A big part of this lifestyle is living outside. Not literally, but damn close. I’m not a doctor, but over the past few years, I noticed how much better I felt about myself and life in general after spending large amounts of time outside each day. So I decided to do something about it.

Even on these 110 degree heat index days, I spend 25% of the day outside. In spring and fall, it’s more like 30-40%. Every day. It could be porch sitting watching the boats roll by. It could be hours and hours of working on the golf game. It could be riding the jet ski up the river or out in the gulf. Simply reading, imagining, or looking at the animals.

All of these feelings were bolstered by my travels to Wyoming, Montana, New Mexico, and Utah, to name a few. I never wanted to be inside, and in some instances, even to sleep, I never was. I felt like I was actually living, not just existing, and I thought to myself, An outdoor lifestyle shouldn’t be that difficult to design.

There are plenty of exorbitantly-priced luxury areas in the world, but there are also plenty of hidden gems and budget-friendly outdoorsy living areas. And sometimes you just stumble across them, which literally was the case here.

Within the next four months, The Treehouse at The End of the Earth is going to be complete. Ever since day one of seeing this property, I called it The End of the Earth. Why? Drive as far south as you can in Mississippi, and when the last road dead ends and the Gulf of Mexico begins, it’s on the left. Seriously, it’s la la land. I remember thinking to myself, This is the perfect vibe. Breezy and mysterious. We can build a house, but I’m never going to be in it.

It excites me that Banks is being raised with little routine and near complete freedom. I think it’s very important to teach him living versus existing early on, and him fishing with Mommy after school on a Wednesday certainly accomplishes that. He’s basically been raised in a tiny fishing camp/village for the past year of his life. Armed with his bicycle helmet and life jacket, he’s a boy on a mission. We adults are all arguing about the best way to school these kids right now, but as I’ve said before, maybe the joke’s on us.

Schooling versus teaching. Living versus existing.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing.”-Stephen Covey

For the better part of last week, I wore sunglasses everywhere. Inside, outside. I think I even had them on in bed for a little while. Long story short, at some point, a bug flew into my right eye while I was playing golf, and its wings lodged onto my cornea. It took a minor procedure to get the eye fixed and a few days to recover. But I’m back.

I can operate with sore arms and sore legs, a sore back and sore feet, but I have to have my vision.

—

What are you working towards? Big picture. Grand scale. Why are you doing whatever it is you are doing? Do you know? Retire early? Beach house? First in your family to own a home? First to go to college? Ego? To truly help someone? Freedom?

My vision and imagination run wild, but my ideas are meaningless without the appropriate daily actions to get there. I’ve had 3.5 years of post-sleepwalking life to think about The Grand What and Why. The vision is pretty damn grand and it remains wide open for surprises, but it’s also not the point of this piece.

Action. How. What hourly and daily behaviors?

—

If I’ve told you once I’ve told you 72 times that for a good portion of that 3.5 years, the answer to any question you would have asked me would have been “I don’t know.” It’s still the answer to a fair amount of questions, but the vision has been building, the imagination running rampant, and the patience getting stronger.

The impossible end result is somewhere between 3 and 72 years away, so I must control what I can control, forget the rest, and enjoy the abk journey.

As you may or may not know, I walked away from a six figure salary with great benefits and all sorts of perks roughly 17 months ago. Everything went to zero. Clean slate. Fresh start. Deep breath. There were some savings, but not indefinite savings. The clock was ticking immediately. If you thought I felt no pressure, you are nuts. I just kept telling myself, if you give in to the pressure, you’re getting further away from the vision.

So I started observing, listening, and researching. Everything was new. What could be built and how could it be built so that I was interested and engaged with life instead of bored, frustrated, and trapped?

Let’s start with anything but khakis. My intent is that it will always be free. Free stories. Free ideas. Free encouragement. I owe the universe a lot, and this is how I give back. I do hope it will one day evolve into a real lifestyle design consulting company where I can one on one help someone that is serious about making a lifestyle change. But that’s a few years away. I have to get the experience first.

