Blindsided VIII

Three visits...and it all fades away. Well, it didn't die quietly but it's done...I couldn't stop the train and by the time he stopped talking...the damage was done and so was I. I miss his smile, his attention and friendship but not the rollercoaster I was forced onto daily. I was supposed to fly south this weekend but decided against it...I think I'll go west...adventures await...

Blindsided VII

In tournament play you have to tee off from a certain place, it's usually between the mens and woman's, which means a lot of times he has to pull back. His driving game is no joke, and every time, not once or twice, every fucking time, it's a show...for me at least. I can close my eyes, picturing him standing back out of the tee box...spotting the flag, gauging the fairway and breathing deep. His club in his right hand, rested at his side, one last breath, swings it out twice to loosen his arms and steps into the box. My heart is pounding out of my chest, excited butterflies fill my body and I feel so honoured to be part of his journey. I can never track the ball, I just keep my eyes on the fairway or the greens, but the four of them will stand up there and talk about the curvature and how it bounced and rolled a certain way...I just know he can birdie the hole with that shot...curve? I have no idea. 

One of my favourite things about Marcus is how he is completely unselfish when it comes to golf. He's kind, considerate and encouraging to those around him. His swagger isn't off putting, in fact I think it's us that believe he has swagger...I bet he doesn't even claim it...but for the rest of us, yeah, he has swagger and rightfully so. He's out there to beat you on the course, but not beat you down, he'll encourage you the whole way while he is continuously draining birdies...don't ever expect him to play down...not even for ME! But that doesn't mean he doesn't want you to do well, to get better and to have a great time. 

Golf is unforgiving, it's easily the hardest sport I've ever attempted and watching it is enough at times to make my blood boil. How exactly does a ball roll into and then out of the cup? Your ball hit a pebble...you're in no mans land. Your ball is on a steel grate...take a drop shot! I watched him eat stroke after stroke and slide to tenth...whoa! My butterflies turn my excitement into nausea...in Phoenix he finished so strong it was almost surreal watching him birdie hole after hole to climb back into contention. Now, he's on his home turf and with a close friend riding shotgun...the butterflies calm, I'm ready to witness. 

One stroke...the difference between him and first...he's already thinking about the next tournament while he collects a small fortune in skins winnings...golf is the emotional rollercoaster I never knew I needed...

Blindsided VI

He starts on the back nine of his season opener, paired with a good friend. I'm not entirely sure why they insist on playing through the ridiculously high winds coupled with large patches of snow, but we're ready to tee off next. Everyone knows him, and they adore him. He's humble with his spectacular talent and like every other time we golf...they want to be near him. I can hear the whispers, see their expressions and know they too want to see him go all out. It's a competition, but not really, the men around him put their energy behind him and push with him. Of course they want to win, but they know the odds and his recovery game is unmatched, so until he walks off the course, he's always either in the hunt or sitting pretty on his throne. 

There's a little more sparkle when he golfs with his friends and on his home turf. He's never arrogant on the course, there's no need, his confidence is solid as he's steps into the tee box. He's going in cold with a new driver, well, he got it a year ago, but last minute, he swapped out two clubs...that's fucking gutsy, perfectly on brand for him. I held my breath because it felt better than questioning him. One thing I know for sure is that as a sports mom and a sports lover...I never question the athlete before they take the field. So much of it is a mental game and since I don't play...I don't say a word, not even out of curiosity. You can't get into his head, it's not available. His mental game is like his recovery game...unmatched. 

Sitting in the golf cart felt like being in a wind tunnel, standing outside of it wasn't any better. It didn't matter, he was hitting every fairway like the wind wasn't even touching him. Driving the ball over three hundred yards consistently is pretty incredible, but being accurate over ninety percent of the time is insane. There was a young man on his foursome who could drive the ball about forty yards further at times...but he's not hitting fairway...he was in no mans land several times. 

The first nine holes were brutal, between the wind, cold and snow it was absolutely miserable...for me. He was sitting nicely at the top of the leader board as we hit the turn to the front nine...

Blindsided V

Picking up and letting go, letting go and picking up is a cycle I have come to perfect over the years.  Learning to let go, teaching myself what to let go of and coming to terms with everything freely moving in and out of my life took time, my god it took so much time. Letting go feels like forgiveness, initially the thought is crippling, you fight it and try to find any reason not to because it means letting go of something within yourself, something that was a part of you, or at least felt as though it was. I used be afraid of letting go of anything from the people I loved to my favourite shirt...holding on to it as if nothing could possibly ever be better than this right now and knowing it's not entirely true if I just stop to think about it for a minute. It all comes down to loss, and I have never been a good loser, however, not all things we let go of is lost or a loss...sometimes what we let go of helps us soar from no longer having the weight of it but we can't even fathom it at the time and letting go feels painful. Eventually, it becomes second nature and you realize everything lives and dies for you on this hill. This was a hill I was committed to die on if necessary, believing if I could comfort myself through the loss then I was home free... and I was fucking right! It's not a perfect system, it's not as if you won't feel the sadness of loss, it just means that you can weather the storm and know that when the sun rises you honoured your feelings and let them all go...

I've struggled the last several months, my inner circle cracked hard and I had to watch my mother and son walk away from my table. I will never let go of my son in my heart...but I still had to let him go and watch him walk away. I have faith that time and distance will paint a new picture for him and he will return to my table, but I don't know that for sure. My heart aches but this is his lesson and I have to let him go through it...so I let go and hope we can pick it up again...and I hope it's sooner rather than later...but even that, I've let go of...

