FOREWORD In 1999, Annika Sorenstam and I were attending a corporate outing in San Francisco when she asked me if I would look at her putting. I gave her a couple of ideas to start off with, and then we got together a couple of weeks later at Bighorn Golf Club in Palm Springs for a serious session. When I teach someone to putt, I use the words "feel" and "roll" instead of words like "try" and "hit." Annika tended to putt mechanically, and I wanted her to reach into her subconscious and feel the ball roll so that her putting would have almost a Zen-like feeling. True, we worked on the usual-grip, posture, and alignment, but we always stressed visualization and feel, which would lead to much better technique. We also increased the amount of loft that Annika had on her putter to help her roll the ball better. Annika was a quick and willing student, always working longer and harder than I suggested, and always accepting the risks connected with change. The results she achieved gave me a great deal of satisfaction. She went from a two-victory season the year before we worked together to amassing a total of 30 wins over the next four years. I was proud of her in 2003 when she entered the Bank of America Colonial in Fort Worth-a tournament I won in 1967, the first win of my PGA Tour career. Colonial Country Club, or "Hogan's Alley," as it is known, is a true shotmaker's course. Annika played spectacularly from tee to green, only to fail to putt as well as either of us would have hoped. Through all the pressure created by fans, media, and competitors, her confidence, smile, and competitive determination showed through. I was very honored when she asked me to write this foreword because I understand what a powerful message her book contains for all golfers regardless of age or ability. Annika is a golfer in total control of all aspects of the game, especially when it comes to creative thinking. The goals she sets are no longer laughed at-such as total victories, single-season grand slams, and scores (she already owns a 59). She even speaks of one day shooting a 54-all birdies. I wouldn't bet against her. Annika Sorenstam has become one of the most dominant female players in history. Let yourself learn from her here-her courage and strength, her determination and intelligence, and her deep faith in her ability. Then put it all to use in your own game, for your own improvement, and the results should be startling. -By Dave Stockton, PGA Champion, 1970 and 1976 FOREWORD This must seem like a weird twosome-a singer writing a tribute to a golfer. But I had the pleasure of meeting Annika several years ago through a mutual friend, and since that first meeting we've spent some time together in each other's worlds. I have played golf with her-which is a totally amazing experience for a duffer like me-and she has been a great supporter of my music, coming to see my shows all over the place. As brilliant as her golf is, it's only one of the things I admire about Annika. What really strikes me is the strength of her spirit-her determination to get better and better. I know what it takes to be at the top of your game, whether you're a doctor, a painter, a carpenter, a plumber, a singer, or a golfer. To be the best at anything, you have to be strong. You have to be willing to overcome all the obstacles that get in your way, and you have to make sacrifices. She's an athlete and I'm an entertainer, both of us blessed with talent, which is a gift. Annika has taken that gift and raised it to the highest level. I'll never forget the 2003 Bank of America Colonial tournament, when Annika became the first woman in fifty-eight years to play in a PGA Tour event. Remember her opening tee shot? How wonderfully she hit the ball, straight and true. Then she gave a big smile, put her hand to her heart, and pretended to stagger away in relief. The pressure was incredible, but she still performed remarkably well, with grace and dignity, and she wasn't too proud to make fun of herself. She wasn't trying to outdo the men that week. She was doing what she had done her whole life-challenging herself to reach the top of her potential. Annika was pushing Annika! That's why I admire her so much. She will not allow herself to give a mediocre effort. She will not settle for second best. Annika believes in her dreams, and she follows them. She is an inspiration to me, and to millions of other men and women who are giving their all to reach their potential. I'm very proud to call her my friend. -By Celine Dion PROLOGUE In May 2003, I undertook the biggest challenge of my life-playing against the men of the PGA Tour at the Bank of America Colonial Tournament in Fort Worth, Texas. The timing couldn't have been better. I was peaking physically, mentally, and emotionally, coming off a season in which I'd broken or tied 30 LPGA records and won 13 times worldwide. Just two years earlier I couldn't have endured the physical challenge of being the first woman to play a PGA Tour event since Babe Zaharias in 1945, let alone a media frenzy that the great Babe could not have imagined. While there was some criticism of my decision, I saw only the positives: the chance to take my game to a new level, to meet new people, to win new fans and, yes, to learn from the men of the PGA Tour. The worst that could happen would be to finish last-but even then I knew