Next is real estate investment. I love real estate. I love the ability to create. I love the ability to invest and make money. I’ve had investments in rural areas, suburban areas, urban areas, and off college campuses. The latest house is currently being built along The Gulf of Mexico (two hurricanes coming this week?), and I’ve got my brain and eyeballs on New Orleans real estate also.

On the playing golf front, I’ve gone from a 14 handicap to a 0.5 handicap in 16 months. (When I get to 0.0, I’m getting a tattoo to commemorate the grind.) I want to get to a +5, and that may take 2-3 more years. Hell, I may never get there. My body may break down. But I’m going to try. Playing golf is actually one of the most important daily cogs in this wheel because I was put on this earth to play something. I may never make a dime from this, but that’s completely missing the point. I play essentially every day.

If I deem my golf story compelling enough, I will write a book. I’ve already started and have copious notes, but that’s way down the road. So for now? Well, I start working at Shell Landing Golf Club Monday. Entry level. Gotta start somewhere. Grinding is a huge part of the journey.

So what’s missing? Some interesting part-time remote gig with benefits would be nice. Self-insurance is absurdly expensive. So I’m looking. And looking. And looking. Everything is remote now, so it will come. A grand vision is just a big puzzle that requires a ton of imagination and grind and even more patience.

—

“Most of us spend too much time on what is urgent and not enough time on what is important.”-Stephen Covey, again

I have no idea what your main thing is. What I do know is that most everything out there, while real, can be a distraction. Ego. Stubbornness. Self doubt. Ignorance. Headlines. Foolishness. Peer pressure. Resistance, both implicit and explicit, just because your main thing may not be the same as everyone else’s.

This journey has taken a ton of action. But equally as important, it has taken lots of ignoring noise and practicing patience. Fire drills are often not fire drills. I just keep telling myself, if you give in to the pressure, you’re getting further away from the vision.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“You can have your own opinions, but you can’t have your own facts.”-Comedian Ricky Gervais

I’ve never really believed much of anything that I read or hear, so you can only imagine where I stand here in 2020. It’s one thing to be an informed citizen, another to be an over-informed citizen, and entirely another to be a falsely- informed citizen.

—

This was actually one of the reasons I became interested in lifestyle design. Jaded and admittedly bored by the routine of a normal life, I thought to myself, how best could I design a life that does not rely on some weird adult high school copycatting popularity contest that drives how so many people actually live their life? Could the focus truly be on how a specific individual wants to live his or her life, and then the uncertain details get filled in as the journey unfolds, instead of vice versa?

Okay, so we need a place to rest our heads. We need dinner on the table tonight as well as a general idea of how we will have dinner on the table at some point down the road. We need our health. We need love. We need to be working towards some greater purpose.

But otherwise, how might a script be tailored to fulfill my, our, or your very personal desires instead of using the vanilla framework designed 300 years ago or the roadmap provided by The Joneses and photocopied by everyone else? For me, it came solely down to freedom and self-expression, with the sub-categories being nature, sports, style, and writing.

There’s a truth about the ocean or a beautiful mountain. There’s a truth about a purely struck golf shot or a 103-mph fastball. There’s a truth about a finely woven Panama hat or a beautiful watch. There’s a truth about telling it exactly like it is. There’s a truth to saying no to conformity and yes to authenticity.

—

Self care is so important. It’s actually the guiding light in my version of lifestyle design. It involves a combination of pursuing those beautiful things you personally love, taking care of yourself so you can best help others, and avoiding or limiting your interactions (which, cough cough, you control) with worry-inducing nonsense.

For me, self care and lifestyle design are essentially one in the same. In Mississippi, I focus on nature, sports, style, and writing daily. I’m always outside. I may ride the jet ski. I play golf every day. I have fun with my clothes. I jot down thoughts and notes hourly. I take pictures and make videos. It’s how I remain engaged with life. anything but khakis IS self care. anything but khakis IS lifestyle design.

Contrastingly, I only allot 5-10 minutes per day to news, regardless of the medium. I just need to know the general temperature, not how someone else wants me to feel or that two prominent adults called each other poopyheads (shout out high school). How anyone entertains any of this in 2020 seriously blows my mind.

