Playing golf on a blustery day

I was reminded this morning of something which struck me during a conversation with my parents last year. Some time ago they took up golf, and as with many sporting endeavours they have embarked on before they plunged into it headlong, devoting a huge amount of time and effort into improving their game. Taking lessons, trying new kit and clubs in the hope of finding some new 'magic ingredient'. And they got better. Much, much better - but never seem quite satisfied with how things are. Always want to improve a little more.

In this respect it resembles diabetes almost exactly.

Now I don't play golf, but from what I can see it appears to have been deliberately designed to be almost unimaginably frustrating on almost every level. For starters the equipment involved and physical practicalities of hitting a tiny ball long distances by whacking it with an unevenly-shaped weight on the end of a long stick almost guarantee that no two attempted shots are likely to yield the same results.

In this respect it resembles diabetes almost exactly.

And even if you could somehow miraculously steel your sinews to perform each swing with robot-like precision it would still not be enough. The nature of the playing field itself, with gusty inconsistencies of wind and constantly variable grassiness/sogginess/bounciness/sandiness of the ground (apologies for the use of highly technical golfer's terms there) could still turn yesterday's perfect delivery into today's disappearance into the lake.

In this respect it resembles diabetes almost exactly.

And then of course, there are those brave souls who venture far afield. Just sticking to the same course day-in, day-out is OK for a while, but soon there is a temptation to reach for a little variety. So rather than restricting themselves to a familiar course where their previous experience might at least count for something, they voluntarily put themselves in unfamiliar surroundings. Each shot becomes a wild stab in the dark based on little more than gut instinct and a laughable attempt calculate (hah!) the interaction of a myriad of contradictory variables.

In this respect it resembles diabetes almost exactly.

On Friday I woke to a BG of 7.3 (131). I ate two slices of toast and because I was going to the gym I reduced my bolus by 80% and set a TBR (temporary basal rate). At the gym I did my usual routine for the usual length of time. I had a measured small amount of fact acting carbs before and after. I tested when I got back and was 10.0 (180).

This morning I woke to 7.6 (136). I ate exactly the same breakfast. Exactly the same bolus and basal tweaks were made. I did the same set of exercises over the same length of time. Ate the same number of fruit pastilles. Got back to 6.4 (115).

Now I'm fairly happy with either to be honest, but the difference in the two days amounts to almost the entire 'range' that people living with diabetes are supposed to aim at. And I didn't change anything.

With Artoo I have a cracking set of clubs, it's just that I'm trying to play golf on a blustery day.