I would gain valuable experience. When I woke on the morning of my first round, my stomach was jumping. I knew that every lesson I'd learned in golf and life would come into play that day. First and foremost, I had to face my fear-and, believe me, I was afraid. Television vans with satellite dishes lined the course, and there were so many fans-a record crowd of 40,000-that I employed Tiger Woods's security team for the week. I saw the Colonial as my Mount Everest, and when I arrived at the course I briefly felt breathless, as if I really were about to climb a 29,000-foot peak. But the fans were overwhelmingly supportive and positive, as were my playing partners, Dean Wilson and Aaron Barber. I was touched when Dean arrived wearing a green "Go Annika" button: He and Aaron seemed as flustered as I was. "I'm so nervous I don't know if I can handle this," Aaron told me, "but we'll go through it together." I could barely feel my arms when we arrived on the 10th tee (our first of the day), but that's when my training as a competitive athlete kicked in. As the announcer introduced me, a different Annika took over. I drew a few deep breaths and began my preshot routine. Suddenly, despite the noise, energy, and excitement, there was solitude. My mind quieted. In some faraway sense I knew I was about to achieve everything I had ever worked toward, but I had just one thought as I stepped up to the ball: "Swing easy." As soon as my 4-wood made contact, everything felt right. The ball hung in the air for what seemed an eternity, traveled 243 yards-and split the fairway. I'd faced the shot of my life and pulled it off. Relief flooded over me. Although I didn't make the cut (a few more putts and I would have!), I'm proud that I pushed myself to the highest level. I did the best I could, and learned a lot along the way. But all the knowledge was just a fraction of what I've learned since I began playing the game as a shy 12-year-old in Sweden. Now, I'm a shy 34-year-old-shy for a so-called celebrity at least. When I look back on my career, I realize how much golf has given me. It's taken me around the world and introduced me to interesting people, including my husband, David, who I met on a driving range. Golf has given me a home in Tahoe and a house in warm, sunny Florida, where I can practice year-round. Even more important, it has given me a way to master my abilities and challenge myself. But no matter how often I win, or how many of my goals I meet, I'll never master the game itself. And I wouldn't expect to. Because golf is a never-ending challenge; there's always one more shot to hit, one more opponent to beat, one more course to think my way around. That's why I love the game, and I'll bet that's why you love it, too. And if my 22 years in golf have taught me anything, it's that we all need inspiration. I hope that by sharing what I've learned, I can help you climb your own Mount Everest- whether that means winning the U.S. Open, winning your club championship, or breaking 100 for the first time. Whatever your goal, I hope you discover-just like I did at the Colonial-that success isn't only about the goal you choose. It's about the experience, the effort, and the journey. -By Annika Sorenstam 1. My Journey: Golf-It's Child's Play It makes me laugh when people call me "robotic" or "mechanical." I might be all business on the course sometimes, but I'm smiling on the inside. I love the game of golf, and I've never lost the intense passion for sports and sense of pure fun I had as a kid. That passion helped turn a so-so junior player into an LPGA champion, and I've got my family to thank for instilling it in me at an early age. I was born in 1970 in the small town of Bro, about 30 miles from Stockholm, where my father worked as a product manager for IBM and my mother worked at a bank until my sister Charlotta came along in 1973. We were typical middle-class Swedes in every way but one: We were sports crazy and super-competitive. My mother played golf while she was pregnant with me-I know I picked up the rhythm of her swing before I was born. And the only unusual thing about our three-bedroom house, which stood on a cul-de-sac, was the game room my dad had built in our basement. We had a badminton court, table tennis, and later, when Charlotta and I got interested in golf as teenagers, a hitting net. My fierce competitive drive was born in that rec room, during our family tournaments. To my parents' credit, my first memories of golf have more to do with ice cream and pretend pony rides than with white-knuckle competition. In Sweden, middle-class people can afford to join golf clubs and kids are always welcome, so Charlotta and I tagged along with our parents to Viksjo Golf Club. When we were toddlers, we'd pretend their pullcarts were ponies and ride them. We were much more interested in fishing balls out of water hazards than with hitting shots. Back then, the most important part of a round was the ice cream we'd get at the 9th-hole snack shop. As we got older, we'd putt on the practice green while my parents played. My parents were-and still are-casual athletes. They never pushed us in sports. It was Charlotta and I who brought sports to a whole new level in our family. When I first took up the game, I had no idea how important golf would someday be to me. Tennis seemed more exciting, and I spent