Chapter 1
I
I Got Out of My Own Way
If you follow golf during and after the tournaments, and if you are the kind of golf enthusiast that wants to know what thoughts inspire the professionals, you may have heard or read this one. This gives me a thrill because I personally know what it means when a player says, "I got out of my own way."1 I Got Out of My Own Way
I remember when I first did it, but I did not know what to call it, except shock.
I had worked hard on my golf game. I worked hard to make the perfect swing. On the course, I made every shot count. I was successful, finally scoring around par or better. That is when it first happened.
I did not plan it.
I went out to the course alone and I decided, just before I teed off, that I did not care. I was tired of fighting it, and this thought hit me.
I give up.
That was how I felt that day. I did not care where the ball went. For once, I did not care about my score. I was not going to fight it that day. I was tired of thinking and trying. I just wanted to play. Not work. Just play, one time, one day.
So I let it go. I released the effort to control and this is what happened.
I lined up to hit my driver down the middle instead of aiming left for my fade. I tossed the club back smoothly and instantly realized that I had no idea where it was on my backswing. I did have a quick thought that the ball would go far to the right, but just as quickly, I let that thought go.
Coming down I had no clue where anything was. I did not know if I would make contact, but when I did, my clubface felt so open that I was in total shock to see the ball go perfectly straight. I was shocked at the new sound of impact that seemed to hang in the air. I was shocked that my hands did not feel a thing.
It took me a while to begin moving. Then I was disoriented, and actually wandered around the tee box for a few seconds. I had to look for my bag, which was where I always put it by the left tee marker. I remember thinking that I hoped no one was watching me from the pro shop. I was briefly self-conscious about being lost on the tee. I did not know what to think, what to plan on, or what would happen. I had hit one shot and suddenly was never so confused about golf in my life.
The ball was in the middle of the fairway and long. It was very long. I just knew the ball should have been out of bounds right. I just knew it should have been about forty yards shorter than normal, but it was in the middle of the fairway and about forty yards longer than normal. I thought I knew what should have happened because I used only enough energy to swing and I did not try to control my direction.
For my next shot, I took a short iron to play to the middle of the green for a back pin, lined up straight and let it go. I did not take a practice swing because if I did what would it be? The ball went straight again, like the drive. There was no effort and no feeling of impact. I experienced the same shock.
My ball was a few feet behind the hole, longer than I thought it would be. I did not feel that usual feeling of satisfaction because my
mind was totally involved in this incredible experience of hitting these two shots.
I went to the next tee and the same swing again found me. I had the same result as my first tee shot. I was in wonderland. What was this? Was it a dream? Where was I? I was not trying. It was just the opposite of trying. There was no work. It was effortless.
Every shot went straight and longer that day. The numbers on the clubs did not matter anymore. Even with the long irons and fairway clubs, distance was not a factor in accuracy-all of my shots went straight. My short game did not matter anymore. I could not care about putting. I could hardly wait to hit the next shot. With this swing, I did not even need a short game to score well.
I finished my round, and with quick thinking, I called a friend who knew my swing and got him to come to the course right away.
When he arrived, I was on the driving range and said, "Just look at this."
I did the same thing I had been doing all day with the same result. I turned around and looked at him.
He said, "Great shot." That is all he said.
I told him to watch a few more, and he did. I could not believe he made no other comments on the results or on my new swing.
Finally, I turned around and said, "Well?"
He said, "Well, you're hitting it great."
"But what about my swing," I asked.
"What? It looks the same to me," he said.
"What! It's totally different," I said.
"Well, maybe a little smoother," he said with some hesitation, but he could not "put his finger on it."
He can't see it?
It's invisible?
Why did my swing feel so incredibly different for me, yet appeared the same as before, with my mind practically thoughtless? Truly, I was beside myself. I had tripped over the answer in the dark. I was no longer what I thought I was supposed to be: the player in control.
I had become the spectator, observing myself playing golf. That day changed my life and led me on a new path. I thought I knew what had made my swing successful before that day, but I found out I did not know.
I had crossed the line that separates performance by effort, from effortless performance.
I got out of my own way.
Before that day, I had no knowledge of this experience.
After thinking about it for some time, I began to research this phenomenon. I had read the popular golf books and magazines, talked to
the players and local pros, and watched golf on television, and no one had ever mentioned this. Then I began reading every golf publication I could find. I went to the libraries, even the old libraries that still had the old golf books. There was not one book that featured this subject, whatever it was.
There were a few works I found that gave me strong clues. After having had the experience, I could tell which ones had the truth of insight that can only come from having the experience itself. I clearly remember how excited I was to read Ernest Jones' 1937 copyright edition of Swing the Clubhead, and the dynamic Alex Morrison books of the same era, A New Way to Better Golf, and Better Golf Without Practice.
Anyone who has had the experience can see and understand those hidden gems of enlightenment that shine through the works of the greatest teachers of yesterday and today. Often they would seem to pop out of nowhere, as if hidden as a secret thought in a dense paragraph. Sometimes I thought a few words just came from the teacher's own subconscious mind as an admission of truth that he or she did not consciously recognize, but lived and demonstrated. Sometimes I thought the truth was intentionally placed there by the author for the select few that would understand.
As far as an explanation of the experience, all I ever acquired in my early years of research and study were a few brief quotes. When it happened, the player was at a loss for words. On television, the player would look mesmerized. Sometimes there was a sentence in the newspaper, usually ten words or less.
The interviews typically followed a career best, record round in a golf tournament and reported the player's story, such as, "It was like I was unconscious," or "It was like I was in a dream," or "It was like I was in another world." There was not much the player could say. It was always "like" something extraordinary. That was the best they could do. No one could explain that special state of mind and body that leads to the effortless and perfect golf swing. It just happened. There were no follow-up stories.
I wanted to know the rest of the story.
I had to know.
How can someone find, briefly enjoy, and suddenly lose the answer to the game of golf?
How does someone get out of his own way?
It was obvious that something almost mystical had happened.
To find the answer I had to unlearn and relearn everything I knew about the golf swing, from start to finish, from the inside out.
I wanted to know why and how.
Now I know.
You can make it happen.
This is the way out….
Copyright 2012 Tom Woods All Rights Reserved