By 35, I’d come to terms with a few things. The college jersey wasn’t fitting anymore. My “highlight reels” lived exclusively in the heads of people legally obligated to remember them — namely, my wife and my mom. And somewhere between toddler tantrums, work emails that never stop, and the dad-bod creeping in like an uninvited houseguest, my body sent up a flare. Weekly migraines. The kind that put you face-down on the couch with the lights off while your kids ask, with sincere concern, if you’re “doing a quiet game.” So I made an appointment with my primary care doctor. Dr. Rome Walter at Rancho Family Medical Group has the unenviable job of telling me, in the most professional way possible, that a lot of what’s wrong with me is just… me. We ran through the usual suspects, but the diagnosis kept circling back to something I didn’t really want to hear: stress. I needed an outlet. A real one. Not the “scrolling Instagram at 11 p.m. while doom-spiraling about a Slack message” kind of outlet. Speaking of Instagram — that’s actually how I found my salvation.
The algorithm, in a rare moment of usefulness, served me up a video of grown adults sprinting between golf shots at sunrise. It’s called Speedgolf, and it looked completely unhinged in the best possible way. The account was Speedgolf Temecula, run by a guy named Jon. I’d never golfed in my life, but I sent him a DM anyway — something along the lines of “I have no idea what I’m doing, can I come try this?” Jon wrote back almost immediately and told me to show up Sunday at 6 a.m. at Temecula Creek Inn. No audition. No “are you sure you can handle this?” Just, come on out. That’s the thing about Jon and the rest of the Speedgolf Temecula crew — they’re absurdly welcoming. For the unfamiliar: you show up at 6 a.m., carry three to five clubs, and play 18 holes as fast as you can, running shot to shot. You finish in about an hour. Your score is your strokes plus your time. It’s designed for people who love golf but can’t stand the pace of it, and for people who love running but have grown tired of doing it in a straight line like a chump. My first round was a tragedy. A wonderful, sweaty, joyful tragedy. I sliced. I shanked. I introduced my golf ball to several trees that, until that morning, had lived peaceful, undisturbed lives. Jon and the guys just laughed with me, gave me pointers between holes, and made sure I knew I was welcome back. Now I’m a regular. Two mornings a week at Temecula Creek Inn — a course so beautiful at sunrise you almost forget you’re hyperventilating between holes. Almost. Now I’ve become that guy. The golf guy. I have opinions about wedges. My wife has perfected the polite nod she gives when I start a sentence with “So the thing about my grip is—.” The only thing saving my dignity is the running. You can’t be too insufferable about golf when you’re doing it at a dead sprint with sweat running into your eyes. Here’s what I want guys my age to hear: I’m on the first tee by 6, done by 7, and home before my kids finish their cereal. It doesn’t steal from family time. It protects it, because the version of me walking back through the door is dramatically more pleasant than the one who left. The migraines are mostly gone. The stress has somewhere to go. Thanks to Dr. Rome Walter at Rancho Family Medical Group for treating the whole person and not just the symptom. Thanks to Jon and the Speedgolf Temecula crew for taking a chance on a total beginner. And thanks to Temecula Creek Inn for being the prettiest place to embarrass yourself at sunrise. I encourage you all to find your outlet. Give speedgolf a try, we always welcome more crazy people, or find the thing you need to be your best self. I am glad I did.
"It doesn't steal from family time. It protects it — because the version of me walking back through the door is dramatically more pleasant than the one who left."
"I'm on the first tee by 6, done by 7, and home before my kids finish their cereal."