my days dreaming about my idol, Bjorn Borg. He was the kind of champion I wanted to be. Not only was Bjorn a national hero, he dominated his sport. When he won Wimbledon in 1980 for the fifth time in a row, the country stood still, and everyone watched on television. What impressed me most was that Bjorn came from a middle-class background, like me. He didn't grow up with his own tennis court or fancy practice facilities. He would bang balls against his garage door. He proved that a person could achieve great things with talent and hard work. I was pretty good at tennis, and attended camp every summer from age five to eleven. At 10, I was one of the top 10 players in Stockholm. I worked hard, but I just didn't get tennis. I didn't develop as quickly as I wanted. While I had a great forehand, my backhand was only so-so, and opponents learned to prey on that. I was too proud for that, so one day I tossed my racket in the closet and decided to give golf a try. A new club had opened nearby, and Charlotta and I used to ride our bikes 20 minutes to get there. Today Bro-Balsta Golf Club has more than a thousand members, but then it was very small. We were among the first members, and Charlotta and I felt like family there. As teens we spent nearly every summer day at Bro-Balsta, playing a few holes, swimming in the lake, or hanging out at "Junior Corner," a shack near the driving range where we could play music and eat snacks. The club didn't have a ball picker, so in the evenings the pro would call Charlotta and me and offer to pay us to retrieve balls from the range. Then we'd say, "Well, we don't know, it's Friday night..." and negotiate until he'd raise the pay. We were paid about $10 a barrel to pick up thousands of balls, and it made our forearms strong. Usually the money went right back to the pro shop for balls, gloves, or a putter or two. When I got a little older I worked in the shop, checking people in for their tee times, and sneaking outside to practice bunker shots when business was slow. It took me a while to fall in love with the game. Like everyone who begins to play seriously, I was often frustrated. I threw my share of tantrums-you might say I was sometimes more John McEnroe than Bjorn Borg. At 12, my first handicap was 54, and my first clubs were a set of Mizunos that Charlotta and I shared. (She got the even- numbered clubs, I got the odds.) One day, out of sheer frustration over a poor shot, I grabbed the head of the 5-wood and slammed the club in the bag as hard as I could. I cracked the shaft near the grip. Knowing my father had worked hard to buy those clubs, I was so embarrassed that I kept playing with the club-you couldn't really see the crack- and finally had it reshafted when I'd saved enough money. Today I'm known for my accuracy and mental strength under pressure, but my road to emotional and physical maturity in golf was a long one. It began with the Swedish National Golf Feder-ation, and I was lucky that the Federation, like my parents, never lost sight of the fact that golf should be fun. No Shortcuts! I was a mediocre junior golfer. By 15, I was shooting in the mid- to high 90s, and no one would have said I was going places. But I was athletic and persistent, so I soaked up as much as I could in the organized practices run by the Swedish Federation. Junior golf begins at the club level, where pros work with juniors and recommend better players for Federation training camps. At first, the practices aren't too serious; they're a great way to hang out with friends. But soon the real work begins. Swedish players learn from an early age that the mind and body are inseparable, and both swing coaches and mental-game consultants guide better players from the youth program until the day they turn pro. But the Federation also encourages athletes to think for themselves, which may be why so many Swedes are internationally successful. At that age, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life, but I began moving up through the Federation's ranks. I thought I was giving golf my all. Then, one evening, after a long day of play and practice, it started to rain. I called my father to pick me up. When he arrived, he looked silently out over the range, where a few juniors were hitting balls in the rain and dwindling light. On the ride home, my father said, "You know, Annika, there are no shortcuts to success." Those words have affected everything I've done since that day. I think about them on mornings when I don't feel like getting out of bed to lift weights, when I'm not in the mood to practice after a tough round, and when I'm setting my goals at the beginning of each season. My father was right: If you don't push yourself as hard as you can, you'll never reach your potential. I dedicated myself to practice that summer. Sometimes I hit balls until my hands ached, and I finally moved up from playing local to national tournaments. In the following year, 1987, I joined the Swedish National Team. That was the year I met a quiet, unassuming golf pro named Henri Reis. Earlier that year the Swedish Federation held a district summer camp, choosing the best one or two girls from each club. I made the cut and Henri was my coach. I immediately was impressed by how he translated the complexities of the golf swing into simple language, and I saw instant results when I followed