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Eben Harrell

Like many golfers, I signed up for a WHOOP this summer after learning that the PGA Tour was distributing the bands to players, caddies, officials and golf journalists. The decision came after PGA Tour player Nick Watney decided to seek out a Covid-19 test after noticing abnormal readings from his WHOOP, which is a band worn on the wrist or upper arm to monitor various medical data. Watney was asymptomatic at the time and had just recently tested negative—suggesting that WHOOP had provided an early warning that Watney might be infected.

The efficacy of the WHOOP as a means of preventing the transmission of Covid-19 is far from settled, but I’ve held on to the WHOOP for reasons unrelated to the pandemic. Primarily, I wear the WHOOP because I feel it helps my overall health—and, as a result, I believe it will help my golf game by extending the years I can remain healthy and competitive.

whoop review

My Body, My Laboratory

In 2011, I wrote a feature article for TIME Magazine on scientists who experiment on themselves. I hypothesized at the time that many ordinary people would soon fall into this category through the adoption of “smart-connected” wearables and self-tracking. But at the time, the technology was clunky and immature, so I wasn’t an early adopter myself. But I’ve always felt that wearables can play a crucial role in living up to the wise Delphic maxim: Know Thyself.

I find it empowering to be able to monitor my biometrics, and WHOOP offers a variety of measurements for me to track. Using an optical HR monitor, the WHOOP band can measure a user’s heartrate, sleep, respiration rate and something called heart-rate variability (HRV), a measurement that can indicate how well a user has recovered from recent stress.

The band is paired with a smartphone app that is designed to tell athletes whether they need to take it easy (to improve recovery) or go harder (to increase strain). Strain can be either the result of a workout or because of some exogenous factor—stress, lack of sleep, dehydration, an illness and so on. Each day when you wake up, WHOOP gives you a recovery score that lets you know how hard you should push yourself that day. The band measures the strain of each workout and the cumulative strain of your day’s activity—and a “strain coach” tells you when you are approaching the optimal strain given your overnight recovery. If you exceed that level of strain, the band warns you that you may suffer reduced recovery the next day.

whoop review
Here’s a view from the app showing you recovery and strain levels

Whoop Learns Over Time

The more you wear the band the more accurate it becomes—both in measuring your normal “baseline” but also in recognizing your activities. For instance, after logging a certain number of golf rounds or cycling sessions, the band will automatically recognize when you start playing golf or cycling and keep track of the activity (and the strain it causes). It also tracks your progress by, for instance, automatically reporting when you work harder during an activity than is typical–e.g., “You spent 16 minutes at 70-80% of your max heart rate during this workout, which is 4 minutes longer than you normally spend when cycling.”

whoop golf review
A summary of a quick jump-rope workout

This is obviously a lot of personal data to share with a for-profit company, but at least on paper, WHOOP has a strong privacy policy, which assuaged my concerns. Price might be another factor for those considering using a WHOOP: The waterproof band is free but requires a $30/month subscription with a minimum 6-month commitment (after a free 30-day trial). The band’s battery life is about 4 or 5 days and it can be charged while you wear it.

How I Use WHOOP for Golf

Even before WHOOP became a free accessory on tour, it had a popular following among elite golfers including Rory McIlroy and Dustin Johnson. I find this puzzling: the device is clearly designed for a different sort of athlete—those who often overtrain, thus increasing the risk of injury or diminishing fitness gains (I’m thinking cyclists, marathoners, triathletes, and so on). What’s more, because the device only measures heart rate and respiration, and can’t measure stress hormones and other internal responses to stress, it seems a better fit for athletes that take on heavy cardio strain than those who focus on resistance training (such as golfers). Indeed, when I do a heavy weight-lifting session I am always shocked at how little strain the band registers. I won’t see confirmation of my hard work until the next morning, when I see a reduced recovery.

