My name’s John W., I’m 42, and for the longest time, I thought something was wrong with me.
I picked up golf in my early 30s late compared to most guys in my league. I fell in love fast. The strategy, the solitude, the satisfaction of a clean drive — I was hooked.
But there was one problem: I could never hit consistently.
Some days I’d slice everything. Others, I’d pull left. I tried fixing my swing path, my rotation, my tempo.
I took private lessons, bought training apps, even switched clubs. I’d leave the course more confused than when I arrived.
After 7 years of fighting the same battles, I hit a breaking point.
I played a Saturday round with a few guys from work. On the 4th tee, I sliced my drive straight into the woods. That was the third lost ball in 20 minutes.
Someone laughed. Not maliciously — but it hit me hard.
I felt humiliated. I faked a smile, but inside I was ready to walk off the course for good.
