It had been a rough day on the par 3 holes — shots short, bouncing off greens, and finding the rough too many times. By the time I reached the 17th at Painted Hills, I just wanted a decent shot. 146 yards to the pin, hole tucked behind a bunker on a steep slope. I grabbed my pitching wedge and swung — but thinned it. The ball rocketed low, heading straight for the bunker. My stomach dropped. But somehow, it cleared the trap, landing in the middle of the green, rolling fast toward the flag. I blinked. Where did it go? “Probably rolled in the cup,” I joked to my buddy. As we drove up, we couldn’t see my ball anywhere on the green. I grabbed my lob wedge, expecting to chip. But when we walked closer, there was still no ball in sight. My only thought: check the hole. There it was, chilling in the cup. My first hole-in-one! I roared with excitement. On a day when nothing seemed to work, golf gave me the impossible.