If you want to understand how Rory uses his WHOOP, he’s recorded a podcast on it. For me, I’ve found the WHOOP has helped my golf game in two main ways:

  • It’s helped me become more mindful of my sleep. When I first started wearing the band I learned I wasn’t sleeping enough. I had developed a bad habit of scrolling social media at bed-time, which was reducing what WHOOP labels as “sleep efficiency”—the time I spend asleep in bed. Personally, I find that when I’m well-rested I make better decisions on the golf course and am able to demonstrate more patience during a round. I become irritable and unfocused if I’m tired and things don’t go my way. I saw an immediate improvement once I increased my sleep efficiency.
  • I’ve learned that golf burns a ton of calories. Here’s the screenshot of a recent “shamble” I played in a golf cart at my local club and a screenshot of a recent 76-minute hike up a mountain in Colorado, which by my standards was a real ass-kicking workout. A social round of cart-golf burned over 1000 calories; the hike burned half that amount. This opened my eyes to the importance of pre-round and on-course nutrition. My go-to snack at the turn—a single banana–simply wasn’t providing enough fuel. Along with feeling drained by the end of the round, it led me to overeat in the clubhouse because I arrived very hungry, which led to weight gain. Now I take granola, a banana, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the course with me for every round—and skip the post-round burger and fries.
whoop golf review
Look at all of those calories burned on the golf course!

 

Image is Everything

These are admittedly modest contributions to my golf game—which I probably could have acquired from any smartwatch or other wearable that monitors basic biometric data. So why do I still use the WHOOP? I’m a believer that overall health is underemphasized in golf fitness instruction, which tends to focus on strength and mobility. What good is hitting 170mph ball speed at 50 years old if you suffer a myocardial infarction at 55? I wear a WHOOP because it’s not targeted specifically for golfers, but athletes. Wearing it helps me self-identify as a person who is conscientious about their fitness and overall health—not just my ability to hit a golf ball over vast distances.

Other wearables have “gamification” features such as Apple Watch’s “activity rings” and the virtual coins or stars that other wearables award to users at certain exercise milestones. I like that WHOOP has none of that—it assumes that you are serious about your fitness and can stay motivated without the use of behavioral gimmicks. It was designed with competitive athletes in mind. My desire to be the type of person who wears a WHOOP helps me be that type of person—it keeps me motivated, even as staying fit gets harder and harder in middle age.

WHOOP’s Biggest Benefit

But the most important reason I have kept my WHOOP has nothing to do with physical benefits—but rather the improvement it has made to my mental health. Partly this is through an increase in cardio since using the device (some studies show regular aerobic exercise to be as effective for treating mild depression as pharmaceuticals). But mostly it’s through WHOOPs “community” feature which has allowed me to connect with my friends and keep tabs on their sleep and activity levels. If I see a friend in Dallas hasn’t been sleeping well, I can reach out and ask if everything is alright. If a friend in London has a particularly epic workout, I’ll cheer them on.

These interactions have been a lifeline for me during a difficult time. Researchers have found that women’s friendships are conducted face to face: They talk, gossip, cry together. Men’s friendships are side by side: We play golf. Watch sports on TV, and so on. I would never pick up the phone to just chew the fat with my friend in Dallas or London (perhaps I should). But being able to check-in and talk about our sleep, recovery, and workouts has provided a needed source of connection and an excuse to sustain the friendship.

The Bottom Line

Has my WHOOP made me a better golfer? Not in the short term. But golf is a lifetime pursuit. Staying happy, healthy and connected to friends and family is a great foundation for longevity—and my WHOOP has certainly helped with that.

Would I recommend the WHOOP to other golfers? It depends. If you already have a smartwatch or other wearable fitness tracker (such as a Fitbit or Oura), I see no reason why you would need a WHOOP. But if like me, you are a late-adopter to smart-connected wearables, then the WHOOP can be a great option for building life-long healthy habits.

About The Author

Eben Harrell is an editor, writer and competitive amateur golfer who splits his time between Colorado and Scotland.

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As I’ve grown older, I’ve become less focused on how my swing looks holistically and more focused on how it looks around impact—what Bobby Clampett called “the moment of truth.” Specifically, I’ve homed in on the concept of face stability—that is, the ability to deliver the clubface with the intended alignment at impact. I’ve been blessed/cursed in the fact that I’ve always had elite clubhead speed. Even today, at 40 years old, I average around 117 mph with the driver. At that speed, however, even a slight misalignment of the clubhead at impact can send my ball deep into the trees or even out of bounds. I’m convinced that learning to have more control of my club at the bottom of the swing is one of the keys for me to break through from being a middling state amateur to competing in national events.

For the past nine months, I’ve made significant improvements in my clubface stability using the Tour Striker PlaneMate. But like many swing aids, I have found success using it in a slightly different way than its makers intended. Let me explain.

