So I finally dragged my lazy butt down to Karsten Creek last weekend after staring at their “Improve Your Swing” ad for months. Always thought my swing looked fine, you know? Until my buddy filmed me at the driving range. Holy crap was that terrible. Looked like I was wrestling an angry snake instead of swinging a golf club.
The “Oh God What Am I Doing” Warm-Up
Got there stupid early, nerves already kicking in. They sat me down with this coach, Mike – calm guy, scary observant. He didn’t even make me swing right away. Just asked: “Show me how you usually stand before hitting.” Naturally, I plopped into my usual slump, feet too close, hunched over like an old shrimp. Mike just nodded like he’d seen this horror movie a thousand times. “Okay,” he says, real quiet. “Let’s start from the ground up. Literally.”
Driving Range Disaster Turnaround
First ten swings were pure comedy. Either topped the ball so it rolled 20 yards, or sent it screaming sideways. Mike walks over, sighs (not mean, more tired-dad energy). “Your grip is strangling the club,” he points out. My knuckles were white! Who knew? Had me loosen my death grip, showed me where my thumbs should actually sit. Felt weird as hell. Then he adjusted my feet – wider stance, knees slightly bent. Told me to stop staring at the ball like I was trying to set it on fire and just… rotate. Not twist, just turn my shoulders. Felt like I was moving in slow motion. But then…
- Swing 15: That weird “thwack” sound of a CENTERED hit. Ball actually went straight(ish).
- Swing 20: Mike grunted. “Better. Less angry woodpecker, more actual golfer.” Progress!
- Swing 30: Back started screaming. Guess using muscles properly is harder than it looks.
Taking This Mess Outside
After the range, Mike dragged me out to a practice hole. Real turf, real consequences. My old “hit and pray” instincts kicked in hard. Topped two shots in a row into the fairway like a mole digging for treasure. Mike just stood there arms crossed. “Remember the turn,” he says, like a broken record. “Stop trying to kill it.” Focused on shifting weight back then forward, turning those shoulders, holding the follow-through like he showed me. Took a breath. Swung slow and stupid feeling.
Ball flew. Not pro-distance, but straight, and it actually had some dang height! Looked like a real golf shot. Mike actually cracked a smile. “See? Let the club do the work, not your rage.” Hard pill to swallow, but damn… he was right.
What Actually Stuck (Besides the Soreness)
Next day I could barely lift my arms. Totally worth it though. Wrote this stuff down immediately while it hurt too much to move:
- Grip Pressure: Hold it like a raw egg, not a fast-food burger.
- Feet Matter: Stable base = ball actually leaves the tee box.
- The Turn: Not a twist. Shoulders back, shoulders through. Simple, brutal.
- Slow Down: Trying to smash it guarantees a trash shot every time.
End of the day? Still nowhere near good. Smacked a tree dead center on the 9th hole, almost took out a squirrel. But… I hit a few shots that actually felt… controlled. Like I did something intentional instead of lucky. Felt less like the worst golfer ever and maybe just a bad one. Mike’s parting shot? “Go practice that turn. Without throwing your back out.” Goddamn coach knows me too well already.