—

If I need medical advice, I ask a doctor, not my TV. If I want golf advice, I ask an exceptional golfer, not the peanut gallery. If I want to play the piano well, I call my mom, not the plumber.

And if, one day, you want true lifestyle design advice, something I’ve lived daily for 3.5 years and am super passionate about, I hope you will call me. I’m already helping a few people with less conformity, less reliance, more authenticity, more freedom, new hope, new possibility, and less boxes. I’d be happy to help you.

That’s not to say that I have your answers. No, of course not. Those don’t come from me or Facebook or anywhere else. Those have to come from within.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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It was only a matter of time and patience. That’s what I kept telling myself as the 93s turned to 90s, the 90s to 86s, the 86s to 82s, the 82s to 78s, the 78s to 74s, the 74s to 72s, and the 72s to 70s. I had no direct control over the numbers. They were just an outcome of diligent, targeted, consistent hard work. Surely, this can be applied to anything.

In my case, it took 351 days of grinding, roughly 2,000 focused hours, and 15.5 calendar months to break into the sixties. And as with anything, I thought it best to crush it, not just lightly slide in. Last Monday, I shot an official 5 under par 67 from the tournament tees, and I’ll be honest, I was buzzing.

I made 8 birdies, 3 bogeys, and 7 pars. I hit 7/14 fairways, 13/18 greens, and had 27 putts. I never once pulled out my brand new, exorbitantly priced driver. I didn’t need it.

I bogeyed the first hole and missed a 3 foot birdie putt on the second, causing me to manage my aggravation early on. I birdied 3, narrowly missed on 4, then birdied 5, 6, and 7, causing me to manage my extreme giddiness. I narrowly missed birdie on 8 and made a goofy bogey on 9, causing me to manage my irritation once again.

I birdied 12, 13, and 14, and all of a sudden I was 5 under through 14, and my nerves knew it. I made a great par save on 15, and then like a clown, bogeyed 16, one of the easiest holes on the course. I narrowly missed again on 17, and as I stood on 18 tee at 4 under par, I told myself in as kind of a way as possible, Don’t you dare f*** this up. I safely put my tee ball in play and then hit a brilliant iron to about 25 feet.

Relieved, excited, so many emotions swirling, but I wasn’t quite finished. I set up my phone to video the occasion, my son playing on the cart just offscreen. And by God, I drained it. Center cup. 5 under. 67. Done. I walked it in Tiger-style. I celebrated with pure joy, the kind that doesn’t come with money, praise, or adulation. It’s an internal joy, kind of like the marathons, knowing what slogging through the Mississippi sun day after day to chase the impossible feels like.

—

Speaking of, the impossible isn’t really impossible if you are willing to get after it. Diligent, consistent, hard work is most of the battle, but don’t underestimate want to, will, and drive. I’m 30+ years behind most elite golfers, but as the 93s turning to 67 should prove, the intangibles count for something.

All of it can be worked on. All of it can be made better. If you really want to…

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“Flaws: either own ‘em or fix ‘em.”-abk

Getting better is hard. It requires, as a first step, to acknowledge that we need to get better. I could care less what category we are talking about. I just like the idea of always getting better.

—

This past Monday, I played TPC Louisiana, home of the PGA Tour’s Zurich Classic just outside of New Orleans. I had played there once before, almost exactly two years prior. Then, I shot 102. Monday, I shot 75. 27 stroke improvement. Bravo, I know. I mentioned last week that I had experienced a similar 20 stroke improvement a few weeks ago at Pinehurst # 2. Bravo, I know.

What I didn’t mention was how each of these courses, in tandem with my daily grind, continue to expose all of my weaknesses. Sure, every aspect of my game has gotten miles better, but there are still problems to solve, weaknesses to strengthen, and ways to get better. There always will be.

—

This past weekend, I played in a loosely- defined tournament on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I thought I would personally use the experience as a gauge to, quite frankly, get better. My end game is years away and a true work in process, so I use these tests as opportunities to learn and improve.

Each day, our foursome had good players, with at least one player shooting under par. Though I operate in my own world out there, I love playing with ballers. I pay attention to subtle things they do. I watch them like a hawk. It’s the best way I know to get better at anything.