The PlaneMate’s Primary Purpose

The PlaneMate is marketed as a tool to help you shallow the club on the downswing. Shallowing helps golfers keep the face stable through impact—to be honest, I’m not quite sure how, but it seems to be a generally accepted principle among swing instructors.

Here is a video from Andrew Rice explaining the concept further:

Why I’m the Perfect Pupil

I’ve always been quite steep on the downswing, so the PlaneMate seemed well-suited to help me improve my clubface stability. A former college teammate of mine recommended it to me last summer. I sat on the fence for a few weeks as it is not cheap (it sells online for just under $200). But I was hooked after I saw a video of Rory McIlroy practicing with it last winter.

.@McIlroyRory grinding with the plane mate @davidwoodspga 🔥 pic.twitter.com/11uJl0GBDO

— The McIlroy Legion (@RoryLegion_GC) October 7, 2019

My ultimate goal when I bought the device was to learn how to “exit right”—the left-handed equivalent of leaving impact with low hands that rotate to the right around my body. Traditionally, I “throw” my clubs down the target line, which leads to a very “flippy” release.

If ever a device would help a golfer get the feel of shallowing out, the PlaneMate would be it. It consists of what is essentially a weight-lifting belt with a rail glued on to it. You attach your club to the rail using a stretchy cord (think resistance band or bungee cord).

Tour Striker PlaneMate Review

How Does This Thing Actually Work?

When you get to the top of the swing, the tension in the stretchy cord pulls your hands down into a shallower position on the downswing. As you turn through impact, the device encourages you to “exit left” (for righties). If you throw your hands down the line you get tangled in the cord.

Tour Striker PlaneMate Review
Here is Martin Chuck (the inventor) using the PlaneMate

When you take the PlaneMate off, your muscles retain the feel of shallowing, thus (in theory) helping you continue the movement pattern without the device. The device comes with three different bungee cords—a short one for wedges, a longer one for mid-irons and woods, and a “heavy-resistance” band made for home or gym training without a ball. The teaching professionals behind the PlaneMate offer a free, online 7-day protocol to help familiarize new users with the device. The protocol requires the golfer to start with little chips and pitches and progress over the course of a week to full shots.

Here is a demo of how the PlaneMate is used from its inventor, Martin Chuck:

Fair Warning – You Will Look Like a Golf Tragic

The device is bulky and slightly ungainly. You will look a bit like what the Australians would call a “golf tragic” with it on (think Tin Cup in the scene after Costner develops the yips).

kevin costner

So if you’re an image-conscious golfer, you may want to work on the protocol at home with indoor golf balls so none of your friends can mock you on the range. Personally, I’m of a belief that golf is so hard there should never be any shame in experimenting with new ways to get better!

My Experience Following the Protocols

I followed the protocol to the letter and continued to practice with the PlaneMate for many, many hours after finishing it. But in the end, I found that I couldn’t get the “shallowing” movement pattern to stick.

As soon as I start adding speed to my practice regimen without the PlaneMate, I revert to a steeper downswing. Perhaps shallowing is just too foreign to someone who had swung differently for so long. I am tall with short arms, so perhaps my body just isn’t biomechanically suited to a “shallow swing.”

Perhaps I have physical limitations and inflexibilities that prevent me from shallowing— I have very limited internal shoulder rotation with my trail shoulder thanks to an old tennis injury, for instance. But whatever the reason, despite all the hours drilling with the device, my downswing is no shallower than it was when I started. So, despite all the hours invested in the PlaneMate, I’ve given up hope that it will help me learn to shallow.

Wait, There Is Good News!

I still feel the PlaneMate has done wonders for my game. The key has been the ingenious feature whereby you become tangled in the resistance cord if you get too flippy with the release. I learned that hitting dozens of wedge and half-shots with the PlaneMate without getting tangled up greatly improved my control at and around impact.

To be sure, I am not shallowing and “exiting right” like a left-handed Ben Hogan. But my “flippy” release has been muted and mellowed, as I explain in the below video (sorry for the wind noise!). And that’s made a huge difference to the consistency of my ball striking all the way through my bag.

Final Thoughts – Is the PlaneMate Worth It?

