We found a place close enough to practice regularly, and for the first time it felt like we were actually starting to build a routine.
We weren’t playing well. We weren’t even close to playing well.
But after enough trips to the driving range, a few decent shots started sneaking in.
Unfortunately, a few decent shots can make you believe you’re ready for things you definitely aren’t.
We had driven past Snohomish Valley Golf Center a bunch of times, but I had never really thought about stopping there to hit balls with the dusty old Golden Bear clubs that had been sitting in the garage for years.
The place always seemed packed, and I remember thinking they must be doing something right. Since it was only about 15 minutes from the house, it ended up being the perfect spot to practice and build off the basics from our lessons.
When we got there, we had to park pretty far from the building. Being the strategic thinkers that we are, we never bothered checking whether there were any open stalls before buying a bucket of balls.
We eventually found a spot, but it was one of the last ones available.
There were 28 covered stalls, 20 outdoor stalls, and a grass area that could probably handle another 30 or so during the summer.
It wasn’t anything like the driving ranges I remembered growing up. Back then, it was just a place to warm up before a round or work on your swing for a bit and go home.
I definitely don’t remember food trucks, beer, or hard alcohol back in the day…
that was something you smuggled in, right?
This felt different.
People were hanging out, bringing friends and family, and using the Toptracer screens to play virtual courses and games. Not a bad thing at all—just different from what I expected.
We figured we should probably stretch and warm up, since that’s what you’re “supposed” to do. I knew that because I saw a few other people doing it… and when in Rome, right?
I let Katie go first, and as I looked around, I noticed every level of golfer out there. Honestly, it made me feel a little better seeing people struggling just like we were.
Still, it felt like all eyes were on us.
We didn’t stand out at all—but it definitely felt like we did. I don’t know why we thought we might be decent right away, but we weren’t even close.
I remember feeling frustrated… and a little embarrassed… convinced that everyone was watching how bad we were.
It took a few trips before that feeling went away.
Because the truth is—nobody cares.
People might glance over and watch a swing or two, but everyone is there doing their own thing.
Even though we were struggling, we committed to going two to three times a week—Tuesday and Thursday after work, plus either Saturday or Sunday morning.
We stuck to it pretty consistently for six to eight weeks.
There was some improvement, but nothing dramatic. Most of the time, we left feeling pretty defeated. When you want to get better that badly and it’s not coming together, it can really take the wind out of you.
But no matter how it went the time before, we kept showing up—telling ourselves the next trip would be different.
It usually wasn’t.
But every once in a while, you’d hit one or two shots that made you think you were starting to figure it out.
That’s what keeps us all coming back, right?
One good shot.
One drive that goes where you wanted it to.
One iron shot that makes you forget about the ten terrible ones that came before it.
Just enough success to convince yourself you’re getting somewhere.
Eventually, it gave us just enough confidence—or maybe just enough delusion—to book our first tee time.
It was late March, and there was finally a small break in the weather, so we pulled the trigger and booked a round at Swinomish Golf Course in Anacortes.
We were looking for something wide open… somewhere we could spray it a few fairways over without feeling like we were holding people up.
Turns out, we found exactly that.
Too exactly.
We showed up to an almost empty parking lot. At first, I thought I had pulled off some kind of hidden gem find—like I had cracked the code.
That feeling didn’t last long.
When I asked about a cart, the guy behind the counter told me they didn’t have any… because there was no cart path on the course.
Nobody was there because nobody wanted to walk 18 holes in cold, wet conditions.
Internally, I panicked.
My fat ass, with bad knees, had no plan to walk 18 holes.
But remember what I said about Katie once she gets something in her head?
Yeah… we walked it.
It wasn’t pretty.
I struggled most of the way through, but we got it done. Thankfully, the course was fairly flat outside of a few holes.
And no—we didn’t play well.
I’d love to blame it on the walking, but the truth is our game looked exactly like you’d expect after three lessons and a couple months at the driving range.
What exactly were we expecting?
Apparently, perfection.
Because we were both swearing and acting completely shocked that our range results carried over exactly the same to the course.
It’s funny how that works.
We finished the round, and it did feel good to get through it—but I was in a lot of pain. Walking was tough for several days afterward.
Surprisingly, it didn’t slow us down at all.
If anything, it made us want to get out there even more.
We booked an RV spot at Swinomish Casino for three nights, planning to play a couple more rounds in a few weeks.
At that point, we were feeling pretty good about things. We were practicing regularly, starting to hit a few decent shots, and finally getting out on the course.
What we didn’t realize was how much our bodies were about to remind us that we weren’t nearly as ready as we thought.
We had survived the lessons.
We had survived the driving range.
We had even survived our first round.
But as it turned out… the golf wasn’t the hardest part.
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