Posted on 01/15/2004 6:52:21 AM PST by gobucks
New Front in the Golf War. (How Atkins helped my golf game).
It's a new year. I'm not dieting, but my wife is. And this time it's strange. Her moods have undergone a radical change. Usually she is like the weird tides up in Nova Scotia - sometimes extreme, always requiring vigilance. Recently however, I've been living on the beaches of Panama City, Fla. Where'd my wife go?
Well, she went on something called the Endocrine Control Diet. Basically, it's Atkins with a few twists.
My wife has usually given me the same kind of feedback my golf game has given me. "You'd like to be consistent with me, watch a beautiful straight arc each time you tee off; but, you just don't have what it takes, golf boy." Golf balls, of course, don't really talk, and my wife, bless her patient heart, doesn't talk this way either. But her eyes talk that way sometimes.
When we have our tiffs, especially over the few "stalemate" subjects in our marriage, oh do I get frustrated. The sensation is eerily identical to what I feel when I start and finish a golf round with zero improvement toward what I've always wanted: to be able to claim truthfully that I'm a bogey golfer (sheesh, not much of an Everst is it?). Since this insane golf virus bit me, a good day is where more than half the holes are double bogeys. Is that pathetic or what?
Each tee box has an invisible crowd around it, chanting "Loser, Loser". As I approach the ball, it suddenly starts whispering, "come on, what are you doing here? Isn't time to give this up? Go back to the basketball court where you have some competence, fool".
After I slice into the deep rough, my heart is just twisting with frustration once again. I hear the ball humming softly, "you'll never finnnnnd meeee..." as I search for it, pacing around and around like a sick wildebeest on the African plains. It can get psychotic out there. Stoic grown men have been known to cry hysterically on a golf course. It is the place that can either destroy or balloon a man's confidence.
When I witnessed Sybil transform into Mrs. Ingalls, I was floored. My wife is awesome, but heroism at times has been called for to endure her .... expressivity. So, I had to test what I suspected was behind the change: the state of ketosis she's been in for awhile now.
She uses ketostix to test each morning how deeply she's in it, and it's been steady now for awhile. Basically, if the stick turns a vivid shade of dark pink, she's in the zone. What it means biochemically is that her insulin concentration in her blood is about nil, while her glucagon level is fairly high. This is great for burning fat; but was it also great for burning her "moods"?
I dispensed with the idea of dieting, but I did decide to test the effects of limiting my gross carb intake to 20 grams a day. Been at it for while now.
Two days ago, I went to a local golf course that is known for yielding expensive clubs from its numerous ponds - I've been there many times. I could just rave on and on about this round I just played. But, suffice it to say, I shaved a boatload load of strokes off my score. For almost the whole time, the gallery was muted, the golf ball inert. The few stupid shots were neutral in their impact on the rest of the round. It was surreal. I could almost hear the twilight zone theme song emitting from the discreetly hidden sound speakers scattered about the course.
I've a few more rounds to play before I buy into this, but sheesh, I'm beginning to think I'm onto something.
It's been months since I last posted on this thread. My golf virus is still raging at a fever level; In general, I am a double bogey golfer on a good day.
Atkins is hard to stay on. The Carb cravings can get intense.
My wife, she has lost over 70 pounds on the Endocrine Control diet.
(Her PCOS is also completely gone. In short, it is a miracle.)
Miracle update ... she got pregnant and we're having a son in June ...
Ketosis, steady ketosis, made her bad moods go away, and her fertility 'magically' appear. Unreal.
Baby gobucks was born June 14, 2005. And his Daddy still is golfing.
I am finding that in year two of my golf life, joy, bona fide joy is achievable. I have become a Bogey golfer. On good days, I'm 10 strokes better than Bogey. It is just wonderful.
Big insights:
Golf Psychologists are mostly right.
All other psychologists are mostly wrong.
The left wrist on the back swing should actually pronate a fraction if possible. This causes the right wrist to get to a full classic 90 degree look at the top.
The stance is critical. If you can feel the small of your back sort of pushing toward the belly button, perfect. Ball striking will improve dramitically.
Finally on the takeaway, get the feeling something is kind of dragging the toe of the club toward the direction your chest is facing....; this will keep it nicely closed all during the backswing, and good power will get stored up for the strike.
But back to the golf psych folks...
The most important question on this sweet earth that can be asked is this:
Ask yourself "what do I want?"
Most golfers simply do not understand how to ask this question. They should ask it, and answer it precisely and accurately before each and every shot, even 'gimme' putts.
Nothing else has had more impact. And it turns out the Little Red Book has it has number one as well...'take dead aim' as Harvey put it...
A small secret revealed: Golfers who have trouble w/ a stable repeatable swing usually have one thing in common: they think that the 'Vs' are pointing far enough to their right ear, or shoulder ...
but they are mistaken.
Rotate the hands, especially the LEFT hand to the right, such that you go past the 'comfort point'. Your head insists it is too far. You are certain all shots attempted with the grip like this will result in consist pull hooks.
Test it. Indeed, a few of the initial shots will indeed go left.
But then, as you focus on keeping your gaze fixed during the strike, and that you honor the 'awkard' feeling that the clubface is trying to relax by rotating counter-clockwise but you wont let it ...
why, viola! the club path during the swing, the swing itself feels dramatically different. It is as if the swing is hostage to the grip in a way I have not seen written about anywhere.
Everything has changed as a result. I routinely now experience the joy of stuggling to sink birdie putts.
The voices have been silent for ages now. It is as if I never knew what it felt like to almost cry at the golf course....
And, oh yes ... Mrs. Gb thinks I'm just great.
update: OSU won, and I liked that.
Have just about gotten to the point where I can claim the label "bogey" golfer, but not yet consistent enough to say so....
Update, perhaps final...
I once heard this from a golf teacher, an old man, a Texan, who was a sniper during WWII in Germany. This old man helped me at a critical time, when I was about to give up golf due to incurable foolishness. Thanks to him, in part, I’m fractionally less foolish these days.
He said this: “the secret to golf is you have to make love to every shot.”
Im f#cking craving a bannana split so bad and my skinny beehatch wife wont let me.
I have dry mouth and am too weak to hold the club correctly yet
I have to plod on, hammering away as the bystanders laugh.
If I smell bacon frying anymore my stomach starts retching and yesterday
I passed a girl wearing pina colada tanning lotion and nearly got arrested for assault
when I grabbed her arm and started sucking on it.
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