*Allen Iverson voice:* "We're talkin' 'bout practice."
Golfers must be addicted to torture. That is the only explanation why we go to a driving range.
Like the stages of grief, every range session seems to go to through the same five stages.
Denial
"I am way better than this."
This helps us get through the initial five shots. Coming out of the car, usually after work, taking advantage of the last hour of daylight before heading home for dinner, with a rushed - or more likely, no - warm-up, these initial shots are usually tops, skulls, or hosel adjacent. These shots don't count; those shots are our warm-up. We just hope no one was watching.
(Side note: range location is key. Take a stall far to the left side. This way, no one can judge your (lack of) ability.)
We know we aren't this bad, these are just knocking the rust off. After all, we aren't professionals, and we just came from sitting at a desk for eight hours. Our body can't move well yet.
We know we aren't this bad. This isn't our normal game.
Anger
Anger is a necessary part of golf.
On its surface, golf is a simple game. Hit a ball - that doesn't move(!) - with a stick, chase after it, and hit it again. Do this in as few times as possible to hit it in a hole in the ground.
How, then, can it be so difficult?! Ten more shots in at the range, we are cursing everything: the ball, the club, the person driving the ball picker cart, the turf or grass, the drunk Scots who invented the game, the dude in the next stall who is on the phone, our ability.
Golf, even though it's played in groups, is a lonely sport. This anger helps us with a connection to something - the thing we get mad at - and now we have something to focus on other than the fact that we stink.
Bargaining
On the drive to the range, we think "please, let me hit the ball the way I know how to. I know I know how to play this game, and play it well."
At the range, we think "well, maybe if I took this game more seriously, or treated it better, or just didn't care as much, I could play to my potential."
If only.
What can we do differently to lose this pain of our lack of ability? We focus on our best drive we've ever hit, or our best iron shot, or our best round. We live in the past over the next 15 to 20 shots, just numb to what we are currently executing, but focus on our best past efforts.
Depression
As we get to the 30th shot on the range, our thoughts move to the present: our range session right now.
We have hit only three or four good shots in our range session, and we realize this is going isn't going well. And there are still about 40 golf balls in the range bucket.
Do we finish the range session? Do we bring these golf balls to the practice green? Do we give them to the kid who is hitting balls with his dad?
To not experience a little sadness on the golf course or driving range is unnatural. The situation isn't actually depressing, but it is how we respond to realizing we stink at the sport we love.
Acceptance
About 50 to 60 shots in - with about 20 golf balls left - we accept that this is our ability on this day. We learn to live with it; we swing the swing we brought to the range that day. We know we are trying to improve, but we have to also have to realize that we just need to find the center of the freakin' club face.
Acceptance doesn't mean that we are okay or accepting of our miserable range session or our lack of ability. We just accept that that is what we have that day.
That is what we have to accept. We have to accept we are never going to play our best every time. Otherwise, that wouldn't be best, that would be normal. Those are two different things.
While we accept that it our best that day, we don't accept that it is the best we can do ever. After all, we've taken lesson, we practice, we play. We know we can play this game.
Then, after our bucket is through, we will eventually go back to the range, maybe even the next day.
And then, we'll go through all these five stages again.
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