his advice. His course was just 20 minutes from my house, so once a week my parents would drop me off for a lesson, because it was vital for me to work with someone regularly. It was Henri's idea that I try a peculiar move I'm still known for today-turning my head toward the target before impact. Was Henri blown away by my talent? Just ask him. He'll tell you that of all the young players he worked with, I never stood out. Other Swedes, including Carin Koch-now an LPGA star who to this day is still a good friend-were much better. At age 16, I loved golf, but I wasn't sure I could make it as a pro: I was shooting in the low 80s and hadn't broken par. Off the course, I was a math and computer enthusiast. I was considering becoming an engineer; sitting behind a computer suited my personality more than the very public life of a pro golfer. In school I never raised my hand, even when I knew the answers to teachers' questions. I could joke with people I knew well (my sister was often the brunt of my antics-I used to make my friend Maria sit on poor Charlotta while I tickled her), but the thought of performing for a crowd of strangers made my palms sweat. I can't count the number of times I three-putted on the final hole of a tournament-on purpose-so that I wouldn't have to give a victory speech. I thought the real reason for my three-putts-pure shyness-was my little secret. But some of the coaches were watching me and noticing my not-so-coincidental misses. So they announced that, at the next tournament, both the winner and the runner-up would have to give a speech. I figured, what's the point of finishing second if I had to face the crowd anyway. I won that tournament and never looked back. The coaches' trick was a key to my maturity: I faced my fear and became better for it. But it was a lesson I would have to learn repeatedly-whether I was talking to the media or preparing to hit a tough shot. I also received some help from Pia Nilsson, a former LPGA player I met in the late 1980s when she worked with the Swedish National Team. Pia, like Henri, became part of my inner circle (see Chapter 11 for more infor-mation on her Vision54TM philosophy, which influences the way I play). She also was a frequent victim of my practical jokes. My favorite was the time a few of us players sprinkled itching powder on Pia's suit before the closing ceremonies at a tournament. She couldn't stop scratching that day-and we couldn't stop laughing. With the Swedish National Team, I played junior tournaments in England, Portugal, Spain, and Italy. When I was 17, our team won the Junior European Championship, which brought me international attention. I had known that I was one of the better Swedish players, but that win gave me confidence. My increased prominence eventually led to an invitation to play in Japan, where the course of my life would change forever. World Traveler After high school, I practiced and worked part-time answering phones in the Swedish PGA office. I wasn't yet a college student, but since I planned to enroll in the fall of 1989, I was asked-along with Robert Karlsson, who now plays on the European PGA Tour-to represent Sweden in a collegiate event in Tokyo. During a match against a player from the University of Arizona, I caught the attention of Kim Haddow, the Arizona coach. After the round, Kim asked if I would like to play for Arizona on scholarship. I spent all of three seconds deciding. I wasn't nervous going 5,500 miles from Sweden to Tucson, Arizona. I had traveled the world with the national team, hadn't I? But I was worried about being homesick. My mother came to the rescue. Her last words as I boarded the plane were, "Remember, Annika, it's as far to come back as it is to go over." She was telling me I could always fly home. When my flight landed in Tucson on a 100-degree August day, I thought there was a storm-there was heat lightning everywhere, but no rain. I headed to the freshman dorm and met my new roommate, Leta Lindley, who's now an LPGA player, too. Leta had a computer, a TV, and just about everything else a college student could want. I had my golf bag, a toothbrush, and a command of English that wasn't too impressive. Culture shock set in when I couldn't remember the English words for simple things, like "blanket" and "pillow." Leta and her parents were incredibly nice. They took me shopping; I pointed and they interpreted. I didn't take well to dorm life. I was a little older than most of the freshmen, and very independent. It was a party school, but for me the party began and ended on the course. While the other girls headed out for the weekend, I was hitting the sack after studying and practicing. Arizona golfers had so little free time that we usually spent Friday nights doing laundry. I wanted to play against the best collegiate players, and being part of the Wildcats team was fun. But after years of being taught to think for myself, I disliked the restrictions set by the school and my coaches. We had tightly scheduled study periods and practices. Sometimes I had to raise my hand just to go to the bathroom. But a couple of things made me feel better: Because I was older, I was soon allowed to move into an apartment; and I won my first tournament, the Oregon Invitational. I tied with another Wildcat, Debbie Parks, and we shared the trophy. In my first college season, I