Walking in 2020

The wind was howling at our backs as we walked to the first hole of Streamsong Black in February 2020. Even though it was winter, this was central Florida, and we were dressed in more layers than any human should ever have to wear in the Sunshine State. There was no sun—only wind and cold—but we were here for a weekend of golf, so we soldiered on to the tee. 

I briefly thought back to one of my more unfortunate comments just the year before, at the same location, when the weather was the complete opposite: bright sun and nearing 80 degrees. I said to my wife, “You know, it’s almost too hot here.” Not a smart thing to say to your spouse at home with three kids in cold and icy Washington, D.C. On that cold day in February, I had a feeling that I’m sure that most of us have from time to time—the golf gods were making me pay. 

However, the gods somehow were with me that day from the beginning, as my first tee shot of the year went straight and long (definitely aided by the wind), and I made a birdie. Nobody really wants to hear the details of other people’s rounds, but it was a pretty good 18 by my standards, especially right out of the gate, with my last round months before. Even a bogey on the 18th hole couldn’t keep me from breaking 80, and I was excited for what the rest of the year might hold. 

Unfortunately, as the temperatures increased the next few days, so did my swing thoughts and scores. But with the lingering effect of that first day, and walking over 18 holes each day with friends, I was reminded of why I love golf. Yes, scoring well is fun and the cause of a never-ending obsession and battle, but it really shouldn’t matter for amateurs out to have fun. Golf is not a good walk spoiled; for many of us, it is what can make walks memorable and much more fun. A long weekend in Florida in early 2020 helped to remind me of that, and even though I was aching as I headed back to Washington (the bourbon didn’t help), my mind was freer and I felt somewhat exhilarated. 

Then the reality of 2020 hit.

Everything is Not Normal

Everyone has a moment or moments in time from last year where the realization hit that we were entering uncharted territory. My first indication came as my group sat eating Chick-fil-A at the Tampa Bay airport, waiting to head back home: we saw a group of students walk by, wearing masks. I’m sure we sat dumbfounded or made some uninformed comments, but even though there were stories about a new deadly virus spreading overseas, we were still too naïve to understand what was really happening and how life was about to be completely upended for everyone. 

So after getting back home, I went about most of my daily life over the next few weeks and continued to prepare for the upcoming golf season: a lesson to try and work out whatever issues I thought had plagued me those last few days in Florida, and constant looks at the weather forecast for those random warm March days that do occur in the mid-Atlantic. I found one for a Friday that most of us will never forget: the last day of in-person school for most students last year, a few days after Rudy Gobert, Tom Hanks, and the Chainsmokers at Sawgrass, a day after basketball conference tournaments were canceled, pro sports were postponed, and so on. On Friday the 13th of March, 2020, I walked 18 holes. 

While not normally anything inspiring or of interest, it felt different. I played alone at a good public track in Maryland in the late afternoon sun, but I played it with the gnawing feeling that I didn’t know when I would be able to do it again. With so many things unknown, enjoying the round was difficult. And for one of the rare times I found that golf could not take my mind off of the outside world, maybe because of how much it was being turned upside down. Nobody wants to relive those weeks and months (not to mention most of the past year), but long story short, our Governor soon ordered everyone to stay at home. As part of that—and by no means the most important factor and only relevant to this discussion—golf courses in Maryland were closed and would remain shuttered for over a month.

Everyone Outside

Even without golf, like many others, I walked more than usual those next several weeks, often with my wife and kids, as it became clear that outdoor activities were safer than indoor ones. I felt guilty, given everything that everyone was going through, because I enjoyed this extra time together and knew that once normal life resumed, we would be pulled in various different directions and these walks would again become rare. 

As for golf, I tried to get by in those initial weeks with an indoor putting green and a new outdoor net and mat, but the embrace of the outdoors eventually meant that golf would become viewed as a relatively responsible activity in the pandemic. But even that came with questions: Are carts safe? Do we need to wear masks throughout the round? Should we touch the pins and rakes? Can we play with strangers? As we all know, courses around the country adapted and worked to implement new safety and sanitary measures, but it still was left to the individual to determine their level of comfort with playing. 