I played pretty well Friday, shooting a 2 over par 74 (37-37) in a whipping wind. Saturday, all hell broke loose on the front 9, and I shot a 10 over 46. Determined to salvage something, I went all in and shot a 3 under 33 on the back to post a 79 in what surely was the most bizarre round of the day/my life. Sunday, I got off to a rough start again, shooting a 4 over 40 on the way out, only to close with an even par 36 on the way in.

74-79-76. I’m not going to win any awards yet, though I did win a few bucks. I’ve known for months now I need to shave six more strokes off each round to get where I want to be, so this was about right. I wouldn’t say I was pleased with the three days, but I was pleased with certain aspects, definitely. My flaws were right there for me to analyze, and in an odd way, I was pleased with what I learned.

For the three days, I was +13 total, of which 8 strokes were penalty strokes. I went +15 on the front (37, 46, 40) and -2 on the back (37, 33, 36). I don’t need an advanced astronomy degree to analyze what was good (bravo, I know) and where an immense amount of work still needs to be done. For starters, eliminate the goofy penalty strokes and I’ve got 73-74-74. Now, we are getting somewhere.

I love making the daily highlight videos, reporting on progress, and sharing good rounds, but what brings me back to the course day after day (350 days now) are those rough starts and penalty strokes and the opportunity to understand and fix them. I’ve just got to get better. Why, you ask? Well…it’s just so much better than the alternative.

—

Before I teed it up last Monday, a round that I ended up walking with a buddy, I devoured two hamburgers from Lee’s Hamburgers in the New Orleans area, a 120 year old institution known for grilling tiny onions INTO its patties. They were unlike anything I had ever eaten and absolutely delicious.

Was it the best idea to eat them right before walking five miles and playing golf? Of course not. But we all have our flaws, and we have to either own ‘em or work on ‘em. The golf? I’ll continue to work on it, along with so many other aspects of my life. The New Orleans grub? I think I’ll just unapologetically own that piece and the added five pounds it kindly provides.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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“Going to New Orleans, arguably the best city for food in America, and NOT eating should be a crime.”-Me

Last Friday, Banks and I rode over to The Big Easy to pick up my new driver and irons. I was super excited to finally have custom fitted golf clubs, but really, my thoughts were on food. I had already made up my mind that we would order to-go from Blue Oak BBQ, a laid back Mid-City joint owned by a couple of fellas I met last year. I got the Philly cheesesteak egg rolls dipped in Chipotle mayo. (Yes, you read that correctly.) Banks got some spicy mac and cheese. We both downed red sodas. It was divine.

As we drove back, I was like a kid on Christmas morning, stomach full of goodness and ready to play with my new toys straightaway. I dropped the big man off with mommy so they could fish, and away I went. I was expecting a break-in period of at least a week or two, but immediately I could tell I was playing a different game. The ball went where I told it to go. Night 1, I shot even par 72, barely breaking a sweat. Most people said it was the clubs. My buddy and I agreed it was mostly the egg rolls.

The next day I shot 36 on the way out, but got a little off kilter with my new yardages coming in. It was like my training wheels had finally been taken off my bicycle, and it would take a minute to get the feel. I was impatient, annoyed, and excited.

The next night was more of the same, getting more and more comfortable with the 20 extra yards of distance, increased accuracy, and shotmaking ability. I had a new paintbrush, and I was ready to paint.

On Day 4 of the new clubs, I shot a 2 under par 70, 5 inches of putts away from it being a 65. There were no egg rolls to attribute this performance to, so I guess it might just be the clubs.

Since I’ve had them, my 9-hole splits are 36 36 36 42 33 37 37 39 38 38 36. Even par or better is the goal every time out now. I’m leaving a ton of shots out there by inches. It’s coming.

