Monday, July 19, 2010

Golf ball run

The air was hot and thick. I was covered with sweat, my arms and legs brown and dirty. I had just finished shoving downed branches and limbs through my chipper. It was a filthy job but I needed mulch; it was worth the effort. But now, with daylight promising to fade, I simply took off down the road to get in a short run. I should have changed shoes but didn't take the time. I noticed my heel was hurting and any spring in those worn-out shoes was long gone miles ago. I felt sluggish, running merely out of obligation and guilt. I didn't feel very inspired.

When I got to my pre-determined turn-around point at the top of a hill, I started back down. Off in the weeds I noticed something white and round. "Ah, a golf ball," I thought to myself. "I should pick it up." But why? I don't play golf nor does anyone else in my family. Still, it's hard not to pick up a found item no matter what it is. I feel a sense of pride every time I return home with some random object, showing it off to whoever will give me the time of day. So, compelled to do so, I picked it up and ran on. But not very far.

Soon, I saw another and another strewn along this lightly-used country road. They were not clumped together. Rather, over the course of a mile and a half, I continued to find perfectly good golf balls. And since I picked up one, I was compelled to pick up all the others. Soon, I had four in each hand and another eight or so stuffed into my running bra. It was quite a sight. My chest had turned into a voluptuous, albeit bumpy, uniboob. Talk about some bounce. The chested balls had a tendency to pop out as I ran, sending me to chase them as they rolled down the road. But chase them I did, wondering what circumstance produced this smattering of golf balls along my route while hoping that none of the neighbors were watching. My run now had purpose and I was delighted.

About a half mile from home and just when I could not find another millimeter of bodily storage space for the next found ball, there in the ditch was a basket, the kind you find at a driving range. My growing and carried load had a new home. Good thing. I found another half dozen before turning down the driveway.

Did I need those golf balls? Hardly. Was it fun to find them? You bet. Almost as much fun as finding all those candy-laden eggs my Grandma used to hide come Easter morning. Thank God for small pleasures. Proudly, I placed the basket full of golf balls on the counter and waited for the questioning to begin.


Rick Gray said...

You have had me in stitches reading this and picturing what you looked like with all of those bulges sticking out everywhere. I am sure as the family walks by the kitchen counter and sees that basket of golf balls sitting there, they will merely glance away, shake their head and say Mom!

Rebekah Trittipoe said...

I needed to write something light-hearted. It even made me laugh thinking back on how...well, interesting, I must have looked!

Glad I could provide some entertainment for you today.

simplyMae said...

Wow this is great! Too funny, wish i was there to share in your scavenger hunt of a run :)

Rebekah Trittipoe said...

Deb- nice to hear from you. I might go looking tonight for those that hid from me! I bet there are more out there!

Chiemsee WellnessHotel said...

The playing golf with the wrong kind of golf balls in a negative impact on the game. You should be in the best ball for your game otherwise you may be sacrificing the accuracy and consistency of a few meters. How do you know what are the best balls of your ability and strength? You can make an informed decision, you need to understand what the different characteristics of the ball means.

Platzreife said...

The Golf ball must be above all in place. With designs for older drivers who had carried the ball with the heel forward. However it is now closer to the nose and large in some cases the little finger. It is personal preference but the only way to test this is on the beach. Try moving the ball high into position.

Follow the yellow lines

Jack in his younger days "Well, you know I can't live here by myself. I'm moving in with you." I guess he was serious....