finished out of the top 10 only once, and won the NCAA Champion-ship by one stroke over Christy Erb from UCLA. Since I didn't grow up in the U.S., I didn't realize the win's importance until I returned as a sophomore and everyone was talking about it. During my sophomore season I finished first four times and second three times in nine events. I ended that 1992 season as runner-up at the NCAA Championships behind the number-one college player in the country, Vicki Goetz. That's when I decided to leave school. I was still working with Henri and Pia, and I wasn't learning much from my coach. I decided that I'd accomplished all I could in college: College Player of the Year in 1991, NCAA All-American in 1991 and 1992. I was ready for a larger arena. But before turning pro, I played the U.S. Women's Amateur, where I lost in the finals to-you guessed it-Vicki Goetz. We were an exciting match- up, with my length balanced by her fabulous short game. It came down to the last hole, where I dunked a 6-iron shot in the water and lost by one stroke. That was heartbreaking, but as runner-up I was invited to play in my first U.S. Women's Open, at the venerable Oakmont Country Club near Pittsburgh. To prepare I read up on Ben Hogan's win there in 1953-the year he almost won the Grand Slam. But my play was hardly Hoganesque. The greens were faster than anything I'd ever seen-I would have nine three-putts that week. I was very impressed with the LPGA players. They dressed well, and had Tour golf bags and professional caddies. I got to hit balls on the range near Pat Bradley and Patty Sheehan, and I played a practice round with Meg Mallon. Everything was so routine for them-they went from the range to the putting green to the first tee. They didn't goof around like we did in college, and I realized that for them golf was a job. That week I finished as the second-lowest amateur, tying for 63rd-respectable, but no one was going to start calling Oakmont "Annika's Alley." I spent the rest of the summer in an apartment in Phoenix, practicing for LPGA Qualifying School, which took place in Daytona Beach in October. I don't remember much about my rounds there-except for the suffocating pressure. It felt as if my future depended on every swing for four long days. Ultimately, I missed getting my LPGA card by one shot. I was deeply disappointed and didn't know what this setback would mean for my career. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that things happen for a reason. Maybe I wasn't ready for the big leagues yet-maybe I needed to practice more. I decided to play in Europe for a while, but before I left I was invited to three LPGA tournaments in the spring. They would turn out to be harbingers of good things to come. The 1993 PING/Welch's Championship in Tucson was played at Randolph Park North, where I'd played in college. Knowing the layout helped my nerves, and I tied for 38th and made $2,000. My next event, the Standard Register PING, was held at a desert gem near Phoenix called Moon Valley Country Club. For some reason the stars have always aligned for me at Moon Valley. I shot 66 in the second round and went on to my first top- 10 finish as a pro-a fourth-place check worth $36,985. Overwhelmed, I called my father immediately with the news: In one week I had won more than I had budgeted to spend for the year! At the next LPGA event I tied for ninth and won $8,264. I headed to the Ladies' European Tour knowing I had made the right career decision in turning pro. Playing to Win I finished second four times on the Ladies' European Tour in 1993, and was named Rookie of the Year. Now it was time for the big league: I joined the LPGA in 1994, after tying for 28th at Qualifying School. In my first two events I missed a cut and then tied for 72nd, but then came a string of top-20 finishes. I even came close to winning the Women's British Open, tying for second behind fellow Swede Liselotte Neumann. I was named LPGA Rookie of the Year in 1994, but I didn't have a professional victory yet, and was anything but famous. I went into 1995 hoping to win an LPGA tournament and finish in the top 20 on the money list. Let's just say I exceeded my expectations. By the time I arrived at The Broadmoor, in Colorado Springs, for the 1995 U.S. Open, I was on a hot streak. I already had two wins in Europe and seven top-10 finishes on the LPGA Tour. There was something else, too: Just a month earlier, during the Evian tournament in the French Alps, I'd gotten engaged. I'd met David Esch in 1994 on the driving range of Moon Valley, where I was practicing for the Standard Register PING. David worked for PING, and he walked up to me and asked if I'd play a round of golf with him. We played one hole (he made birdie, I made par), and then I had to go-not because he won the hole, but because my mother had come to pick me up. On our first real date, David took me to a Phoenix Roadrunners hockey game. That's where I discovered he was sports-crazy too. We were a great match. We still are. When he proposed in France, I felt like all the pieces of my life were coming together. I became more relaxed on the course. David was with me at the '95 Open, and by Friday I led the tournament. By Sunday, though, I was five strokes behind Meg Mallon, tied for fourth with Pat Bradley. I was in the company of women far more experienced in the majors