—

Truth be told, for the first 15 months of this journey, I’ve played with substandard equipment and tinkered like a madman. Bullshit clubs off the clearance rack built for someone 5’10”. Worn out grips. Colored balls. Cheap, rock hard balls. Anything to save a buck. As such, though I’ve improved immensely (roughly 16-20 strokes per round), confession time, I never knew exactly where the ball was going. Even up until last week, I knew the vicinity-ish, but not exactly. I’ve written a ton about confidence, and not knowing messed with my head. Ever since I got the clubs, something changed. Yes, that quickly. The ball started going where I wanted it to go and how I wanted it to get there. Deep down, I got giddy. For the first time, I confidently told myself, being a scratch golfer is right around the corner now (currently 2.0, low point 0.6). The goal now must be elevated. The potential has gotten higher. The game has changed. Could I possibly be this hungry for 3-4 more years?

—

I have one final fitting Monday in New Orleans for my putter, wedges, and woods. Once I build and receive those last few clubs, I should be set. Decide for good on a premium ball (ProV1x, TP5x, or Chrome Soft are the finalists), have a full set of clubs built specifically for me, and be ready to reach a new level.

After the fitting Monday, I plan to play TPC Louisiana (go away Hurricane Hanna), home of the PGA Tour’s Zurich Classic. I played hallowed Pinehurst # 2 earlier this month and shaved 20 strokes off from my last go-round. I hope to do the same Monday, reconfirming my progress, giving me more confidence, and setting a new baseline on which to improve.

—

All of this golf talk is secondary and tertiary, really. We’ve got way more important things to discuss. 5+ hours of exercise every single day makes me quite ravenous, and as I just told you, I’m going to be in The Crescent City again on Monday. If I play my cards correctly, I may be able to do lunch AND dinner. Ooh, goody goody. And guess what? I guarantee I’ll be hungry for more on Tuesday.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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Of my 12 tattoos, there is one that gets infinitely more attention than the others. Personally, I would have thought the map of America creatively emblazoned on my chest might pique a few questions. But no, it’s the dog on my left arm. Is that your dog? What’s the story? Tell me more.

—

It was truly love at first sight. Years ago, when I was volunteering at the Humane Society of Charlotte, Sarah and I met. She was located in the Crazy Ass Dog section, and since I was dutifully approved to handle crazy ass dogs, we got an opportunity to get to know each other.

Immediately, I was intrigued. Sarah was still. Calm. Tail wagging. Pouty eyes. I was smitten. Super sweet, but with demons, I would learn. Strong. Very strong. A mix between pit bull, shar-pei, and everything but the kitchen sink. I learned everything there was to know about her and made the decision that all she needed was a 2nd, 3rd, or 4th chance and someone who could handle her. If I didn’t step in, no one would. She would continue to be overlooked in favor of cute puppies and popular breeds. I couldn’t let that happen, so I intervened.

—

She was a handful from the start, joining a household that already included a female Jack Russell terrier, Becks, and a 3 pound gangster chihuahua, Happy. Sarah got along somewhat comedically with Happy ( I called them Pumbaa and Timon), but she thought Becks was a nuisance and, subsequently, a chew toy. (In fairness, Becks CAN be a nuisance.)

Fast forward some period of time, and Sarah needed a new home. It broke me, because through all the sheningans, we had this bond. She knew I saved her life, and she provided me immense love and joy. But this was the right decision, and through some bobbing and weaving, she found a new loving home with Christy’s sister, Robin. I still remember the day I dropped her off, me crying essentially the entire way back home.

—

She lived an amazing second life, spoiled rotten and receiving the first priority attention that she needed. I got to see her once or twice a year, her pouty eyes glued and powerful tail wagging the second I arrived. I would give her a big ol’ kiss on her big ‘ol face, and immediately, nothing had changed.

We all called her Sare Bear. Everyone was happy with how things turned out, the biggest recipient being Becks’ life. Sarah lived a good life in Charlotte, NC, a long, great life in Northern Virginia, then finished up her journey in West Palm Beach, FL last week.

—

I got to say goodbye to her in person in early February. She looked great, but I kind of knew. Then, this past Wednesday as I drove home from North Carolina, I got the opportunity to say goodbye for real. As I drove near Auburn, AL on I-85, a massive storm hit. Instead of fighting the intense rain, I decided to pull over and FaceTime Robin and Sarah. Immediately, I could see that it was time for her to go. She was different. So I told her goodbye and that I loved her, and that was that. I got the news while driving the following day. According to Robin, Sarah was calm, happy, and peaceful as she went. I cried all the way home.

