the green in three (that's if I managed to find my drive).  Although I was hitting my irons very well, and managed to three-putt only once, I ended the day at a 99.  Not good by any means, but taking into consideration that it was my first round of the year, and that my drives only found the fairway one time, I was pleased with the start to 2010.

A lot changed for my second round.  

To begin with, I began hitting my driver 270 yards exactly where I wanted to.  Aside from a missed three-foot up-and-down save for par, my putting was as expected.  I scored an 88, but left feeling more disappointed than encouraged.  And in hindsight, my iron play - which was a mixed bag - wasn't what left me puzzled.

Sure, on the back nine I had a three-hole par-stretch, a par five where I cleanly picked a 5-iron off the fairway from 170 out and got it onto the green in two (I three-putted for par), and a 150-yard par three, uphill with water to the left, which I stuck a 6-iron to within 20 feet. 

But the enthusiasm I had after 99 was missing after 88.  And as most golfers know, it isn't about the score (unless you're competing) that matters.  It's the feel of the game that brings you the best results.  

I can hit water off the tee, drop, then leave my third shot 30 feet from the hole and get lucky on my par putt.  Someone else can hit a beautiful drive dead center of the fairway, knock an iron to within five feet, then lip out on a well struck putt leaving them with the same exact score as me (4).  But I can guarantee you that the latter scenario leaves a golfer with a warmer feeling.  I know, I know, the scores were the same, but extrapolate on this point some: It's about feel, not score.  

So what was the difference between my two rounds?  

My 99 was played with not a single soul around my friend and me.  We literally did not have anyone in front or behind us the entire day.  When I say we didn't see another golfer, I mean we did not see another person the entire 18 holes.  

My 88, on the other hand, was filled with backed up tee boxes, frustrated fairway waits, and one huge lesson for me to learn: I can't control what everyone else is doing or feeling.  I can only control what I'm doing.

My trouble with a crowded and long round is that I'm worrying about what the group behind me is feeling more than I'm worrying about myself.  Are they getting aggravated that my group is taking longer than we should?  This thinking hinders my own game because I suddenly forget about executing the areas I worked on, and instead concern myself with the etiquette of what the three other people I'm playing with are doing, or not doing.

This isn't to say that my round of 88 consisted of poor etiquette.  My group was very considerate and patient.  It's just that I deal with my own issues and in turn it affects my game.  

Golf is about rhythm and setting your mechanics in synch with your mentality.  When I'm thinking about 10 other things that don't impact me, my game has no chance.  

I've always struggled with the distractions that come from concerning myself by other factors besides my own game, but after going from feeling like I was a member of a country club, to being reminded that I'm just another public player in an overcrowded field, it became evident what's necessary.  

I must distinguish my talents from those around me.  Not in a pompous or selfish way, but rather with determination and purpose.  In order to accomplish this, I must become more mentally focused than the rest.  If the group I'm in is taking too long, I'm sorry.  It just isn't my problem any longer.

Those behind me will have to wait and when it's my turn to go, I will run through my routine and execute accordingly.

Of course as with everything else in golf, this will require hard work.  

It's now officially been added to my list of items to master.

Hours of practice: 376

Regarding my short game, on the advice of a casual reader who urged me to focus on mastering from 100 yards and in, I've spent a good portion of the six hours honing in with my P-wedge and 9-iron.  Now although these two clubs have always been one of my easiest to swing, I took the advice to heart and instead worked blisteringly on delivering consistent accuracy.  

Like Phil Mickelson, rather than take a full rotating swing from 90 yards, I hit down on the ball (hoping it would generate some backspin upon landing) and came through only to the top of my upswing.  With my hands turned over and still within my peripheral view, I watched as my ball swiftly fell within 10 to 15 yards each time.  

Not great, but with a solid putting performance, manageable.  

After this three hour visit, though, I began to develop some soreness in my right pinky, which hasn't subsided since.  Can anyone attest to this pain and as to whether it will ever go away?  It's more in my second knuckle up from my nail.  It feels more bruised than anything, but with the golf season in full swing, I fear it could begin to hinder any progress.  

I'm not too overly concerned, but like the some-time paranoia that I am, I do worry about the long-term sustainability of my game.

Moving on to the driver ... a completely different story.

For those that do not appreciate the game of golf, learning to hit a club is very hard.  For the novice, it would seem logical that since I've hit a driver before, picking up a new one and repeating the same success would be simple.

Not so fast.  I feel like I'm moving from basic math to calculus all in one day.  

With the recent bad weather draped over the northeast, the driving range, which overlooks the Manhattan skyline, was very difficult to pick up any ball after impact. (Let alone one that wasn't heading straight.)

From the sound of my club making contact, I thought the ball flight was decent (not great) and somewhere toward the middle of the range.  After about 10 balls, and thoughts of wondering if it even made sense to work on my swing if I couldn't see where my shots were heading, I suddenly picked up my next shot.

It was squirting roughly 125 yards directly to the right.  What a pathetic feeling.  Even more pathetic, like I was planning to hit it there, I must have repeated this poor trajectory 20 to 30 times more.  I changed my footing, my ball placement, the plane I was taking my hands back on - nothing worked!

As much as I would like to report that I persevered through it and eventually found my drive, I can't.  I took a break and went back to my short game, but even that began struggling.  (Man, golf is so psychological.)  At this point, I felt as though the most important element of my game was my composure.  If my mechanics were out of sorts, then at least I should learn to handle the mental faculties that fade along with them.  I did, some what, and after about an hour went back to my driver.

Sadly, it didn't help and I continued to watch as my ball traveled faintly to the right and 125 yards out.  I sort of wished I had a slice; at least that way I can say I was close to getting my ball to travel straight and further than 125 yards.

Anyway, with all this in mind, and my first round of the season less than two days away, I have one last practice session to work out my driver's kinks.  I know they won't all magically disappear, but hopefully I begin to learn how to manage the poor ones.  

That's all I can ask for, right?

Hours of practice: 361