This past weekend I was out in the Southwest in beautiful Phoenix, Arizona. The “really adult” place to live – with sunny skies and lots of outdoor activities – and little else to do. I couldn’t resist the urge to play some golf over the weekend; an urge I have been fighting not to regret since. This week I was rewarded with the back spasms and awkward tan lines that came as a result of my decision to play.
There I was, a single “walk-on” (basically a guy showing up to the golf course with no clubs and no reservation) paired up with three people to complete the four-some. Due partly to the fact that it was Phoenix, and also due to the fact that it was Phoenix, (if you catch my drift) I was paired with three (very nice) elderly people. We’re talking retired since the year I was born. Which wasn’t all that bad, considering I was rusty and they were, well, crusty. So we all played at the same pace: slowly. Except midway through the round I started aching, and badly. Back spasms. Neck soreness. Shoulder aches and knee pain walking to and from the golf cart. Essentially I went from being the youngest to feeling the oldest, in a matter of 90 minutes.
At this point I wondered what to do. I couldn’t quit the round – considering how much it cost and how embarrassing that would be – and I had slowed to a near halt. This brought new meaning to the phrase “grin and bear it”; and I trekked onward, with extra golf balls to eliminate the need to fetch the foul ones, and a different stride which readjusted expectations – for myself and the others in the four-some.
The adventures of Spondyloarthropathy never end. They’re there to keep things interesting, to try to derail and to make everything a little harder then it should be. If only I’d qualify for senior discounts, I’d feel a bit better about all of this. Next round I think I’ll ask for one. And at the movie theater too, for that matter.