—

So the next time you ask me about my dog tattoo, be prepared for this. Maybe you can relate, or maybe you should just ask me about the map of America on my chest. It’ll save us all a few tears.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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For the better part of 37 years, I didn’t leave North Carolina for more than a week or ten days at a time. It was what I knew. I traveled, sure, but I always came back. Then, of course, Mississippi came calling.

Last November, I came in town to celebrate my mom’s 70th birthday, but I hadn’t been back since. 8 months. Wow. It was time to come back.

—

I legitimately have no idea where to begin this week, except to say that everyone makes me feel so special when I come home. I planned the trip for 4-5 days and ended up staying 6. I didn’t even scratch the surface of seeing everyone I wanted to see. But those I did get to see, we balled out. Literally. A golf extravaganza. But it was so much more.

Watching Jeff get the party started Friday night at Monroe with his brilliant eagle on hole 4 and his 50 foot putt on 17. Seeing Tripp chip-in for eagle soon after on 18 to end the day and bury me and The Cavemeister. Admiring Caves’ cool Payne Stewart hat. Me and Matty C, walking hallowed Pinehurst # 2 in absurd heat. Eating about 42,000 tacos for dinner that night, because I needed it. Talking shop all day Sunday with Caddy Chad, and seeing all of the boys, plus some. Watching newbie Leebo almost make that birdie on 13 at Eagle Chase.

Eating my mom’s signature meal (my life is mainly eating) with my parents, then singing songs while my mom played the piano to perfection. Seeing the Queen Bee of Wingate beside the post office. Playing golf with my dad for the first time in quite some time. Devouring the chicken, bacon, and cheddar (add pickles) sub from Gino’s. Then some more Gino’s. And then a little more. Snagging BBQ with Jimmy (I seriously love eating). Getting absolutely punked with the epic fake rattlesnake trick. Chatting with Suz and Jonny. Getting to be Uncle Benj for a few hours. Solving the world’s problems with Junior. Talking and listening, listening and talking, for 20 hours of drive time.

—

I listen to comments about how unique it is that we all still take the time and energy to get together with some kind of regularity. I don’t necessarily disagree with those sentiments, though I usually smile and think, it just takes a little effort. As with pretty much everything I do and subsequently write about, nothing gets done unless you actually do it. So we do it. And we did it. And we will likely do it again.

—

It would be silly not to mention our good friend, newly promoted Josh Lowery, Commander, USN, for which this entire shindig was originally planned. Because 2020 is bonkers, at the last minute, he couldn’t make his own party. We missed you brother, and we are extremely proud of you.

‘Til next time…

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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If not knowing is a reason,

Or discomfort or fear,

I’ve got a few little ditties,

That I’d love for you to hear.

Entering a whole new world,

Has been exciting and strange.

Everything brand new,

180 degree change.

Living in the Deep South,

I knew nothing about.

Rattlesnakes and gators,

Watch your step when you go out.

Hotter than hot,

And sometimes hotter than Hell.

Could I get my head around it,

Only time would tell.

What did I know about guns,

Or how to back a trailer?

Left goes right, Right goes left,

Had me cussing like a sailor.

Riding jet skis and boating,

Are the names of the game.

Most people go fishing,

But that doesn’t stoke my flame.

And what the hell is a nautical mile,

Why is wind measured in knots?

Low tide, high tide, wave height,

Consuming all of my thoughts.

You need a license to drive,

To hunt, to fish, or to boat.

But if you play your cards correctly,

You don’t need a winter coat.

Hurricane season,

Can get everyone’s attention.

Wind and flood insurance aren’t cheap,

I’m sure there’s plenty more to mention.

New houses built tall,

Way up high in the sky.

Can look like a giant treehouse,

But now I understand why.

The answer is Katrina,

Back in 2005.

Still burning deep in people’s psyche,

What washed away and what survived.

Then there’s The Great Golf Journey,

Would they think I was insane?

Because I gave everything up,

Just to play a silly game.

A boy from North Carolina,

Green glasses, pink belt, pink hat.