than I. But one thing I had learned is always to play as if you've got a chance to win. After the first two holes on Sunday, Meg began to falter. She bogeyed the 3rd, then made triple bogey on the 6th. When I reached the 8th hole, we were both 1-under par. I made three more birdies and by the 14th I was ahead by three shots. When I realized my position, nerves set in. I bogeyed 15 and 16, then saved par on 17 after a chunked shot out of the rough. I made a routine par on 18 and then sat nervously in the NBC booth watching Meg finish. She was still at one under, and needed a birdie to tie me. And on the 18th green, she had a 15-foot putt to do just that. As I watched her take her putter back, my heart thumped as if it would explode. Meg's ball stopped a foot left of the hole. It took me a few seconds to realize what had happened: At age 24, in just my second year on tour, I had won my first LPGA tournament-and it was the U.S. Open! I called my parents in Sweden, who had been listening to the broadcast on television after the satellite transmission went down and they lost the picture. They were crying, and soon I was crying, too. I was so astonished that I barely squeaked out "Thank you" at the awards ceremony. (I was still no good at victory speeches, despite my practice.) I hardly knew what to say to reporters at the press conference afterward-but I do remember saying I wasn't sure what I had gotten myself into. I was joking, but I had no idea how right that statement would be. When I got home to Phoenix, my answering machine was full and my phone didn't stop ringing for days. I had never sought the spotlight. Now, I wanted to hide. I spent the next four days in bed, physically sick. I wasn't lying around thinking, "poor me." I simply wasn't mentally prepared for such a big win. I wasn't used to having to say no to the media and to fans, but there were suddenly so many requests for my time-for autographs, interviews, appearances-that I could never have met them all. My life had been turned upside down, and I needed a break-to learn to see myself as a major winner. I returned to competition at the Women's British Open, where I tied for second. I won two more tournaments and ended 1995 as the first player to lead the LPGA Tour, Ladies' European Tour, and Asian Tour money lists. After a couple months off, 1996 started with as much promise as 1995 had ended. I finished second at the first major of the year, the Nabisco, then tied for 14th at our second major, the McDonald's LPGA Championship. I headed to Pine Needles in North Carolina for the U.S. Open two weeks later with the confidence of the defending champion. And, boy, did I play. I was one off the lead after the first round, led the tournament by three strokes after the second round, and maintained the three-stroke lead Saturday. On Sunday, I entered that magical zone where every shot goes where you want it to go. I birdied the 8th hole for a six-stroke lead. On the 10th I sank a 35-foot eagle putt. On the par-3 16th, my tee shot struck the pin. Another birdie. My parents watched proudly beside the 18th green as I finished my round, the gallery surging up the fairway behind me. I sank a six-foot par putt for a record-breaking score of 272, 8-under par. Winning the 1995 Open had been incredible, but Meg Mallon's mistakes and bad luck had helped me that time. Now, a year later, no one else had even come close. Winning the 1996 Open secured my place in the history books. That was thrilling-and scary. An Open victory was something I had dreamed of for so long that winning my first still seemed unreal. Now I had won two of them. Smiling on the Outside I dominated the next two seasons in wins and earnings, but it would be five years before I won another major. Part of the reason was that after winning back-to-back U.S.Opens, I lost focus. I'd already reached my biggest goals-Player of the Year, the Vare Trophy (for the lowest LPGA scoring average), two U.S. Open titles. Lucky for me, Karrie Webb came along to give me a swift kick in the pants. Karrie had been turning heads with her textbook swing since she won the 1995 Women's British Open a year before joining the LPGA Tour. In 1999 she won six tournaments, including a major. In 2000, I began to catch up, winning five times, but Karrie topped me on the money list with seven wins, including two majors. In 2001, after getting some help from my friend Dave Stockton and practicing two hours a day in the off-season, my putting came together. I placed second in my first two events, and then won four in a row, including the Standard Register PING at Moon Valley, where I had the round of my life and became the first woman to break 60. (See Chapter 11 for plenty of details on my round of 59 that day.) That week I broke through to a new level as an athlete and as a public figure. I can't say I embraced the spotlight, but I no longer felt like running away from it. Shooting 59 gave me tremendous confidence. The next week I ended my dry spell in majors, winning the Nabisco Championship. After the win, I made the traditional dive into the lake on 18 with an assist from my husband and sister. The year ended with eight wins and six second-place finishes. I broke or tied 30 LPGA records, including lowest round (59), consecutive wins (four), largest come-from-behind victory (10 strokes at The Office Depot