Third Time’s the Charm: My Journey from Triple Bogey to Loving Golf
Written under the pen name Birdie McDuff
Birdie McDuff took up golf in her 40s—on her third try, because apparently two humbling starts were not enough. She began with a handicap index of 54 and, after 15 years of steady play, focused practice, and occasional negotiations with her golf ball, now plays to an index that hovers between 8 and 12.
Golf has given Birdie far more than lower scores. It has brought her lasting friendships,
countless memorable rounds, and even her husband, whom she met about seven years
ago. Their shared love of golf became a catalyst for their relationship—and, depending
on the day, a spirited household debate about who had more impressive plays from
their respective golf rounds.
Birdie plays about three times a week, usually with her husband or with the women
golfers who make the game as social as it is challenging. She also competes
throughout the season in club tournaments, invitationals, and MassGolf events.
Her passion is helping more women stay with golf long enough to love it. At her home
club, where male members still far outnumber female members, she sees how much
opportunity there is to grow the game for women. Birdie hopes her story encourages
other women to keep practicing, keep laughing, and keep showing up—one triple bogey
at a time.
I tried to take up golf more than once. Actually, I tried three times—which feels
appropriate for a sport where even getting the ball airborne can require several attempts and prayers. It did not truly stick until the third try, proving that the old saying may be true: the third time is a charm. Or, in golf terms, the third time is at least a respectable bogey.
Growing up, I was always good at sports, so when I first encountered golf, I thought,
“How hard can this be?” That confidence lasted right up until my first company golf
outing. I took one lesson, visited the driving range a few times, and arrived fully
expecting to play. Instead, I discovered that topping the ball is a skill one can practice
with remarkable consistency. I was embarrassed, humbled, and briefly suspicious that
golf balls were designed to escape being hit by the clubs. I didn’t pick up a golf club for
about ten years.
Fast forward ten years, while working in corporate America, I began to feel I was
missing out on connections and opportunities because I did not know how to golf. This
time, I had the benefit of my earlier humiliation, so I was more realistic. I joined a
league and committed to playing once a week, assuming that steady play would be
enough. I did improve, but not as quickly as I hoped. Overall, I was disappointed and
frustrated by how slowly progress came. So I quit again.
If any of this sounds familiar, please know you are in very good company. Golf has a
special talent for making us feel humble. Just know you are absolutely not alone.
Fast forward another ten years. My teenage daughter picked up golf and became quite
good. She promptly informed me that I could play with her only if I did not embarrass
her. There is nothing like a teenager’s brutally efficient performance review to clarify
one’s purpose. But that was exactly the motivation I needed. Golf became more than a
sport I thought I should learn; it became a wonderful way to spend time with my
daughter. Once my motivation was clear, I made a concrete plan with goals and a path
for reaching them.
First, I needed goals that were realistic and measurable. Fortunately, golf already has a
built-in reality check: the handicap system. I started logging all my scores so I could
establish a handicap. My first index was a whopping 54. At first, that number felt
discouraging, but it also gave me a healthier way to measure progress. With a 54 index,
averaging better than triple bogey on a hole meant I was having a good round. When I
looked at it that way, I could leave the course encouraged instead of defeated—or at
least less inclined to donate my clubs to the nearest pond. I also learned not to check
my handicap after every round. Looking at it every few weeks gave me enough distance
to remove some of the emotions, particularly emotions of despair. Over time, I lowered it to about 28 over two to three years, and as my handicap went down, my love of golf
went up. The journey from 28 to 12 was a different adventure altogether, and the
journey to lower from 12 has been even harder—but the same lesson still applies:
measure progress in a way that keeps you moving forward. P.S. I am happy to write
about those journeys another time. Right now, let’s focus on staying with the game and
developing love for it instead of frustration.
Second, I learned the value of focused practice. I did not have much time beyond my
weekly league round, so I had to make that time count. That is when I discovered
focused practice: each week, or sometimes for several weeks, I would work on one
specific thing. Not five things. This could be different for each person. I would like to
share what it meant for me. I will provide two examples.
First, focus on one club. At that time, the different clubs barely seemed to make a
difference to me—except that they all found unique ways to disappoint me. One day I
would hit one club well and three others badly; the next day, the dependable club would
resign from duty too. So I simplified. For a round, or even several rounds, I would use
one club often enough to build comfort and repetition. Given my high handicap at the
time, that meant hitting the same kind of shot hundreds of times over a week or two. It
was not glamorous, but it worked. Once I built confidence with that club, I moved on to
another.
Second, focus on one skill. When I took lessons, I asked for only one or two things that
were most urgent to fix. Then, during my league rounds, I focused only on those things.
I still remember one of those early lessons: keep your head down and your eyes on the
ball. For weeks, I told myself, “I do not care how far the ball goes. I am only counting
how many times I keep my head down and my eyes on the ball.” Sometimes this kind of
practice felt slow, even boring. But over time, it became one of the most important
things I did. Focused practice helped me improve because it gave me something
specific to work on instead of simply hoping that each swing would magically become
better. These focused practices may take time to yield results, but trust me, they do.
Finally, there is persistence, which may be the quietest and most important part of the
game. Golf can be discouraging. It can make intelligent, capable adults question
whether they have ever successfully coordinated their arms before. But persistence
becomes easier when it is connected to a clear motivation and supported by realistic
goals. For me, the motivation was time with my daughter. The goals were my handicap,
my practice focus, and small improvements I could actually see. Which over time
translated into bigger improvements. To any woman picking up golf as an adult, my
message is this: do not be discouraged if the game feels hard. It is hard. That does not
mean you are not meant to play it. Know why you are playing, set goals that make
sense for where you are, practice with purpose, and keep going. The ball may not
always listen, and the scorecard may disappoint occasionally, but over time, your game
will improve—and so will your love for it.
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