Cheering for the Panthers,

Instead of Saints Nation, Who Dat?

—

The place is now my sanctuary,

To grind and do my stuff.

Hellbent on this vision to help others,

‘Til I deem enough’s enough.

The human journey is real,

Full of questions and fears.

Full of obstacles and risks,

Full of blood, sweat, and tears.

I may never be an insider,

A fisherman or sailor.

But at least I finally learned how to

Back up that damn trailer.

—

Have a great week.-Benj

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6/5/20, Gautier, Mississippi-

After consecutive birdies on holes 12 and 13, I found myself at 2 under par. Mark my word, that was the only reason I was still at the golf course. After about four hours of waiting, watching mediocre players play from the professional tee boxes, and other ridiculous tomfoolery, I had had enough. But I was 2 under, so on I trudged. I made a miraculous bogey on 14, a bored bogey on 15, and two ho-hum pars on 16 and 17 while talking nonsense with my playing partner from Tampa, Florida. Five hours plus now. No wonder so many guys aren’t allowed to play golf. Even par on 18 tee, I smoked a drive right down the middle. But then something bizarre happened. Pitching wedge in hand from roughly 135 yards, the club left my hands as soon as I hit the ball. The club went straight. The ball went sideways. It was really weird. Annoyed, bored, and confused at this point, I sunk a 20 foot putt to claw out a double bogey and carded a frustrating 74.

Initially, I thought the club had simply slipped out of my sweaty, bored hand. But upon further reflection, I had been losing feeling in my left hand all day. Then at go-time on 18, the hand simply went to sleep. Though I fought it for another week or two, it was the beginning of the end for a while.

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I am no stranger to soreness and injury. For 25 years now, it’s just been there. I’ve grown to tolerate the daily soreness, but an injury brings along its ugly cousins: loneliness, boredom, and fear. This particular injury, an overused left arm (think shoulder, elbow, wrist and forearm pain), really scared me.

Along the great golf journey, there have been three injuries that I consider significant. They are inevitable. I mean, I’m 38 years old, exercising and grinding every day like I’m 20 years younger.

The first injury was piriformis syndrome on my right side, a nagging, hard-to-get-rid-of injury where a tiny little muscle near the hip/buttocks messes with the sciatic nerve. I surmise this injury occurred during the NYC Marathon Volume 2 and lingered into the first few months of golf. The aggravation was brutal. I couldn’t get comfortable. I couldn’t sleep. At the recommendation of a yoga expert, I stretched a very specific stretch and rolled sideways on a tennis ball as much as I could tolerate. Eventually, after months and months, it went away.

The second injury was plantar fasciitis in my right foot, a heel injury I would not wish on anyone. It resulted from months of walking while playing and constantly being on my feet practicing. I wore a boot to sleep, even though I couldn’t really sleep. I went to physical therapy. I stretched my calves every free moment I had. I started using a cart when I played. Finally, a month or two ago, after my 16,000th calf stretch, it went away.

The current injury is golfer’s elbow/tendinitis of my left arm, and the swelling is mucking with the two nerves that meander down to my hand. It doesn’t really hurt. It tingles. It annoys. It causes double bogeys on the 18th hole. It came about from golf, carrying a big ass iPhone, and holding my dinner plate in my hand as I ate since I haven’t had a dinner table in about a year and a half. I’ve rested it on two different occasions recently for five and seven days, respectively, and it helped. Surely, soon enough, it will go away too.

For the last 25 years, I’ve had to become skilled at balancing overuse vs. rest. Not enough vs. too much. Too much leads to injury. Not enough makes my arthritis angry. I want to fulfill my potential. I want to push limits. I don’t want to hurt.

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I returned to action on Friday night, a little sore and rusty. I played my first round back on Saturday, carding a 74 and easing my fears that I had forgotten how to play. My current handicap is 1.3. My average score is down to 75.4. My new clubs tailored specifically to my game should be here any day.

As I told my boy Kris last night, let my arm get right and my new clubs arrive. Give me a month to tinker and grind. And then I really feel like I will be there, ready to scare even par or better every time out.

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Have a great week.-Benj

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