The Back Nine

“Look, Steamworks is right over there!”

This was the third time we made this observation as our cart changed direction to the beer station. With five kegs on tap, Steamworks, a favorite Durango restaurant and brewery, provided the Girls Gone Golfing with this free fairway treat.

My friend, Deana, said this remark as she sharply turned our golf cart back in the direction of the Steamworks beer cart. With both of us adorning pink space cowgirl hats with matching pink heart-shaped sunglasses, we fit the bill for the women-only costume-themed golf scramble.

Our focus was on beer first and the game second. The other two in our foursome were Allison, dressed in an inflatable horse, and Nora, a spot-on Miss Kitty from Gunsmoke. Preparation time pre-scramble was invested in our costumes. My clubs were kindly lent to me by my neighbor as fitted for her granddaughter. Not owning a single golf accessory, I was grateful for a bag filled with balls, tees, and a golf glove.

After viewing my various cowgirl posts on social media, my middle son sent me a text deeming this outing a sorority event for moms. Fair enough. I certainly would not have passed the dress code of the country club we belonged to when he was young. A far cry from my participation and preparation in golf events from years past, my focus has shifted over time.

My family’s entry into the country club world of golf was when my three boys were still in grade school. As a partner at a CPA firm in Omaha, networking was a requirement for me. With my male counterpart partners avid golfers and with me being a minority female, I thought joining a country club was a good business move. New client relationships were solidified on the golf course.

With three young sons and a husband who loved to play golf, a country club membership seemed a perfect match for both my professional and personal lives. We eagerly signed up, paying the steep initiation fee, and agreeing to monthly minimums. The boys excitedly began their summer filled with morning golf lessons followed by leisure afternoons at the pool with friends.

We all quickly became accustomed to the country club lifestyle. Enjoying the beauty of the course, while making sure to get my ROI on our investment, I played 2-3 times a week. To improve my golf game, I would sneak in more time to hit balls on the practice range.

The more I played, the better I got. As word spread among my professional male network, I became the token female for the charity golf outings. My short game was so-so, but I could drive the ball well. With golf scrambles many times giving points for ‘best of’ in the women’s category, the invitations kept coming for me to fill foursomes.

I took lessons from the club professional and had my driver custom-made. My clubs were carefully marked for the ideal range by feet out for each iron. I had my swing videotaped and analyzed by the pro. By my second summer at the club, I began renting a locker in the women’s locker room where I kept many sets of golf outfits and potential layers, all golf attire name brands and trendy for that time.

At least four pairs of golf shoes were stored in the locker for options to match the cute golf outfits. After each golf outing, my clubs and shoes were gathered by club staff and cleaned. I would find my shiny shoes and clubs awaiting me at the next tee time. We followed the required etiquette in wearing the right clothing and following course rules.

Using the club restaurant for work and family gatherings and attending holiday brunches, I ensured our monthly club minimum was covered. The boys helped in covering this minimum cost early on by taking liberties at the pool snack bar. Payment was always by using our club number with no cash allowed to track monthly spend by member. My boys misinterpreted the concept of providing a number rather than cash as free food which they generously took advantage of, filling themselves and their friends with candy and ice cream at will throughout the day. An economics lesson in buying on credit after the first bill brought a stop to the no-limits charging by the Lane Boys.

We enjoyed many couples’ nights on the course, inviting other golfing couples to join us. They would reciprocate by inviting us to their clubs. Our summer spare time, when not at boys’ baseball games, was on the golf course. I loved the smell of the freshly watered grass and the feeling of hitting a straight drive onto the fairway. Finishing a round of golf with the backdrop of a Midwest sunset was a perfect end to a summer day. Although our country club years had a good run, they ultimately did have an expiration date.

The last summer of our membership was not fun. There were no more couples’ outings for my husband and me as we were no longer functioning as a couple. Our growing boys were finding summer activities outside of the club pool more enjoyable. Country club enthusiasm was waning during a tough year for our family. When divorce became inevitable by year-end, my first financial decision was to call and cancel the country club membership.

When Garrett entered my life a year later, there was no talk of golf in his sports vocabulary. His interests were with anything involving skis or bicycles. I quickly jumped on board with Garrett teaching me about two sports that were new to me. I bought two road bikes, one for each home in Denver and Omaha. With no free time for golf, my clubs collected dust in my Omaha garage. The many pairs of golf shoes were piled on a garage shelf unmoved while my golf outfits became outdated from their previously fashionable look.

A move to a new home in Denver (Garrett’s home base) included a backyard on a public golf course. I decided to move my clubs from Omaha to Denver thinking they may get used given the convenience of the course. This never happened. Other than one time out with my stepson, we continued to fill our outdoor time with cycling and hiking. After my stepson borrowed my clubs and lost some irons, coming back with others not belonging to my set, I took it as a final sign. My cherished driver, bag of remaining clubs, and all my golf gear were donated to Goodwill.

The game of golf had not entered my radar until our Durango move. I got involved with the Chamber of Commerce and was chatting with the director about Chamber activities.

