Golf and the Bench Press

There used to be a theatre on Colfax Avenue in Denver that featured XXX movies. I think it was called the Bluebird. It was worth a weekly drive-by as the movie titles on the marquis were usually parodies of actual first run features and thus good for a chuckle. I mention this because I was about to say something about pumping iron which is a euphemism for weight lifting and the title of a 1970 something documentary featuring Ahhhhnold and I am compelled to tell you that to this day I am unable to say the phrase pumping iron without thinking of "Pumping Irene", one of the Bluebird's better titles... and now you won't be able to either.

And I did pump some, uh, iron yesterday. Still sore from my two previous bouts with the inert objects lying about waiting to be lifted, I nevertheless engaged in what has to be objectively viewed by those not so inclined as a what the hell are you doing that for waste of time. I didn't really have a good answer for that until yesterday. Before engaging in the aforementioned less than mentally stimulating endeavor, I had accessed the deepest and most profound corners of my mind which just happen to be in Woowoo Charly's head and asked it to look up weight training for seniors on the Internet. There at number 10 on a list of ten, after the usual blah blah blah about good for the bones, cardiovascular stimulation, long life and improved chances of getting it on with Hale Berry was the answer I was looking for. To wit, weight lifting can improve your golf game.

Well alrighty then! This would have to be put to the test.

I got my man Marco on the phone and asked him if it was raining in Puerto Armuelles. He said something in Spanish that I took for a no, so Woowoo Chuck, RTGFKAR and I loaded up Nikita and set off to our as still unknown named Country Ha Ha Club.

We stopped first at Pricesmart to stock up on our diminished booze supply and when we loaded the box of vodka, scotch and wine into the car it occurred to me that if we had any kind of accident it was sure to be reported as "alcohol involved." We also got a giant box of those little cheesy fish shaped crackers whose name I can't recall but it might be Little Cheesy Fish Shaped Crackers. The last one in the store.

When we got to the CC it was, you might have guessed it, raining. Not much though and we hadn't driven all that way not to play golf. Of course, even if we had, all would not have been lost. We had, after all, scored those fish. We teed up in sprinkles at the first and by the third the rain had stopped. I've described the course in previous blogs and it was much the same apart from being greened up considerably. The horses were absent this time so the fairway grass was a bit higher than usual. That last a sentence to give new readers a sense of the course's splendor. Dark black lines had been added to outline the fairways - this side of the line was fairway, that side rough, a thing nice to know even if the grass was exactly the same height on either side - and we all got around, if not nicely, eventually. Yers Truly hit the ball particularly well for the most part and I can only attribute this to one thing and we all know what that is.

Pumping Irene!