at Wilshire Country Club in Los Angeles), and surpassed $2 million in earnings. It was a great year, but as competitive as I am, I wanted to top it. But how? My swing and putting stroke were sound, so the best way to improve was to get stronger and longer. You can learn more about that in Chapter 12. For now, it's enough to say that in 2002 I became nearly 15 yards longer off the tee. It was the right tactic. By early July, I had six wins under my belt, including another Nabisco. I had fun that week, wearing bright red shoes on Sunday-they got almost as much attention as my play. I wanted to break Mickey Wright's record of 13 LPGA wins in one season. In the end I came close with 11, plus two wins overseas. It was a super year, and an exhausting one. I'm someone who needs breaks between tournaments-especially after wins, when the media attention intensifies. In October and November of 2002, I played six weeks in a row and won three times. At the season-ending ADT Championship, where I battled Rachel Teske for the lead on Sunday, I kept thinking, "just four more holes... three more holes... two more holes." After that win I retired happily to our house at Lake Nona Country Club outside Orlando, where David and I had moved after we married in 1997. I needed a break from golf. It's funny, but during the two best seasons of my career, I'd begun to cultivate interests outside the game. I'd always been interested in stocks and real estate, but cooking is my favorite escape. Whipping up a great pasta dish always erases any lingering frustrations from bogeys and missed putts. So in the winter of 2002-2003, I worked in the kitchen at Lake Nona Country Club, learning the basics of chopping, sautéing, and grilling. I even invited The Golf Channel to tape my amateur culinary moves. And suddenly the public part of my life started to be fun. The closer I got to reaching my potential, the more I could relax. People had always compared me to Nancy Lopez, saying I needed to be more outgoing. But I'm not Nancy and never will be. I'm simply too shy to take on that role. Still, I've started to give a little more of myself, to show my personality on and off the course. When I accepted the biggest challenge of my life and played against the men at the Bank of America Colonial in May 2003, I was able to wear my heart on my sleeve. Even under the toughest pressure and closest scrutiny, I was determined to have fun. I was smiling on the outside as well as the inside. If you face your scariest moment in public-on national TV-and survive, you're bound to be stronger and happier. The Colonial gave me the confidence and focus I needed to complete the career grand slam. After claiming the McDonald's LPGA Champion-ship in July 2003 and then the Women's British Open that August, I had won every women's major at least once. No one knows what the future holds. One day, when I can no longer compete at the highest level, I'll leave golf for other things-opening a restaurant, investing in the stock markets, raising a family with David. When that happens, I will miss golf, but I won't regret anything. I'll know that I gave the game my all-and loved every minute of it. MY LIFE LESSONS You may think of me as cool under pressure, an athlete willing to take risks and brave the consequences. But I wasn't born that way. I spent years learning the tactics that have helped me become a champion. I've simplified my favorite lessons to share them with you. They're as effective in real life as they are on the course. * Face your fear: Golf involves psychological fear-of hitting poor shots, looking foolish, or losing your ball in a water hazard. It's best to accept that fear and tackle it head-on. In practice, focus on the shots and situations that make you nervous or afraid until your fear is replaced with confidence. * Learn from everything: I try to see every situation, good or bad, as a learning experience. At the 2002 British Open, an event I desperately wanted to win, I got overexcited because I wanted to play so well-and I missed the cut. I learned to treat majors like any other tournament. When you learn from every situation, your confidence grows. * Take one shot at a time: This is one of the most important concepts of all. For each shot, you must let go of positive and negative emotions and focus on the task at hand: making the best swing that you possibly can. You're going to feel angry after bad shots, and elated after exceptional ones; accept those feelings and quickly move on. A consistent preshot routine (see Chapter 3) can help you stay in the moment. * Focus on what you can control: Golf is a game of skill and luck. No matter how well you play, someone else might play better. No matter how solid your swing, your ball may bounce into a terrible lie. In golf, as in life, there's no sense fuming over things you can't control. Use your energy thinking about and working on what you can change. * There are no shortcuts: Golf can be frustrating at times, and improvement comes only with time and hard work. Once you accept that there are no quick fixes, you'll get more out of the game: You'll get the satisfaction that comes from working hard at something rewarding. Excerpted from Golf Annika's Way: How I Elevated My Game to Be the Best-- and How You Can Too by Annika Sorenstam All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
