Images of Donald Trump on the golf course have me laughing a little. In both appearance and demeanor on and around the course, he resembles the Rodney Dangerfield character in the movie Caddyshack.
It’s all quite funny considering how much the Trumpster criticized President Barack Obama for spending time on the links. It’s an interesting comparison of composure and physique.
I grew up on a golf course. Know how to play the game. I’m probably a 13-15 handicap golfer but don’t care that much about golf to worry about it. So I’m nothing special, but not terrible either.
So I’ve been on golf courses that are posh and some that are awful. Played at Medinah a few times. I’ve also golfed on cheap course where thirteen-lined ground squirrels dominate the fairways. Golf balls drop down holes never to be seen again. So the full spectrum of golf is no mystery to me. Been in wealthy clubhouses where you can’t set your golf shoes down without an attendant scooping them up for a shine. Learned to carry money around to tip everyone that serves the club members.
It always made me uncomfortable to be placed in such a position. I can’t help identifying with the people in those positions. I’ve been a caddy. Walked the course carrying someone else’s bag. Worked clubhouses where arrogant members treat other people like dirt. It’s no fun. And frankly, it always seemed a bit demeaning.
Laugh it up
There have been many funny moments on the golf course, including day that I carefully stepped on a partner’s golf ball and saw it pop up and hit him in the forehead when he putted. That was one of the funniest moments of my life. Who could have predicted that one?
In fact, much of the joy in playing golf is the camaraderie of being out there with friends or associates yukking it up and making fun of each other. That’s what made the Rodney Dangerfield character in Caddyshack so familiar to so many. He was the perfect combination of the lowbrow golfer with the highbrow means to make the game fun.
As a longtime distance runner and cross country competitor, I also have a unique perspective on golf courses as an environment. Many of our high school and college meets were held on golf courses. I clearly recall running my guts out while passing squads of golfers on carts. They stared at us. It was worlds colliding. We were the curiosity, and they were the supposed mainstream. And granted, large bands of skinny runners cruising the golf course at high speed is a bit of a strange sight. No clubs. No bags. Just balls out.
Hardly fit
On the whole, the world of golf does not seem a haven for fit or highly active types. I’m writing a book titled “Nature is My Country Club,” and my research turned up these interesting statistics.
“Since its inception, golf has evolved from its roots as of humble walks through country links to largely motorized tours of urban courses where people only get out of their carts to hit a shot. The website FitnessbyAndrew.com published this interesting set of facts: “In 1984, 45% of rounds were played with a motorized cart. By 2002, cart usage rose to 66% and in 2006 increased to 69%. In 2006, only 30% of rounds were walked. Today, the majority of golfers use a motorized golf cart. In fact, some areas and courses estimate cart usage is over 90%. According to administrative staff at facilities in Myrtle beach, walking rounds are non-existent. It is estimated 95% of rounds at specific facilities are with riding cart.”
Which perhaps explains by men like Donald Trump that play golf so often can still be so slovenly-looking, and fat. Even though he’s proclaimed himself President of the United States, when he’s out on the golf course he’s just another fat, sweaty-looking guy slugging errant shots out of the weeds. And by many reports, he also cheats. And he’s lied about his commitments. As quoted in the Irish Times: “I’m going to be working for you,” he told Virginians during the presidential campaign. “I’m not going to have time to play golf.”Trump thumbs his nose at such promises. He now plays golf because he can. And screw anyone that questions that right.
In truth there are very few people who actually dignify themselves by playing golf. The majority are just overweight slobs with dark little secrets and angry wishes thrashing around the course in hopes that some grain of self-esteem will emerge from the last round to justify playing again. That makes Donald Trump the Poster Child for Populist Dreams of wealth, position. But mostly, the Right to Play Golf. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s just another fat rich guy on the golf course escaping the demands of work and home life.
Criticism comes home to roost
Now, we must remember that Trump criticized Obama for his golf-playing. But Obama also played basketball during much of his first term. As a result, the man remained slim and fit despite the demands of his job. Even his sometime golf partner Bill Clinton, who happens to be a runner, have kept their weight down through middle age. It’s not easy. You have to work at it. Both were wonks about policy with an eye for detail. Both presided over economic recoveries on the heels of Republican excess. You can twist the facts around any way you want, but when it came to running the country on par with standards of excellence and competency, they both excelled.
Clinton had his flaws, for sure. His putter was a bit too active, you might say. And Obama played the game of politics by pulling out his yardage card for every shot he made. But that’s how the pros actually do it. Sergio Garcia didn’t win the 2017 Master’s tournament without a caddy to help him calculate the length of his shots. It’s no surprise that Obama used drones to hit his marks. They fit his calculating nature and cautious use of the military. He played the course of terrorism with both deadly accuracy and unfortunate foible at times.
