When we got back from Myrtle Beach, I dropped my clubs and shoes in the corner of the garage and never looked back.  It was a frustrating experience, I'd never struggled so much in learning how to play a sport.  It was incomprehensible how it could be so difficult to hit a stationary ball off a tee with a golf club.  My wife asked how the trip was and I told her, "I had a great time but golf's not for me".  I explained how encouraging and patient the guys were but I just couldn't get the swing down.  She tried to be supportive but with my work schedule and personal commitments, golf just wasn't something I could or at that time wanted to dedicate time to.

The clubs sat in my garage for 3 years untouched.  I opted out of future Myrtle Beach trips because work was really demanding and I had no desire to embarrass myself again on the course.  When we sold our house in Virginia, I seriously considered throwing the clubs out but I chose to move them.  The clubs found a nice corner in my Long Island garage and continued to collect dust.

The trip to Myrtle Beach gave me some new found respect for professional golf and I found myself watching it more often.  I was amazed at what a great golfer Tiger was.  He hit the ball a ton and was intense like a football player.  You could see he thrived on competition and whether it was intimidation or just how much better he was than the rest, players seemed to wilt when paired with him in the final group on Sundays.   I definitely enjoyed watching golf more, especially Tiger and Phil but I still had no desire to dust off the clubs and give golf another try.

I had moved to NY to start a new business and live closer to my family.  My business partner was really starting to get into playing golf and was always making a golf swing motion in his office, the hallways, etc.  He brought a putter into his office and would practice putting during lunch or when business was slow.  I'd joke with him about being obsessed with golf and that if it got much worse we'd have to have an intervention.  He'd try to get me to join him, but the memories of Myrtle Beach were still somewhat fresh and I'd decline.

On my 45th birthday, June 2010, my cousin gifted me a round of golf at a charity event for a friend we had lost on 9/11.  My cousin had also gotten pretty obsessed with golf and had been bugging me to play, but I'd always find an excuse to get out of it.  He knew I wouldn't decline the charity event so I had six weeks to dust off the clubs and try to learn how to play this stupid game.