Blindsided IV

I have a few perfect moments, I like to collect them then replay them in my mind. Sometimes I swap them out as I collect new ones...and I was collecting a lot of new ones with Marcus. He's a writer, and he's good. His passion hits the same heights as mine and it knocks me back a bit, he's truly talented in so many ways. When he pours all of that and his knowledge of sports together I could read him all day long. He writes about me, he breathes life into our relationship when we can't be together, it's sweet and thoughtful. We struggle at times, our energy is almost the same and we both come with a wealth of it, I wish at times they didn't mix, or effect one another. I romanticize the expectations I have on myself, others and relationships and feel that I can't connect properly on one end or the other. The other day, Marcus was telling me about a conversation he had with his coach where he breaks down the course into 3 mini courses and uses those as individual tournament markers. I think it's brilliant, I'm going to use that for my days, I'll break it into three parts and that way imperfect moments can't ruin my whole day...

Golf is teaching me so much...

Blindsided III

Golf is funny, but in a way that’s frustrating to the point of self-destruction and just when you’re ready to throw your clubs in the air it pulls you back in with a chip shot right into the cup. We already know he’s made of W’s, from softball to poker to golf he is exceptional. The other day he found strength and determination through the agony of lost balls, off set rules and an unforgiving course. I watched him, standing under a tree on the back nine, chin to the sky and eyes closed…he’s digging deep. I’ve never seen this side, I’ve never had the opportunity, the privilege to witness the attempt at a comeback. He knows the math, he knows all the scores, what’s left and what he can accomplish in the last four holes…maybe not the W, but I wanna see what he can do. I choke down my anxiety and watch him step up to fifteen. 

This is one of my favourite things on earth…Marcus at the tee box with his driver…there’s nothing better! He studies the fairway, spots the pin, steps into box and makes magic. I have yet to meet someone who has golfed with him and isn’t picking their jaws up from the greens. There’s always one who see his greatness, they seem to be the ones that understand and respect the game and what he brings to it, he’s a purist. Like a quiet mentor because they have played the course to remembrance and can’t wait give him a tour, to be of some assistance to him. Witnessing is enough for many, but some respectfully find their way into his space through small talk. I’m sure they carry it around with them too…they know where’s he’s headed and likely can’t wait to tell their friends about the day they golfed with him. Maybe a few will throw in how they helped him birdie a hole…or even gifted him a club. 

He’s steady, his confidence checked back in and his focus has been restored. He always has the furthest drive, so I never miss a shot walking to his next one. I’m counting the strokes in my head, obsessing over the other players scores and wondering what can actually happen. He's counting too, except on a completely different level…he already has all the combinations figured out. He drops in a birdie. I jump then try to compose myself, I’m not shocked. Another drive, another birdie. My heart is in my throat, his smile is still tucked away. By the time he walked into the tee box at seventeen I was full on holding my breath…as if it would make a difference. I’ve lost all the math and combinations of winning…I’m strictly here to bear witness…he drops another birdie; I throw my arms in the air as a silent cheer and make my way to eighteen. 

Sitting on the bench it hits me like truck, when my flood gates open, I can never seem to find the way to close them again. I can never seem to gather my composure and find a way to move forward without crumbling under the pressure while my confidence runs away. When I’m close enough, I sync my breath with his, just to be in his calmness. I couldn’t get that close today, I’m just a spectator at his tournament, and I can only offer smiles and encouragement from afar. 

He didn’t birdie the last hole, he bogied…but that’s beside the point now. I don’t know what he prayed for standing under that tree a few holes back, but I can tell you it was delivered. Some people never find the courage to step into their greatness and take a real shot at their dreams…and then some people have nothing but courage and a long line of cheerleaders hoping to be part of something great. 

Blindsided II

What if your greatness isn't great at all, what if you're only here to bear witness to someone else's greatness? I think about that. I think about everything I have done, everything I have created and I wonder, in all of that...am I greatness or bearing witness. We must all believe we have some sort of greatness in us, perhaps a seed planted by a parent, teacher or sibling...something that separates us. I would have told you everyday for the better part of my life that I am bound for greatness and I still believe that...but now I consider the scope and what greatness truly means to me. I read a quote that said, "We all die. The goal isn’t to live forever, the goal is to create something that will." Greatness isn't left to us, you can't always gage it like an elite athlete who breaks records in real time...some of us will never know greatness merely because of our mortality, so, as a token, I will bear witness to others. 

I met Marcus online, Twitter actually, not even a dating site. He's clever, not in the smart ass way I am, he's actually clever in his thoughts and strategies. He's a poker guru, or was at one point in his early twenties but don't let that fool you, he has no shame in taking your hard earned money right off the table. He's funny, loves sports, is a writer and at 35 years old...he's making a play for the PGA Tour. I fucking hate golf, or, hated it up until a couple of months ago. We met in Las Vegas for our first week of dates and spent much of it on the course. Once he showed me how to drive the ball I could understand the draw to the game, at least until putting came along. At the driving range he's completely unsuspecting, he just goes about his business for the first few balls but once he uses his driver...the gallery starts to form. Have you ever watched a grown man take clubs from his bag just to watch someone else use them, cause I haven't. I almost fell over when he insisted on gifting Marcus one of his drivers. And that would have been fine and a great little memory...had it not happened at every range. 

Perhaps for now, I'll bear witness to his greatness while I manifest my own...