Driving
to my date with destiny. In a
swirling ferment. And I remember nothing of that journey so, Mr White-Van-Man,
if I cut you up or, Mr Porsche-Carrera-GT, if I undertook you via the inside
lane while you Sunday-drove as a middle-lane hogger, I make no apology. Nor do I intend to wind you up. Not this time anyway. I am not in the physical journey, you
understand, just cruising on auto pilot.
But while I’m here, may I suggest you try moving over? Some of us have important dates. I’m going to have a golf lesson. And
why own a young man’s car if you drive it like a tractor? OMG, why am I learning golf? Who got me into this? What am I doing? That’s the sort of ferment I’m in...
I
live and die a thousand emotions on that drive. I send up a silent prayer for the periodontal specialist who
diligently ensures the health of my oral cavity. If I’d had a set of falsies, they would have vacated my head
by now. Yes, my teeth are
chattering uncontrollably and have taken on a life of their own. Was it too late to invest in PolyGrip –
just in case my natural teeth decided to move out?
I
keep my hands firmly on the wheel.
I do not want them acting out any non-verbal anthems while I am
girl-racing. I need to keep the
wrist action for later. I don’t
really want to girl race but the adrenaline surge, the rattling teeth, the
nerves have all kicked in and there’s no stopping me. Onwards, upwards and to Simon, Seckford, Suffolk.
(Seckford Hall and
Golf Course, Suffolk, UK)
Simon. What’s to say about Simon? He’s complex. He does jokes back to back - with excellent timing. He knows how to make a good pun follow
hot on the heels of a double entendre and is not afraid to trot them out. He wears a funny hat. He needs to upgrade that - but first he
needs a lesson in looking soooooooo good it’s bad. I see a window of opportunity here to help him – or maybe I
should just give him middle child, oldest daughter’s phone number. After an encounter with her, his hat
will soon be up to par. Or should
that be up to scratch? (Really
getting the lingo now!)
He’s
also very adept at dealing with gibbering females with chattering teeth. My peridontist could learn a trick or
two from him. Maybe I should give Simon
his number too.
And
he has a keen eye for golfing fashion.
My outfit was not wasted on him.
“Did he need Royal and Awesome’s phone number?” I asked. No, he already had it but he was
surprised I wasn’t
a Loudmouth. I fixed him with a
sanguine stare. Me, a Loudmouth??
Moving
swiftly on and before I could say anything about a certain John Daly, he was
off, fifty balls in a basket and a 7 iron in hand. Without any more preamble, Lesson One was underway - with a
swing. And the swing was all
mine. Posture, grip, stance, knee flex,
head steady, back swing, maintain even tempo, contact, follow through. I recognize a good litany when I hear
one. It’s the Irish Catholic
legacy in me. It has become my new
mantra.
The
lesson was going well until Simon decided to demonstrate certain points of the
swing. “Mirror me,” he said. And that’s when I remembered Lee. Lee Westwood? Nooh! Trevino? Nope!
Janzen? Slattery? Not even close. Lee Watts, personal trainer and fitness
instructor, ex-para. That’s who.
Lee
had uttered those same immortal words one fateful night in kettlebell
class. “Mirror me. It’s easy, Anne.” He rattled out those words as he swung
his kettlebell with ease in a sweeping figure-of-eight through his legs. I did as requested with gusto – until I
lost my grip and the kettlebell swept from my hands in a mayhem moment of
madness and headed on a trajectory for Lee. All his moments of paratrooper training were as naught in
that instant. Ten kilograms of
metal landing on your metatarsals is no mean feat and there can be only one
outcome. Lee’s currently in
plaster and gives me a wide berth – and who can blame him? I looked at Simon who was innocent of
all the pandemonium I can cause and I felt a cold terror seize my innards. I had no idea what fate might befall
him if I swung my swing like that loose kettlebell. I sent up a silent prayer to the golfing gods that they
would not let the golfing faeries loose on my first lesson. I needed to preserve Simon if I was
ever to progress in golf. He’s the
one for me.
I’m
guessing it will be a little while yet before I can execute a perfect swing
like this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHneHZeD4d8 but, Greg Greksa, I’m working on it.
And
in case you want an alternative golf clothing site, try http://uk.loudmouthgolf.com/
Meanwhile,
here endeth the lesson on the perils of kettlebells. Be back with Part 2 soon.
