The FitGolf Chronicles, Week 2

 

With my swing and my body fully evaluated at FitGolf in Conshohocken in Week 1, it was time for David Ostrow and me to get down to work.  The goal in the coming weeks being to improve my flexibility and range of motion, both of which have more or less ossified over time. 

 

In Ostrow’s judgment, the place to start was pretty much a no-brainer: my hip flexor.

 

In laymen’s terms, the hip flexor is the group of muscles around the hip and pelvic area that control the rotation and movement of your hips.  In my case, my right side is okay.  It’s my left hip and pelvis that are tight to the point that I can’t rotate properly when I swing a golf club; it’s bad enough, in fact, that when I walk long distances, I tend to limp slightly or almost waddle because my left side won’t turn and flex as it should.

 

"We’re in the Keystone state and I think of the pelvis as almost being the keystone area of the body," said Ostrow.  "It unlocks a lot."

 

 

Digging in the Iliacus

 

Key to addressing my hip flexor was "releasing" my Iliacus muscle, a teardrop-shaped affair that attaches to the hip by a tendon, then heads north before fanning out and attaching across the upper rim of the pelvis.  It helps pull your leg forward when you walk.

 

To work on it, Ostrow had me lay face-up on his examining table and he began working the fingertips of his right hand into the Iliacus muscle.  He pressed firmly and steadily with his fingertips without really messaging the area; it didn’t hurt but it was mildly uncomfortable.

 

Ostrow likened what he was doing to pressing on skin of an onion until that outer layer began soften; then he worked his fingertips in a little deeper, until the next layer of the onion, or my Iliacus muscle, was soft.  Ostrow would continue working his fingertips until the Iliacus eventually, almost magically, released.

 

In some people, this process takes five minutes, said Ostrow; in others it takes three hours.   My Iliacus took about 30 minutes to release, which is about average -- and there was, as always, a warning.

 

"When the muscle is about to release, my fingertips get warm to the touch," said Ostrow, holding out his hand for a moment for me to feel his fingertips.  Sure enough, they were warm.  He returned to his work and within a few moments, done.

 

"When it releases, some people say they feel Ôlight,"  said Ostrow. "Some say Ôlooser."  Some say Ôsofter.""

 

When I stood, I too could feel a difference.  My left hip felt, I don’t know, looser, freer.  When I took a few steps, my left hip felt like it was moving better.

 

My asymmetry

 

The point in dealing with my hip flexor first was to begin to deal with what Ostrow called the "asymmetry" of my entire body.  Because my hip muscles on left side were so tight and contracted, it actually made my left leg slightly shorter, which has all kinds of ramifications on other muscles in your midsection, not to mention your golf swing.

 

Out in the studio, Ostrow assigned me an exercise to do at home every day for five minutes to keep the hip flexor loose.  Basically, I lie across a giant rubber ball, with my left hip muscles stretched out.  I’ve done it almost every day and, while it doesn’t hurt, I do find myself watching the minutes and seconds bleed off the clock until I can quit.

 

 

Seriously, my what is shorter?

 

As our second session was concluding, Ostrow told me what we’d tackle next week; frankly, it sounded a little creepy:  For reasons he cannot explain, the muscles up and down the left side of my upper torso have tightened and shrunk to the point that my left shoulder is slightly lower than my right shoulder, and my left hip is slightly higher than my right, truncating the area between my left shoulder and left hip.

 

While it sounds bizarre, Ostrow said that upwards of 90 percent of people have this same phenomenon to some degree.   It can happen on the left side or the right side, and there is no apparent explanation for which side it happens to.  The fact that I am left-handed has nothing to do with the asymmetry affecting my left side, said Ostrow.

 

What especially surprised me was that I had never noticed any of this until Ostrow had me standing in front of a wall full of mirrors examining my reflection.  Sure enough, my left shoulder is perceptively lower than my might.

 

 

The golf test

 

Nothing puts Ostrow’s work to the test more than playing a round of golf.  I did that three days after our session, on Saturday, monitoring my body at every step.

 

While my score didn’t drop dramatically – at all, really -- I could definitely feel difference in my left hip.  I walked better, more loosely, and at least in my head, I imagined a slight improvement in my hip rotation when I swung.

A few final thoughts and observations from the 2012 Masters...

 

¥  Bubba Watson’s recovery shot from out of the woods on the 10^th – the second playoff hole – is an instant classic that will join the Masters all-time highlight reel, along with Tiger Woods’ slow-mo chip-in at the 16^th (In your life...!) and Phil Mickelson’s 6-iron at the 13^th, from off the pine straw and behind the tree.

 

¥ Speaking of Phil, what the ----? 