I’ve since recommended the PlaneMate to three friends who also have steep downswings and flippy releases. All three have gone through a similar journey. After using the device for many hours, they still can’t “shallow” once they add speed to their swing. They are all quite steep on the downswing. But nonetheless, they feel that the device has helped calm their overactive hands at impact, giving them more control and making their “big miss” less disastrous.

So I can heartily recommend the PlaneMate for golfers who struggle with clubface stability at impact—particularly golfers who get steep on the downswing and throw the club down the line after impact.

Unfortunately, I don’t think the PlaneMate will suddenly have you looking like Sergio Garcia on the downswing, nor Ben Hogan shortly after impact (Hogan was the king of “exiting left.”) But it may help you learn to be a bit more stable and less flippy through the hitting zone, and the result should be an immediate improvement to your score.

About The Author

Eben Harrell is an editor, writer and competitive amateur golfer who splits his time between Colorado and Scotland.

Want to Get Exclusive Discounts on Some of the Top Golf Products?

Check out our deals for Practical Golf readers!

SEE THE DEALS

Eben Harrell is an editor, writer and competitive amateur golfer who splits his time between Colorado and Scotland.

Want to Get Exclusive Discounts on Some of the Top Golf Products?

Check out our deals for Practical Golf readers!

SEE THE DEALS

In 2005, after playing competitive golf at the junior and NCAA level, I stopped playing the game entirely for around eight years. Like many young people building a career, I moved to a city where I found golf inconvenient and, quite frankly, unaffordable. When I returned to the game, I felt like a character in a movie that has been suddenly transported to the future—everything seemed at once familiar and utterly foreign. Elite golfers were armed with new equipment and new strategies – even a new understanding of the physics underpinning the flight of the ball.

Golf had changed—and of course, I had changed, too. I’m 40 now—with a much different body and brain than when I was 20. I recently discovered a quote attributed to the Greek philosopher Heraclitus, which is apt: “No man fishes the same river twice, for it is not the same river, nor is he the same man.”

Here are the main differences that I now navigate as a middle-aged golfer.

Golf is Hard

My absence from the game coincided with the rise of big data and analytics—first in finance and then eventually in everything else. For golf, the data revolution involved tracking and analyzing millions of shots hit on the PGA tour via a system called ShotLink. As far as I can tell, the main insight from all this data wrangling is that golf is really, exceptionally, excruciatingly hard, even for the best players in the world.

When I was in college, I expected to hit every iron on the green, every wedge shot to within a 10-foot radius, and hole every putt inside six feet. The stats from  ShotLink show how foolhardy these expectations were, particularly for me, a bench-warmer on an Ivy League golf team. From 150 yards in the fairway, PGA tour players miss the green on one out of four attempts. From 110 yards in the fairway, they hit it outside ten feet the vast majority of the time (74.6 percent of the time, to be precise). Even the best putters in the world can expect to miss a six-footer a third of the time.

I find stats like these both dispiriting and liberating. It’s depressing to think that even highly talented athletes who dedicate their entire professional life to the game still basically suck a significant portion of the time—what hope is there for a weekend warrior such as I? The great American psychologist B.F. Skinner discovered long ago that the most addicting thing you can offer lab rats or humans is unpredictable rewards. That’s exactly what you’re guaranteed in golf. No matter how hard you practice—no matter how good you get—you will sometimes get positive reinforcement and sometimes get punched in the face. There is no way to predict when it’s going to happen. It can be incredibly infuriating—and addicting.

But now that I have internalized this —now that I’ve seen the stats and faced the cold-hard truth—I feel unshackled from unrealistic expectations and the self-punishment that follows when such expectations are violated by reality. Sure, it still hurts my ego when I dump a 150-yard approach into a front bunker, or three-putt from 40 feet, or miss the green from 90 yards. But it soothes my ego to know that even PGA pros do all of these things—and not infrequently, either. My self-talk shifts from “you suck!” to “ golf is hard.” I enjoy the game more than I ever have because I can shrug off bad shots as just part of the experience of playing golf. And when I hit a truly great shot—say, when I hit the green from outside of 230 yards—I celebrate the outcome more because I know how rare it is. Golf is essentially unconquerable. I love the game even more now that I have accepted this.

