While many readers of the Golfers' Chronicle will have been playing golf longer than they care to remember, LYNNE BRADFORD gives an insight into what it's like to be an absolute beginner to the beautiful, yet frustrating game.
I used to be quite fit. There aren't many sports I haven't tried in my time. You name it, I've tried it. Judo, horse riding, tennis, scuba diving, even parachuting.
I was a runner, tried triathlons, played softball (a pansies version of baseball, for those of you not familiar with the American recreational game), and was once a passably good badminton player. I played five-a-side football (ladies and mixed - a testament to my style of play can be judged from my nickname of the time - `Bite yer legs Bradford'), swam, and tap danced.
The years have taken their toll, however. An altercation with a pillar in a local shopping centre (whilst admiring a rather nice outfit in a shop window - I haven't seen myself on You've Been Framed yet, but maybe I missed it) lead to a spot of knee surgery, and life has never been quite the same. Unable to run more than a few steps, or do any kind of activity which involved impact on the knees, I have been on a four year quest to find a sport that would hold my interest and not aggravate the torn cartilage, patellar tendinitis and chronic bursitis.
Somehow I'm not quite ready to resign myself to the world of bridge or cross stitch (no offence to officianados of these laudable pursuits, they're just not active enough for me). I've always regarded golf with a touch of scorn. I dismissed it as a game for middle aged executive types, the principal aim of which was to do a bit of old boy networking, followed by large quantities of alcohol at Hole 19. Golf was for old fogeys, those not fit enough to indulge in more strenuous activity. A game for sissies, basically.
I'm not sure I've changed my mind completely about golf. But a scan through the West Cheshire College brochure this year got me thinking, as I looked at the very reasonably priced 25-week Beginners Golf classes offered. At the age of 45 with very wonky knees, should I be giving this some serious thought? Could golf possibly be a substitute for hurling people around on a dojo, or sliding feet first into home plate to score that vital run?
Almost without volition, I found myself at a local school last week, having paid for the first half of the course, and clutching a five iron lent by a friend. Confronted by a large room containing rows of brown doormats and a pile of green and pink plastic balls, I wondered what I had let myself in for. Were we going to spend six weeks just learning how to grip a golf club? An hour later, I staggered out of that room with aching arms, aching back and sore hands. I was, how shall we say it, glowing just a tad. I was also very pleasantly surprised. This was actually quite hard work!
Tips from Pro's 