 

Okay, that sprayed tree shot at the 4^th on Sunday was understandable given the pressure of the moment.  But the decision to try to chop it out of the bushes right-handed, not once but twice?

 

It was enough to make me revisit my Masters predictions post from a few days ago.  To wit:

 

I like Phil Mickelson, and he is a true Masters stud, but Phil seems to have lost half a step at 41.  I’ve also found myself questioning Phil’s thought processes ever since he started wearing those too-tight shirts with the weird collars.  Any man who can stand in front of a mirror wearing one of those shirts and think he’s good to go, can no longer be trusted to make completely sound decisions on the back nine at Augusta on Sunday.

 

Granted, the shirt wasn’t too tight, but my comments about trusting Phil to make sound decisions turned out to be spot on.

 

¥ Don’t even get me started on Tiger.  Just when you think he’s back, nah, he’s not.  How can somebody play like he did two weeks ago at Bay Hill, then collapse like a Walmart pup tent at Augusta – a course and tournament he has owned to the tune of four green jackets.

 

And the guy somehow managed to tarnish his tarnished image even worse by dropping a very audible G—damn bomb on the 13^th on Saturday.  Kicking the club at the 16^th was what you’d expect from a spoiled 14-year-old.  He embarrassed himself.

 

¥ On the issue of Augusta National GC remaining all-male, I’ve got to say I missed the call this time.  I thought they’d embrace Ginny Rometty, the new CEO of IBM.

 

Why?  Because Billy Payne, the current chairman of Augusta National, is a man of these modern times.  He understands how it appears to the outside world to have a club that purports to be a symbol of promoting and advancing the game to allow to itself to be such blatant symbol of a bygone era.

 

I know it’s a private club and they can do what they want, invite who they want, create what ever little world they want.  But to what end? And at what cost to the reputation to the club?

 

It was one thing back when Martha Burk, feminist activist, wanted former chairman Hootie Johnson to induct a woman member, any woman, just to make a point.  This time, it’s almost like a personal snub of a particular woman – an important, success corporate titan of a woman.  You’d think IBM would be pissed off for her.

 

¥ This whole "patrons" thing has suddenly started to bug me.  I wince and squirm a little every time I hear one of the CBS guys, and now even the players, assiduously refer to the gallery, the fans, the spectators as "patrons."

 

C’mom, is "patron" a higher grade of spectator?  The patrons seem to wear the same goofy hats and holler the same dopey lines, like You da man, Tiger!!!

 

The whole idea is so...artificial and transparent.

 

¥ What I really want to know after Sunday is what happened to that "patron" who got nailed by Peter Hanson’s errant drive at the 8^th hole.  I can’t find anything anywhere, not even in the Augusta Chronicle. If you missed it, here it is:

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJmntHYopOA

Okay, can I unpick Tiger?

 

I don’t know what I was thinking.

 

Talk about an exercise in dumbassery.

 

Did he really throw a tantrum and kick his club at  the 16^th?

 

I think I’ve got more confidence in my swing.

 

Somewhere, Hank Haney can’t wipe the smug grin off his face – and he earned it.

 

Do you suppose Tiger is not aware that people watching him?  Or does he just not care?

 

For the weekend, I’m now officially rooting for Freddie.

Okay, here’s the thing:  I hate doing "picks" going into a major.

 

Even 10 years ago, when Tiger Woods was at the peak of being Tiger Woods, doing the obligatory "picks" for The Inquirer on the Sunday before each major felt like an exercise in futility bordering on dumbassery.  No fool, I’d pick Tiger as first among my "Five to Watch," but after him, it was like picking lottery numbers.  Still, my editors wanted it, so I did it.

 

All these years later, out of habit, whenever a major rolls around, I find myself doing "picks" in my head.  It gives me a headache.

 

You can spend an hour on the PGA Tour website studying players’ stats and stuff like it was the Daily Racing Form, and you make a what feels like a semi-educated guess.   But golf being golf, it all unravels quickly.  I mean, c’mon, who among us didn’t see Charl Schwartzel coming last year?  

 

That, of course, brings us to this year’s Masters.

 

I might have picked Dustin Johnson, who I think is overdue to win a major, but that putz just WD’ed because of a back injury – something about trying to life a jet ski.  I’m shaking my head here.

 

I like Phil Mickelson, and he is a true Masters stud, but Phil seems to have lost half a step at 41.  I’ve also found myself questioning Phil’s thought processes ever since he started wearing those too-tight shirts with the weird collars.  Any man who can stand in front of a mirror wearing one of those shirts and think he’s good to go, can no longer be trusted to make completely sound decisions on the back nine at Augusta on Sunday.

 

Who else?

