Se Ri Pak's Tour Diary

As originally written by Se Ri Pak for Joong Ang Ilbo. Translation by LoveGiants

Diary Entry #3: The Training at the Cemetery

On the day I won the Open, I could hardly sleep. I was so exhausted that I felt as if I were sinking into the abyss, but my spirit was clear. It was not because I was so stirred up to win two majors in a row. It was because I realized something I hadn't before.

When I'm on the course, I become strong, and the only place where I can find peace is golf..

Thinking back on the four days of regulation rounds and twenty playoff holes of the final day, I was in a tense situation all along. However, I usually don't feel uneasy or nervous during play. It may be because my father has trained me severely to be mentally strong, and also because I have confidence in my ability.

But I was nervous during the Open. When I was waiting to putt the putt which would determine the winner, at the 2nd hole of the sudden death, my hands were shaking. I felt everything would disappear if I failed to make it.

While Jenny Chuasiriporn, my opponent, was making her first putt, I closed my eyes gently. At that moment, I was reminded of the cemetery in Yuseong, Daejeon. It was on one winter night in 1991, when I was in my 2nd year of middle school and had just started getting serious about golf.

I was in a deep sleep when father woke me up. He took me to deep in the mountains near my house. We were at the cemetery near the Bangdong reservoir in Yuseong. It was all dark without either the moon or any stars. It was so quiet that the our breathing sounded weird.

While I was wondering why he has taken me there, he threw a sand wedge to me. "Keep practicing your swing until I am back. If you cannot overcome fear, you cannot be a world-class player". After saying this, he went away.

I can vividly remember my father's strict look. When I could not hear his tread any longer, fear fell suddenly upon me. I looked around again and again. It looked like something jumped out behind my back. I cried desperately because I felt I could forget fear while crying. But I did not want to yield to fear. Tears dropped from my eyes, but I kept swinging the club. As time went on, my face and hands were numb with the sub-zero temperature of a winter's night, but my back was wet with sweat. At that moment, I found out the truth: that I have to go on by myself. I had discovered what my father intended me to learn. This training at the cemetery would help me to go on to a lonely life in America at a later date, though I felt bitter towards my father at that time.

I opened my eyes to hear the sighs of the galleries. Jenny's ball had passed the pin far away and stopped. Now it was my turn. I calmed myself and looked at the pin. I zeroed in on it. I heard nothing. I felt as if I stood alone in the cemetery. The galleries, the course...all disappeared and the hole looked larger. I rolled the ball. I closed my eyes and forgot myself. In a few seconds, the galleries greeted me with cheers. The ball was in the hole! Father rushed onto the green and hugged me. I could see tears in his eyes.

Diary Entry #4

The winter of 1991 was the coldest and worst winter of all for me. I don't want to remember it. It's like a nightmare. During the winter vacation of my 2nd middle school year, father completely took away the tears and emotions from me.

Father believed that a professional player has to endure hard training and needs courage and the desire for victory. Maybe, he emphasized this all the more because I was a girl. Anyway, he designed odd ways to strengthen me,
and as a result, in addition to practicing golf skills, I had to overcome some strange things that a common golf player
cannot even imagine. Training at the cemetery and visiting the dog fighting ring were two examples.

While other girls of my age were following pop stars, through severe training I was hardening myself to be reborn as a tough, cold player.

After the first night at the cemetery, father pitched a tent there. We started 24 hours of training there equipped with bedding and food. There was one other reason we started camping there. The almost dry reservoir had enough sand, so it was good for practicing bunker shots. In addition, the ridges of the cemetery were covered with grass, so they could double for rough.

In daytime, at the cold bottom of the reservoir, at nighttime, beside the cemetery, I practiced my swing without a ball. For 3 months I frequently repeated this routine. I had to buy 2 sand wedges, because the ridges on them would become completely worn out. Anyway, I could practice plenty of bunker shots. Thanks to this work, I overcame fear about bunker shots during an actual tournament.

The most painful part was the severe cold. I put on 3 pairs of socks, but it was not enough to block the chilliness from the moist bottom of the reservoir. After about 30 minutes, my feet were already cold. I felt as if I were standing on ice. My hands were blistered, not to mention my face. People who looked at me blamed my father. "Isn't this too harsh?" they'd say. Some of them even said that this was a crazy thing we were doing. Whenever he heard this kind of talk, he pretended to hear nothing.

On one night, I was rubbing vaseline on my blistered hands when he called me. He said, "Let me see that." I hid my hands immediately. He took me by the hands and stared at them for a while. He said nothing. After a while, he himself rubbed my hands. To ease his mind, I said, "I'm all right, dad." But he looked sad. I said to myself, 'Dad, I will be sure to become a world-class player.' After having a cold meal with him, I started practicing again. On that night, my practice ended past midnight as usual. In this way, we spent 3 months beside the cemetery.

The next course was the dog fighting ring.