This morning I jogged the first three miles of the Gimblett Loop, alternated 60 seconds hard with 60-second jogs the fourth, and floated the fifth to complete the loop in 48:02, with splits of 10:14, 10:30, 9:42, 8:34, and 9:02; encouraging after yesterday.
This afternoon I played the longer, older, Burns Park course with an 80-year-old former accountant named Ham Meyers in 100, with nines of 51 and 49. I thought, until just now, that I scored a 101. For some reason, fatigue most likely, I added incorrectly as Ham and I sat on the bench at the No. 18 tee box. I had a 15-foot par putt on No. 18 that I thought was for a 99, rolled it five feet past, and missed coming back for, again, what I thought was a 100. As it turns out, all I needed for a 99 was to two putt.
Oh well. The bent-grass greens on the old course are very fast; they're beautiful, maybe the best I have played, each exactly like the rest in speed and temperament, but so different from anything I have experienced that adjusting was difficult. I might not have two putted that final hole even if I had known what I needed. But fuck it anyway. Ham was great company. He had Ashley McReynold's game, only shorter. Just as straight, though, dependable as hell. He did not hit a single truly bad shot, and I believe he scored about a 95.
I am exhausted and cold and hungrier than two motherfuckers.
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