Estonian sauna wisdom: Know when to steam

Sitting in the sauna, I was steaming literally and figuratively. I’ve just played the most average round of golf in a while. Meaning 20% terrible, 40% barely tolerable, 30% o.k., 10% good. Yes, I consider this average for me, so the bar is pretty low already.

The ugly part was that I knew exactly why this clusterfuck has taken place. The day before, I was supposed to be training and working on my close shots and drives for two hours. Instead, as soon as I met a golf-buddy, I opted for playing a few holes and chatting while laughing at each other’s crappy play.

The worst part though was that I was playing a small tournament, where I really thought that I had a shot at getting a trophy. Not winning but getting a trophy. Yes, it’s petty and childish but I haven’t won a trophy in sports for as long as I care to remember. I really wanted to get one and I blew it.

The steam inside my head kept me from enjoying the steam outside it, so I exited the sauna and went into the backyard to cool off. At least the sun was shining, and the negative thoughts seemed to be venting out of my system. Another player came to the yard for a smoke and sat at the table in front of me. He asked, whether I minded (I didn’t), and went ahead puffing his cigarette while scrolling in his phone. The guy was really relaxed, so he spread his legs and updated the landscape in front of me with his junk hanging out. There went my moment of zen… I was about to stand up and leave when he asked:

“So, how did it go in the tourney?”

I rolled my eyes and confessed to seeing better days. He played the same one on a higher level and wasn’t too thrilled either.

“But my son Siim seems to have done quite well” the man continued. “He played in the same league as you did. Seems to have issues in tournaments though – he is a much better player than his tourney results. Only got 15 strokes over par today.”

I really needed to stop the whole eye-rolling but couldn’t help myself. “Yeah, I know the feeling. He is better than me by miles though, I got 26. Kind of hate myself for it right now, it’s a very average result for me.”

The guy looked up at me. “You must be Vladimir then?”

“Yeah.”

And then he started laughing. At me. Loud. Others looked at us. It was kinda hurtful, as he was likely laughing because I got the last spot or something.

“Vladimir, let me tell you something. Sometimes in golf and any other competition, it is not about how much your results suck but also, how well other players on that day really are.”

“Look, your son got +15 and I’m 11 strikes over that. I can’t imagine another 20 something people sucking quite as bad.”

He smiled and showed his phone to me “Well, there is one thing you are right about. The result are in. Have a look.”

I couldn’t really see my name on the list, which was weird. Until I looked at the top of it.

“No way!”

“Congratulations, mate! 3rd place is gonna get you a neat trophy and a goodie bag. You see what I meant before?”

The picture in my head started changing and I took a quick fly over the course of the game. The habituation of good strikes being “a norm” was replaced by awe and gratefulness for quite a few good ones. The negative sensitization of each bad strike being worse than the previous one left as well. In fact, I realized that I’ve managed to pick myself up after the bad shots quicker than usual.

“Thanks. Congrats on your kid’s win!” I was stunned and couldn’t understand how the f this happened, so I left in a hurry to get dressed and eat before the award ceremony.

A little while later in a room with about a hundred people, I have received my first sports trophy in decades. You can probably guess how that felt.

Should I have skipped the training? Of course not. Do I still suck at golf? Most definitely. But should I grill myself for something before I know what it leads to and maybe isn’t all that bad? Probably not.

But jokes aside: do your best at any given moment and you will either win something or get better, even if you sucked by your own standards.

PS: For golf aficionados – we were playing 10 holes, not 18.