 

Luke Donald, who is back to No. 1 in the world now? I want to believe but, sorry, I don’t.  Hunter Mahan?  Possible.  Lee Westwood?  Also overdue, but no. Heck, I could go on like this for a while, but I won’t .  For me, I keep coming back two guys:  Rory McIlroy and Tiger Woods.

 

Right now, I’d take Rory and Tiger against the field and be happy.  We all saw what Rory did last year in the Masters, right up to his tee shot at the 10^th on Sunday.   He is to be greatly admired for the way he held his head high afterward, and for the way he rebounded with his win at the U.S. Open two months later.  He is the first to admit that he has much to prove this year at the Masters.  Don’t bet against him.

 

Still, after that performance at Bay Hill, I keep coming back to Tiger.  Damn, he looks good, confident, determined.  Truth is, he looks "back" in ways I didn’t think was possible.  If you look at the PGA Tour stats, he pretty much leads in every stat that matters.

 

So, why do I feel all queasy in the stomach about picking Tiger?

 

Seriously, why do I feel like a teenage girl who finally broke up with my badass boyfriend, but now he wants back in my life and he’s on the phone, begging?  I know he’s bad for me, and I know can’t trust him, and I can hear my mother in the next room, yelling, "Hang up! Don’t you go back to that boy!   He will hurt you again!"

 

But I’m all weak in the knees.  Please, stop me before I believe again.

I don’t know if Tiger is back.  After that long-overdue and commanding victory Bay Hill on Sunday, he sure looks back.

 

Who I do can say is back, for sure, is me – back watching golf.  As I planted myself in front of the high-def, big screen yesterday, I couldn’t remember the last time I had cleared the afternoon to watch the final round of a PGA Tour event, from the introductions on the first tee shot to the tap-in on the 18th.

 

I can’t remember the last time I watched every shot Tiger hit, studied every swing, looking for clues into the State of Tiger.  Was he back for the day?  For the tournament?  Or, you know, really back back?

 

For all the good to great shots he hit yesterday, I thought the look on Tiger’s face was more revealing than anything else.  Gone were the displays of disappointment and disgust with himself and his game we’ve seen of late.  Tiger looked confident, in control, steely, in ways we haven’t seen in...well three-plus years.

 

Until now, we’ve only seen flashes of what we hoped would be "back."  There was his win last fall at his own tournament, which wasn’t terribly convincing.  There were the pair of 68s earlier this at the AT&T Pebble Beach, there was the 62 in the final round of the Honda Classic and there was the 65 on Friday at Bay Hill.

 

But there was also a closing 75 at Pebble Beach, and there was a worrisome collection of missed putts at a variety of tournaments.  Then, there was the limp-off exit at the WGC Cadillac Championship at Doral a couple of weeks ago.  When that happened, who among us didn’t go, "Oh, no, here we go again."

 

But this hard-charging 5-shot win at the Arny Invy is enough to get me and millions of golf fans excited again.  Frankly, I’m tired of be smug and disgusted over what and how Tiger imploded his life a couple of years ago.  I’m ready for him to give us a reason to be exited about his golf again.  Now, he has done just that.

 

Of course, it couldn’t some at a better time, only a week before the Masters.  Can you imagine the buzz?  Can you imagine the hype?

 

Golf needs this.  Tiger needs this.  Golf fans need this.

Gil Hanse, homeboy, has been a rising star in the world of golf course design for more than a decade.  Suddenly, he is an international superstar.

 

That’s the effect of his selection Wednesday to design the golf course for the 2016 Olympics in Rio de Janeiro – a selection, we might add, that came over a Who’s Who of finalists: Jack Nicklaus, Greg Norman, Gary Player and Robert Trent Jones II. 

 

It’s almost impossible to overstate what designing the Olympics course is going to do for Gil’s career.  His growing reputation in the U.S. will go worldwide. He’s already designing one course in China but after 2016, with the eyes of the world on Rio, Gil will be in demand in every corner of the earth where golf is beginning to take hold.  He will become one of the leading ambassadors of American golf, mentioned in the same breath with Tiger Woods, not to mention the single most influential golf course architect in the world.

 

"This is a career changer," said golf writer Jeff Silverman, a friend of both Gil’s and mine, when we shared the news yesterday.

 

Gil has already left a substantial mark on Philadelphia golf.  His first solo design project was Inniscrone GC, in Avondale, Chester County.  Then came Applebrook GC in Malvern and French Creek GC in Elverson.  Gil has also done renovation work at Paxon Hollow CC and restoration work at Cobbs Creek GC and Gulph Mills GC.

 

Of course, it was Gil’s work alongside Tom Doak, lead designer of Stonewall GC in Elverson, that gave him the confidence and push to go out on his own and launch Hanse Golf Course Design, based in Malvern, in 1993.

