By Damon Hack As the Masters heralds the arrival of spring, I am reminded of my golfing journey through this endless winter.
In October, at the behest of a teaching pro, I joined a gym designed for the snow-bound golfer. It had hitting bays, TPI-trained instructors and club fitting, as well as treadmills, weight racks and flat-screen televisions. I was tired of seeing my fragile game go to pot every December while New York was blanketed in white.
I needed a place to hit balls.
Once or twice a week, after an hour workout with a trainer, I sidled up to one of the gym's AboutGolf simulators and played some golf. Some days, I would hit onto a simulated driving range, on others I would play 18 holes, usually at Spyglass Hill.
All the while the simulator was there to measure the good ("Classification: straight") and bad ("Classification: push slice") of my middling golf game.