Before the First Tee: An Origin Story

I didn’t grow up playing golf. 
I didn’t inherit clubs. 
I didn’t “always love the game.

Golf found me sideways. 

How Golf Entered My Life 

I learned about golf through a guy who rented a room in my place. What started as a temporary setup turned into six years of living with someone who was completely obsessed with golf. Tournaments were appointment viewing. Major Sundays were sacred. Swing talk happened casually, over coffee, over dinner, in passing. 

At first, I was just watching. 

But slowly, I started enjoying it. Not the technical details yet—the feel of it. The pauses. The pressure. The strange calm of watching someone prepare for a single shot that mattered. Golf didn’t rush. Golf waited. 

And at some point, curiosity turned into desire. 

The Virtual Gateway 

Around that time, I already had a VR setup at home. Out of curiosity more than intention, I downloaded a golf VR game. That’s where things escalated. Suddenly, golf wasn’t just something I watched—it was something I did. 

And I didn’t treat it like a game. 

I wanted it to feel real, so I made it real—at least as close as I could. I built a custom golf club holder for my VR controller. The shaft and grip came from a cut-off 4-iron. When I swung, it wasn’t wrist flicks or button presses—it felt like a golf swing. It was almost like swinging a real club. Almost. 

I spent over 100 hours in that VR environment. Playing rounds. Repeating swings. Testing shots. Resetting instantly after mistakes. No pressure. No lost balls. No bad lies. Every poor shot could be erased with a button. 

VR gave me something powerful: confidence without consequences. 

At the same time, something else happened. Watching golf and playing it virtually wasn’t enough anymore. I didn’t want to simulate golf—I wanted to play it for real. 

Buying My Way In 

So I did what every rookie golfer does. 

I went on the marketplace and bought a second-hand set: a Titleist 962 Iron set. 

A classic golf set in excellent condition, honest but forgiving and unforgiving at the same time. I didn’t know what fit meant nor knowing what shafts did, and whether these clubs were right for me. But I knew one thing—I was committing. 

Or at least, I thought I was. 

Because buying clubs wasn’t the real challenge. The real challenge was access. I didn’t just want equipment—I wanted a place to start. Somewhere a beginner could learn without feeling out of place. Somewhere mistakes were expected, not judged. 

I set myself a clear constraint from day one: 

It wasn’t about prestige or perfect conditions. It was about practicality. A place where a rookie golfer could begin—hit balls, play holes, make mistakes, and slowly understand what golf really demands of you. What I learned is that Golfclub Amsteldijk harbored the largest outdoors training facility in Europe. 

What Commitment Looked Like Back Then 

Before I fully stepped into real golf, I made myself a deal.

I booked three introduction lessons—not to master anything, but to answer one simple question: Would real golf hook me the same way VR did?

Those first lessons were my test. The ball was real. The turf was real. The feedback was immediate and unforgiving. Nothing reset with a button. And yet—almost instantly—I knew the answer. Yes. I was hooked.

Not because I was good.
But because the challenge felt endless.

I committed quickly after that. Once I knew this wasn’t just a phase, I started training seriously—or at least, seriously by rookie standards. I spent most of my time on the driving range, chasing feel, repetition, and some sense of control. At one point, I was training four out of seven days a week.

Part of that consistency was helped by timing. It was during Covid, when golf was one of the few activities still allowed. Outdoors. Space between players. Quiet. In a strange way, golf became a refuge—structured time when most other routines had disappeared. leaned into it.

I booked three workshops, but no further private lessons. Not because I thought lessons were bad—but because I wanted to take on the challenge myself. I wanted to understand the game, not just follow instructions.

So I educated myself the only way I knew how:

• Watching professional golf on TV
• Studying YouTube instructors
• Replaying swings in slow motion 
• Copying movements, positions, rhythms

I wasn’t training with a plan—I was training with curiosity.

I believed that if I watched enough good swings, my body would eventually find the right ones. If I copied the right shapes, the feel would come. And sometimes, it did—just enough to keep me going.

Looking back, this phase wasn’t about efficiency. It was about immersion.

I was committed. I showed up. I put in the hours. But my dedication was still unstructured. I was collecting information instead of building foundations. Learning visually instead of deliberately.

Still, that commitment mattered. It built confidence. It built comfort. It made golf part of my weekly rhythm.

What I didn’t yet realize was that consistency alone isn’t direction—and direction is what separates effort from progress.

That realization would come later. When enthusiasm stopped being enough.

And that’s where Part 2 begins.