I stood at the counter in the Desert Hills clubhouse last Tuesday, trying to make a very difficult decision.
It's only 102 outside, so I figure I can at least walk nine holes, but am I up to 18? Can I physically handle it? At what point do my triple bogies turn into hallucinations of eagles and albatrosses? Is that a thing?
It costs $7.50 to walk nine, and only $10 to walk 18, so I plunked down a Hamilton, filled up my water bottle and hit the links.
As I finished the front nine, I was on top of the world. It was the best golf I had ever played, and while that might not be too impressive to anyone else, I was freaking out. Four pars through nine holes? At this rate I'll be on the Champions tour in 40 years no problem.
But that's when it hit me. The heat turned hotter, the hills grew steeper and my water bottle was empty.
I salvaged the pretty terrible back nine with a couple pars on 17 and 18, but I realized I was all alone. Did this really happen? I guess only I'll really know.