Director: “Do you play golf?”

Instead of a simple yes or no answer, I went into a dissertation on how I used to be good and how often I played. I gave her the history of my short but sweet golf-clubbing tenure. Then I declared how I no longer played because I hadn’t the time, but I sure did play well when I had time back in the day.

Director <with glazed-over eyes>: “Oh, okay. I just wanted to tell you about a popular annual golf event, Girls Gone Golfing. It’s a ton of fun and a fundraiser for the college golf team. It sells out so you will want to sign up soon if you’re interested.”

Did she not hear me say that I can no longer play because that wouldn’t be fun for me since I didn’t have the time to invest to be good? I smiled and thanked her for the information. I did not sign up.

I was again asked recently about my interest in golf. We were out to dinner with new friends from Durango. Driving home, we were casually conversing in small talk on hobbies and interests.

Friend: “Do you play golf?

Immediately I went into my well-thought-out and very lengthy answer. I made sure she knew that I used to be good and that I can’t play for fun anymore. For good measure, I went into detail about how great it felt to connect my driver with the golf ball. That ping was addictive. Once you know the feeling of that connection, you could never go back to nonserious play. And golf takes lots of time to keep up a good level of play, which I didn’t have to give.

Friend: “I just wanted to tell you my neighbors play at the local course and they enjoy it. I wanted you to know in case you had an interest.”

Finally, my social queues kicked in. Perhaps my history with the game of golf is only interesting to me. Was I sounding like 40-year-old Uncle Rico reliving, at every possible opportunity, his high school ability to throw ‘the pigskin’ a quarter of a mile?

I needed to get over myself. Durango loves to dress up and they love a fun event. These both check the box for me, with no great golf skills required. I signed up for Girls Gone Golfing.

Our foursome of Deana, Nora, Allison, and I carefully planned out our costumes for this year’s theme of giddy-up cowgirls. Dressed in my red cowboy boots with not a hint of golf attire, the boots stayed on for the entire nine holes.

The event started with a morning skills course given by the club pros. Arriving late to our group as we were working out late wardrobe malfunctions (the horse wouldn’t blow up and two hats’ lights weren’t working), we tried to quietly join an advanced skills session already in progress.

Sizing up the group, I quickly ascertained they were serious. They wore official golf clothes and shoes. Their cowboy hats appeared as a token gesture to do the minimum in participating in the cowgirl theme. Between lessons, we apologized for our tardiness and were quickly given our welcome by one of the serious players.

Serious player: “Are you with us? We are actually already pretty full.”

Well, okay then. I could picture her next to her personal golf locker as she spoke. Someone likely cleaned her clubs and shoes. Wanting to give her the eye, I realized how silly we looked in our full-on costumes and how the pink heart sunglasses would likely deter from my intended eye gaze delivery.

Instead, we decided to go to another more laid-back skills session. After hitting a couple of balls, my foursome decided to save our swings for the scramble play. We also thought getting lunch early was a good idea.

We started our play anticipating rain that never came. The cloudy skies served us well with temperature and sun coverage. We enjoyed a fun day of golf and friendship. The rain gear never came out and the red cowboy boots stayed on. I got a lesson in lassoing which I had never done (the trick is in the elbow movement, not the wrist). I did succeed in my lassoing a wooden cow on my second attempt with some good coaching.

With a golf pro watching, I teed up my ball on one of the last holes. My muscle memory helped me as I nailed my swing. The lovely tinging sound of my club connecting filled my ear. My pink ball flew well over 200 yards straight down the fairway.

Pro: “Wow. Nice stroke.”

Me: “Thanks. I used to play a lot. I guess it’s like riding a bike. You don’t forget.”

With the scramble format, we quickly finished the hole under par after my well-positioned drive off the tee. Taking off for the next tee box, Deana eyed Steamworks, just a little bit off our path to the next hole.

“Look! Steamworks is right over there!”

We continued making Steamworks stops. As we delivered beers to cartless course volunteers, we spread the word of the free beer stand to other players as Deana skillfully weaved and dodged our cart, crossing other fairways whenever Steamworks was within sight.

The pink cowboy hats stayed intact as we flew from hole to hole. I had some great strokes and some not, just like those days when ‘I used to be good’. But I was having just as much fun. Only I care about how good or bad I was. That is yesterday’s news. The game of life is played daily. You just need to show up and live it to the best of your ability on that day.

The country club served its purpose back in the day. Life is full of different seasons. Today I don’t have the desire to join a golf league or take lessons. But I will dress up every year with my GGG foursome and enjoy the day together through the great shots and the not-so-great ones.

Our day finished at the clubhouse with some tasty appetizers, more beer, the announcement of door prizes, and the awards ceremony. We won a few prizes but did not win any costume category awards. The shocker came when Kitty and her space cowgirls (our foursome) finished in 3rd place.

Who would have thought the latecomers to the skills course would make the podium for our golf game that day?

Well, I think we can thank Steamworks for that…

My golf game in the mid-2000s…