Wet golf shoes lead me to a walk on the wild side of spending money on myself

   The old saying that preaches empathy suggests you walk a mile in another man’s shoes to understand his point of view.

   If I encouraged you to walk 6.8 miles in my golf shoes, you would figure out that I’m a golf nut, exercise nut, and one of the cheapest nut jobs in North America.

   But forget about my offer. I threw them out.

   Perhaps this could have been a ceremonial burial at sea – or at least in the pond at my favorite golf course – but I opted for the green garbage tote in my garage. Those size 11s probably qualified as hazardous waste considering they endured four years of sweaty feet, mud and rain puddles. So I protected the bluegills in the pond and let my trash hauler deal with the smelly worn-out shoes.

  They leaked badly from the holes in the leather. When I walked and carried my clubs at sunrise, the morning dew or light rain would invade until I squished with each step. The only thing that rivaled a hot shower after a sweaty round of golf in those shoes was peeling off the drenched socks that clung like barnacles to my feet.

   I mentioned 6.8 miles because that is the regular distance my exercise watch records when I play my typical round of Army golf – left, right, left. I never know where the ball is headed out of the tee box so there is a lot of crisscrossing of fairways. Mind you, the course is about 4 miles long from first tee to 18^th green but my distance is extended by the journeys in and out of the woods, set-ups for shots and walking around greens.

    I suffered no remorse when I closed the lid on the garbage tote. I had been a good steward to the golf shoes. I stepped gingerly each morning around the worms that were conducting their sunrise services on the fairways. I played hopscotch around the Canada geese droppings that seemed to be everywhere. I didn’t kick garbage cans after errant drives. I didn’t walk on paved cartpaths so I wouldn’t wear down the plastic spikes.

    Together, we won a senior golf tournament together in Avon, N.Y. We walked through chilly, drenching rain in the footsteps of Hogan, Nicklaus, Trevino and Tiger at storied Oak Hill in Rochester. And we survived the concealed groundhog hole in Newport, N.Y.

   That was a scary day. My cousin was ill so I teed off alone on a late Sunday afternoon, a time when the course had emptied and most players had retired to the clubhouse bar. I was walking along a drainage ditch when I wrenched my right ankle and the weight of my bag and clubs flipped me on my back.

    My ankle hurt worse than a four-putt. While I writhed in the grass, I worried that I had broken my ankle. That’s when I spotted the groundhog hole that was hidden by overgrown grass. But the pain subsided so my shoes and I limped along, finishing the last four holes.

    I broke down on Father’s Day and overcame my frugality. Traditionally, I prefer the clearance aisle to the latest fashion trends, patronize second-hand stores, and don’t spend much on gadgets or trendy items. I don’t shop; I buy. Path of least resistance. I see it and take it to the register. No dawdling.

  At a big-box sporting goods store, I didn’t buy the first pair of golf shoes I saw. They had waffle soles that I thought would slip on wet mornings. I bought the second pair. They had traditional spikes.

   When I got home, I marched my holey, wholly inadequate shoes to the garbage can. Three rounds into the new shoes, I have abandoned the agony of wet feet.

   Then the other shoe dropped. During a routine diabetes check-in, my doctor spotted a discolored toenail. She determined it was a fungus under my big toenails. I explained I had been playing golf with holey shoes, had been trying not to spend money on myself, but finally bought new shoes.

   As she handed me a prescription, she said, “Frugal huh? That’s what you get for being cheap.’’

           Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com/blog/