I wonder what the calorie-burning numbers are for hauling at various intervals 33 or 49 pounds of squirmy child on one's shoulders, because I did one heck of a lot of that today with Noodle and Beast at the gigantic playground which will be Noodle's realm come kindergarten in the fall.
After collapsing for a brief nap this afternoon, my legs and ankle have been giving me one long session of "what in Sam Hill was THAT all about?" But since I'm hoping to hit the golf course for the first time this season this week, I figure hoisting my own bag will be a breeze in comparison.
Golf. In my youth I used to work and play at Red Hook Golf Club from before sunup to after sundown - arrive at 4:30 with the earliest rays of the sun, get in a quick nine before opening up the pro shop, work there 'til noon, grab lunch and play another nine while eating, then work another couple hours, then play another eighteen at least before riding my bike home. And I had the tan of a five-handicapper to show for it - face, both arms, and one hand. Nowadays I'll be doing a jig if I manage to break 45 on the uber-easy north nine at Dinsmore, but I better have some sort of game if the suits at the radio station drag me off to an outing with clients or some such thing this year. The boss in particular has a vivid memory of me smoking a 7-iron to the back of the green on a 216-yard par 3 - which sounds impressive until you factor in that it was a pre-children 31-year-old me swinging like Hulk on meth from an elevated tee with a gale-force wind at my back.
I'd really love for Noodle and Beast to take up golf. Not that I'm ever going to be a "sports parent," although if they ever got good enough to land an athletic scholarship at golf or anything else, ain't no way I'm looking down my nose at that. I'd just like somebody to play with once in a while, however much I might prefer my own company on the golf course.