Soon after courses were allowed to set pins again, I reached my own comfort level and booked a tee time with a friend. I looked back at my rounds to date and realized I had walked each time. Yes, it had only been six rounds, but with those under my belt and my numerous off-course walks fresh in my mind, I decided then that I would strive to walk every round for the rest of the year. Walking had already been a common theme of the year and seemed to be benefiting body and mind, so why not keep it up?

While walking every round isn’t some incredible goal or sacrifice—there are those who do it every year and it’s second nature—I doubted whether I’d be able to see it through. Not being a member of a club and being in an area where carts are definitely the norm, it seemed highly unlikely I would be able to get to the end of 2020 without plopping down in an E-Z-Go. Surely there would be a charity or shotgun start event where walking wouldn’t be an option, or one of those exceptionally hot D.C. summer days, and my streak would end.

But I walked that first round after courses opened back up, and then each successive one after. As the year progressed and it became clear that golf was indeed a safe activity, there also were more accommodations for—of all things—walkers. Courses where walking likely had been the exception now were embracing those who decided to hoof it. Pull carts showed up at courses where they previously hadn’t been available. They provided discounts to walkers. I was witnessing somewhat of a walking renaissance. 

Throughout the year I played at local municipal courses, daily fee courses, and even a few private club with caddies. My fear of events with forced carts didn’t materialize, partly because such events were canceled throughout the year. So I walked, almost always carrying my clubs (except for those caddy rounds). I slogged through the D.C. summer heat, a veritable monsoon in October (when your group is the only one on the course, you know the weather is bad), as well as perfect conditions from time to time. 

The experience of walking, even through trying conditions was, in a word, awesome. I’m not going to belabor all of the benefits, but as someone who continues to educate himself on golf architecture, I can’t help but emphasize that there really is no way to see, experience, and enjoy a course’s layout than by experiencing it on foot. I soon found myself avoiding courses with designs that made it clear that walking was never contemplated, the ones with miles between holes or no accommodations at all for walkers. Maybe if courses made a little more effort to encourage walking, more would do so. Golfers and the courses alike would be able to enjoy all of the benefits that come with fewer carts rolling down the fairways.

Before last year, I made it a point to walk as much as I could, but committing to doing so every single round was very liberating. Anyone I played with knew the deal, so there were no awkward conversations or odd looks—at least from my partners—when I said I was walking. And for almost every round, my playing partners joined in with me. Unfortunately, even though walking seemed more accepted, there was still the odd glance or follow-up question from staff at some courses, as if it was an offense or would cause problems (likely the misconception that walking is slower than taking a cart). Needless to say, I also made a note to avoid those places going forward. 

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My last round of 2020 was a chilly day in mid-December at Langston Golf Course, a municipal treasure in downtown Washington, D.C. For those in the area, Langston is made for walking and an enjoyable loop, even though the terrain can be pretty barren and muddy (although in the process of being improved with its takeover by the National Links Trust). Even though the weather was similar to my first round of the year in central Florida, there was no send-off birdie or career round that day. My swing was so off that I stopped keeping score somewhere early on the back nine. But I didn’t really care. The feeling I had back in Florida of enjoying the experience even when my game sours had become more entrenched in me during the year, and I knew it was a direct result of two things: the perspective many of us gained from an exceptionally difficult and solitary year, and my new-found commitment to walking. So on that December day, with my score out of mind, I enjoyed a nice round walking with one of my regular playing partners. 

Quite simply, there was no better way to close out a golf year unlike any other. Golf once again proved that no matter how many years one has played, the game will continue to impart invaluable perspectives for life on and off the course. In the words of Smokey Robinson, but seared into my memory by Peter Tosh and Mick Jagger, “Keep on walking and don’t look back.”