Myrtlewood Golf Club
A second Myrtle Beach round that went better than the first, with family, a fourth joining for the front nine, straighter borrowed balls, and the realization at Myrtlewood Golf Club that this was no longer a vacation lark but the start of wanting to really learn the game.
Myrtlewood Golf Club was the round where golf stopped feeling like a one-off vacation activity and started feeling like something worth actually learning. Another family invite got me back out there, a fourth joined us for the front nine, and the whole day had the useful energy of a sequel that already knew what needed improving. I was better than the last time, not transformed, but better in the way that matters when you are just starting to understand why people get obsessed with this game.
The flaws were still obvious. There was plenty of slicing, enough drives peeling off to the right to keep me honest, and no serious way to confuse the round with competence. But this time the misses did not define the day. They just sat alongside the small signs that something was beginning to click.
A big part of that was Blaine. He shared some balls designed to go straighter, which felt like a minor technological miracle at exactly the right moment, and he also helped me with my approach. That combination — a little equipment help, a little practical guidance, a little less embarrassment per swing — changed the tone of the round more than any scorecard could have.
That is probably Myrtlewood’s real value in memory. It was not the place where I suddenly played good golf. It was the place where I played just well enough, with the right people and the right help, to realize I wanted to keep going. Sometimes that is all a course has to do: turn curiosity into intent.