Page 45 of Putting Out
Reilly stretched back and let out a sigh. She ached from all the moving and she was tired after not having slept well the last few days, given all the excitement of what had happened.
Everything loaded and ready, she figured she was entitled to some rest. Pop and Grams had the right idea.
“I think I’m going to take a nap. I’m beat and a little…”
“A nap? A nap?!” Odie barked. “There will be no naps. There is no napping in golf.”
“But…”
“But? That sounded sus-spicious-sly like you were about to cont-tra-dict me. You were not going to cont-tra-dict me, were you?”
“No.”
“You will go to work with Pierce. Pierce, break down her schedule as I have outlined it, please.”
Pierce smiled with a hint of sympathy. “We’re going to start you off today pretty light with a two-hour workout and then we’ll cool you down with some yoga. Most of today will involve instruction over the moves, but you’ll feel like you’ve done about five hundred sit-ups when all is said and done. Do you work out currently or have some part of your physical regimen you want to keep?”
Kenny chuckled. “Physical regimen? The only exercise Reilly does is to touch her toes before her first practice swing.”
“You know. To stretch.”
Pierce’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, so the three hours a day of physical conditioning I have mapped out for you… that’s going to be new?”
Reilly gulped. “This is not a contradiction in any way, but is this really necessary? Yes, I would like a few extra yards out of my driver, but…”
“There’s that ‘but’ word again.” Odie huffed. “A few extra yards. The average driving distance on the PGA tour is two hundred and eighty-eight yards. What is the average driving distance on the LPGA tour?”
“Two-fifty something.” Reilly shrugged.
“Two hundred and fifty-two yards. Your average driving distance is?”
Reilly sighed. “Average? Two seventy-three, but you know I can hit it farther.”
“Two seventy-three. It means you kick butt on the LPGA tour but you won’t do diddly-squat on the PGA tour. What tournament is it you’re wanting to play in and not embarrass yourself?”
She knew it was rhetorical but she played along. “The American.”
“The Ah-merican. As far as I can recollect, the Ah-merican is played as part of the PGA tour. You don’t need afewextra yards. You need at least ten more to not humiliate yourself. Fifteen to be somewhat competitive. If you want to make it to the weekend - the week-end -where the big dogs play, that’s going to mean over twenty yards.”
“It’s impossible,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “Twenty yards with a couple of sit- ups? It’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not a couple of sit-ups. It’s over five hundred and it’s not impossible.”
Pierce caught her attention and this time she was too pissed off at him to melt at the color of his blue eyes.
“If you’re willing to work for it.”
Oooh. That hurt. Pierce went right below the belt and not in the good way.
“You think I can’t work hard?”
“I don’t know you.”
“I do.” Odie nodded. “I know you. I know how youusedto work. I know how many practice swings youusedto take, how many balls youusedto hit. I have watched you play recently and I have seen for so long you’ve been getting by on the work you used to do. Sure you beat the field week in and week out. But where has your game gone, Reilly? How has it imp-proved in the last five years? The last two?”
Reilly’s jaw dropped at his accusation. “I work in the off-season, Odie.”
He made a derisive sound. “You work. Do you work hard? Do you push yourself? When was the last time you tried something and failed at it? When was the last time something did not come easy for you? When was the last time you had to comp-pete? It is time, lil’ girl. Time for you to be re-ac-quaint-ed with the comp-pet-titor inside you. Time you stop resting on the laurels of being a naturally gifted athlete and look to the comp-pet-itor who has been buried deep for so long. Because that’s who I need to see, Reilly Carr. The athlete will fail you. She’s not talented enough, but the comp-pet-titor I used to know… she might have a chance.”