Ball Flight Laws

Throughout my junior career, I had been told that the path of the golf club at impact determines what direction the ball starts, and the face determines where it finishes. To hit a fade, the right-handed golfer should aim his clubface at the target, and then swing left. That’s totally intuitive—and totally incorrect. In fact, launch monitors have shown that the alignment of the clubface at impact mostly determines the direction that the ball starts, and the relationship between the face’s aim and the club’s path is what determines how much it curves and where it finishes. What this means in practice is that to hit a fade, your clubface needs to be closed to the target at impact (how much is determined by the path).

This may sound technical and wonky, but it is hugely important for golfers struggling to fix a recurring miss. In the past, if I was over-doing a fade, I would try to move my path more to the left, because I (incorrectly) believed that this would start the ball further left. Of course, all this was doing was making my problem worse—it caused the ball to start on the same line and just slice more. Does understanding this mean I hit fewer bad shots? I doubt it. But at least now I can figure out the root cause of those bad shots—and adjust more quickly.

I have to marvel at how the golf community got the ball flight laws so wrong for so long. This isn’t quantum physics. It’s stuff Newton could have figured out centuries ago. Yet, as is so often the case, common sense overrode science until it could no longer resist.

Just Send It

When I grew up playing golf, elite golfers fetishized a “good” golf swing. It was the Leadbetter/Faldo era when instructors felt they were closing in on the “right way” to swing. Today, I sense that elite golfers are less concerned about how their swing looks and more concerned about impact conditions—the “moment of truth” when ball and club connect. I know one competitive golfer who doesn’t even send video to his swing coach, only numbers from his launch monitor (e.g., “hey coach: 1.9 degrees up, 2.8 degrees left, face to path 1.5R, 2145 rpm. What do you think?”). I remember obsessing over my takeaway and backswing in college. For many instructors today, the club’s position in the backswing really is an afterthought. Who cares? Just make a turn and rip it.

Elite golfers today have a similar disregard for the “swing easy” ethos of my era. This is obvious off the tee, when golfers are being taught to feel as if they are explosively jumping off the ground with their front foot through impact, which leads to more clubhead speed. Even “control” players like Francesco Molinari have learned that they will get better results by swinging full bore with their driver—a strategy he used to tame Carnoustie at the Open Championship two years ago.

In my youth, long-hitters were treated derisively as meatheads—“the woods are full of long hitters,” was a common way of dismissing golfers with speed. The “smart” golfers were the “tacticians” who laid short of hazards and picked their way around the golf course. So it’s ironic—but perhaps inevitable—that it was math nerds who overturned this misconception by crunching “strokes-gained” data provided by ShotLink. And what they found was that the meatheads were the ones playing smart: with only a few exceptions, the best way to improve your score is to just send it.

No Country For Old Men

It’s difficult to describe how unnerving it is to adopt this new approach to the game. I still feel uncomfortable hitting drivers on hard holes in competition—not to mention swinging at full bore. To do so goes against everything instructors I grew up respecting and admiring taught me—including my father. I feel like an old Communist apparatchik during the Cold War who has defected to the West. I can see a better way of living all around me, I can even adopt the local customs, but I know I will always feel slightly uncomfortable—and I will never lose a conflicted fondness for the life that I have left behind.

But isn’t that true of aging, generally—that we begin to feel more and more as if we are strangers in a foreign land? Or that we no longer belong as a new generation comes through? It is misguided loyalty to the past to fight inevitable change. You may know these types at the golf course—they are the ones giving the 17-year-old high school hotshot a lecture about the “right way” to play the golf course even as the 17-year-old is setting new course records.

One of golf’s great gifts to me in recent years is that it has shown me a more graceful and enjoyable way to age. “Old men ought to be explorers,” the poet T.S. Eliot wrote, and what I think he meant is that we should never stop learning and growing and taking delight in each new step forward, even if it takes us further from what we find familiar and comfortable. Now when I step on to the tee—even on a tough par 4—I reach back and hit it as hard as I can. With my hunching shoulders, graying hair, and sagging belly, I’m sure I look a bit ungainly to the 17-year-olds I often compete against. But I don’t care. For as I watch the ball fly out into the blue abyss, in that split second of uncertainty all golfers share as they look up to see what direction their ball is headed, I feel that old sensation in the veins once more, that lightning rush of discovery and fear which is the defining feature of youth.

About The Author

Eben Harrell is an editor, writer and competitive amateur golfer who splits his time between Colorado and Scotland.

Want to Get Exclusive Discounts on Some of the Top Golf Products?

Check out our deals for Practical Golf readers!

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