 

Since then, Gil’s work as improved and his reputation has grown exponentially.  Among golf course design aficionados, Gil’s courses are known for their subtle simplicity and purity;  he has become the modern-day master of understatement.  It is a philosophy that is winning him fans, fame and, increasingly, fortune.

 

In 2009, Gil was named "Architect of the Year" by Golf magazine. Just a couple of weeks ago, Donald Trump hired Gil to redo the Blue Monster at Doral.  With his selection to design the Olympics course, the sky is the limit.  Thing is, all this couldn’t be happening to a nicer guy.  Gil is soft-spoken, reserved, humble -- and insanely talented.

 

All over the golf world, people are sitting up and saying, Gil Who?  They are about to find out.

I’ve just finished reading The Big Miss, Hank Haney’s revealing new book on his six years as Tiger Woods’ coach.   I know several people who didn’t like it, dismissed it and accused Haney of betraying Tiger; maybe so, but I couldn’t put it down.

 

Haney has come under some criticism for writing the book at all, even from fellow coaches Butch Harman and Rick Smith, who suggest PGA Tour swing coaches assume a vow of confidentiality, like a priest or any attorney.

 

On the other hand, The Big Miss is No. 1 on the New York Times bestseller list, a rare feat for a golf book.  That’s because it is the most intimate insider-look we are likely to get at one of the most dominant, remarkable figures in the history of sports.  Haney goes where no authorized biography of Tiger is ever going to go.

 

True, there were several anecdotes and stories that caused me to wince, agreeing that Haney had wandered in to territory that probably should have been off-limits.

 

To wit: Haney writing about what appeared to him to became a rather distant, cool, relationship with his then-wife, Elin, before the crack-up in his personal life.   Haney also writes that at dinners in the couple’s home, when Tiger would finish, he was up and outtathere.  It’s a small thing, but Haney even recalls one evening, when he and Tiger were watching a ballgame on TV together, when Tiger went to the kitchen and returned with a Popsicle for himself, never offering one to Hank.  That small slight stuck in Haney’s craw for years, seeming to perfectly illustrate Tiger’s self-absorption or narcissism.

 

The objection that many people, including me, have about Haney including some of those details is that he came by them as a result of being a frequent overnight guest in the Woods’ home.   Compared to the kind of knife-in-the-back recollections we get in the typical Washington or Hollywood tell-all memoirs, Haney’s stories are tame.

 

Who can blame Tiger for feeling his privacy has been invaded by a man he called a friend.  But let’s be honest: Nothing Haney reveals about Tiger or his marriage is nearly as devastatingly revealing as Tiger’s own self-destructive behavior.

 

Actually, whether Haney and Tiger were "friends" or not is very much a running theme throughout The Big Miss.  Tiger called Haney a friend, and Haney certainly wanted to be his friend, but in the end, he wonders whether Tiger is even capable of true and deep friendships.

 

Much of the book details what Haney believes is the impenetrable bubble Tiger has constructed around himself.  Tiger knows everybody, and he is cordial with plenty of people, often referring to them as "friends." But in his time around Tiger, Haney observes little of what he considers genuine friendship.

 

From Haney’s vantage point, Tiger was never really close to famous athletes like Michael Jordan and Charles Barkley.  And when Tiger’s personal life exploded, he even shut out the few guys who thought they were true confidants, like Mark O’Meara and John Cook.  Haney knew he certainly was no intimate confidant.  The only two people Tiger seemed close to were his agent, Mark Steinberg, and a neighborhood high school kid he played practice rounds with at Isleworth, Corey Carroll.

 

Much of what I liked about the book is that it confirms so many suspicions we all had about Tiger:  That the expectations heaped on him and strain of being Tiger Woods weighed on him much more heavily than he ever let on; that even at his peak, in 2000-2002, Tiger had much more self-doubt than we knew; that despite his protestations to the contrary, Tiger knew exactly what people (and the media) were saying and writing about him; that Tiger can be an aloof, remote, cold-hearted bastard, even to the handful of people seemingly closest to him.

 

Haney doesn’t knock Tiger off his pedestal The Big Miss – Tiger had already done that to himself.  But Haney does give us plenty of insider information and evidence to show that Tiger was, and is, just another flawed human being, albeit one with nearly superhuman ability and determination.

 

As Haney has pointed out time and again, most of the book is quite positive about Tiger.  Haney regards Tiger as the greatest player who ever lived, even if he doesn’t break Jack Nicklaus’ record of 18 majors.  Haney is flat-out in awe of Tiger.  He finally just decided that the pressure of being Tiger’s coach and the indignities of dealing with his mood swings, was sucking the life out of him.