Being President of the United States and keeping in shape require plenty of work and attention to detail. Even President George W. Bush was at least a jogger. You can’t stay fit or do the job of President just by walking around yelling slogans such as Make America Fit Again! Instead, you’ve got to raise your heart rate, sweat a little and push your butt back from the table to avoid now and then. It never pays to consume too many calories whether you’re at the Pineview Par Three Golf Course or the posh estates of Mar-A-Lago.
The point here is that there is a certain amount of character and relationship on display when it comes to how one engages in golf and other activities. Those who worship the wealthy idol (or idle) might dismiss such notions on grounds that being rich means is by itself a sign that you’re smart, gifted and beyond criticism for grift or any other question of character.
It’s a funny lesson in the movie Caddyshack that the kid named Danny won the day. His main hope was earning a chance for a scholarship to college. Yet he ultimately thumbed his nose at Judge Schmales, the richest member of the club who wanted Danny to throw the game in his favor. Danny even showed more class than the Chevy Chase character who choked at the end despite his seemingly suave demeanor.
As for the Rodney Dangerfield character, despite all his claims of joy and satisfaction, he seemed the saddest character of them all. Desperate for attention. Unwilling to take any criticism. Throwing money around like there was no tomorrow. And desperate for a win of some kind to satisfy his bloated ego. It all sounds too familiar in this day and age.
On Saturday we rode with a group of triathletes from the City of Naperville out to Yorkville and back. The first few miles are classic white bread suburbia. Boulevards and subdivisions. Ride in a bunch and watch out for minivans.
Yesterday I wore a pair of Cordogan shoes to work. They complemented the peach Oxford shirt and olive pants I’d paired up from the closet. Sue said, “You look nice.”
I tried hard to recall when I had purchased those shorts. My thoughts turned to last year, when we took a trip out west for training. It sure seemed like I bought those shorts just before that April trip. But could a set of cycling shorts wear out in just a year?
It’s a fact. Endurance athletes can lose weight by not stepping on the scale. The pounds just fly off when you ignore reality. Avoid the numbers. Kick the digital reality to the curb.
Some might consider the things I consider sacred a bit silly. One of these is the bloom of bloodroot in the spring woods. It flowers in April. The petals do not last more than a few precious days. Its leaves look like a tender version of a grape leaf. Its stems run blood red if you pluck the plant from its muddy place in the earth.
It is true that we are all as frail as the blossom of bloodroot in the spring. Pale as moonglow under the pall of death. It occurred to me as I posted this photo that somewhere on the prairie behind me in this photo are the ashes of a wife that I scattered with my children the week after Easter four years ago. But those are gone as well. The earth gives forth and the earth reclaims.
As Sue leaned over to give me a kiss before leaving for Master’s Swim this morning, she whispered, “Don’t go running. There are big storms coming.” I checked the Weather Channel app after she left and the entire face of the screen was covered with green and orange storm clouds. “Well,” she’s right about that I chuckled.
Because I was one hungry cat. Those other hungry cats had made me think about ingesting food before I was ready to think about food. And I was getting hungrier by the minute. Then I walked through Woodman’s and spied a type of food that should not be a food and it got me thinking about how much food I eat that I should not be eating because it is full of sugar and other bad stuff and my stomach growled in response.
Religion is supposed to have progressed, yet the effects of arrogance, entitlements and selfish pride never disappear from society. So while it may seem silly to connect the hunger of our household cats or the hunger one feels after missing a meal due to a workout with the hunger of people in our communities and around the world, there is a cognitive connection. You can ask yourself: What would it feel like to be hungry all the time, or to have no access to food? How would that make me feel? 
Last night I left the car at the Geneva train station and ran home. Sue was arriving on the 6:34 Metra from Chicago, but it was only 5:45 when I arrived from work at the station. I’d planned ahead to bring my running gear and make the trip home on foot.
In the middle of my sophomore year in high school, my father moved our family from the big house we owned in Elburn to a small rental in St. Charles, twelve miles to the east. At fifteen years old, I was confused and extremely challenged by the move. I’d just finished a cross country season in which I tied for the most points on the varsity team, and we’d won our first-ever conference championship for the school.
This morning while weight training I noticed a strong runner cranking out a fast pace on the treadmill. I noticed her out in the hallway after the workout and complimented her on the pace she was hammering. “Are you training for something?”
At 5:40 this morning only a thin spit of light peeked through the eastern sky. But the robins were singing along with the chorus frogs in the marsh behind our house. It is spring here in Illinois.
We Run and Ride 