I had to decide to play in one of two events in Indiana and there were things both good and bad in each event and with the entry deadline looming, chose to play in the closer event in the same time zone even though there is not an age protected division that I would be competitive. However, there are a couple of 50+ players who will be in my division including the one who while having the same rating at an event in June shot the exact same score for both rounds as I did.
As I looked at the 14 player MA50+ division for the other event this morning (including the person who beat me in a playoff in 2016 and the person who won MA50+ at an event I finished third last year,) I saw a recently registered player who could have changed my mind.
A top FP50+ pro in the area is playing in the MA50+ division. She has played in multiple MA events in different divisions and only plays FP50+ in elite ones. Her rating is very similar to mine and I would have wanted to see first hand how she plays the game and how "Candace" would do against her.
There is a Chicago area 8 time major champion FP50+ player and in the events where we both play including the one on Oct 27, her scores are usually better than mine but I rarely get a chance to see her play as we are usually far from each other on the course.
I then remembered playing little league in 1978 on the mound against a female batter. Compared to others who pitched, I was not that good and only took the mound when the game was out of hand but was able to strike her out and said something along the line that she should not be in the league which coaches and parents were not happy to hear.
I then realized maybe that is likely why the next time I was at the plate the first pitch hit me. Never thought of that in the 41 years since it happened.
Friday, October 18, 2019
Friday, October 4, 2019
The price of Joy
I am sore, tired, and completely defeated. I really wished the 2018 version of me that qualified for this event was here this week and not the broken down fraud that is currently wearing a sweaty shirt with my last name on it...
This was posted to Facebook from the parking lot of Boulder Woods Disc Golf Course in Wellsville, PA after I finished my sixth and final round of the PDGA Amateur Worlds on July 26th. Five and a half days prior to this post, my attitude was different.
Though my right knee popped out of place in my sleep 48 hours previously, I was on my way to my "last of a lifetime trip" to the 2019 Disc Golf Amateur World Championship in York, PA.
The drive there was the most anticipated thing and due to Spotify. I had my tablet loaded with hours of music that has shaped my life and every time a song played, an awesome memory was rekindled. Multiple times on the trip my voice cracked being unable to sing along due to how emotionally powerful it was to me.
While delivering food in June with METV FM playing they mentioned a song that you may have missed before. Joy by Apollo 100. All of a sudden, I remember the awesome instrumental which I have likely not heard in decades. (I know it is based on a classical piece but this version is the one I enjoy.)
There was a special set list for my trip. It had the songs I played at the start of the trip and Joy. When I was about to get to Coyote Hills (the furthest west course of those used for the event) to get some practice, I turned on that song and it was rolling through my head the rest of the day.
The next morning, I had to head to tournament central to check in and just before I got there once again played Joy and the tune was running through my head as I got my swag for the event.
I knew going in the highlight was everything before playing and it exceeded expectations. The staff there congratulated me for being there and while wearing a shirt with a drawing of me on it, had a huge smile on my face knowing all I went through to get to this point especially after having to give it up four years previously due to a lie.
After getting a bag of small items (including a tick extractor which I actually needed the next day), multiple hats, discs, and shirts, I had one more line. The person asked my name and division and stated box #15. I then realized what was in the boxes.
The staff person sorted through the lime green shirts with the tournament logo and sponsors on it and found the one with my name and player number on it. For some reason I was expecting it to be missing or spelled wrong but it was correct. After barely being able to choke out "thank you" I rushed through the pro shop that players had to pass to exit to get to the car.
I had always thought the phrase "tears of joy" made no sense but it took over five minutes for me to compose myself to the point where I can drive a car to one of the courses to practice.
At a college auditorium that evening, I got my player badge with my name and had to post a picture of it immediately after sending grateful messages to many who helped me get there.
The next morning was round one. Joy was still running through my head after playing it just before I got to the course among the first there. It was still running through my head as I was energized at the start making multiple long putts to keep things going well.
On my twelfth hole, reality hit hard. The body said no and the next six holes featured shots I have never missed so badly before including one where while trying to stretch around a tree, the disc stayed in my hand instead of releasing and dropped six inches in front of me on the follow through.
The last 97 holes over those four days were not all bad and I actually hugged the 7 baskets I managed to get a birdie but it was mostly ugly play featuring moments when I had no idea where to aim not knowing where my disc was going to go. Between my talent gap to elite players and my leg, my 108 hole score was 101 worse than the person in first.
Through the frustration on the course and the pain off it which after the last three rounds kicked in on the walk back to turn in my scores as the adrenaline from the round subsided, the "Joy" I tried to keep in my head faded.
After making the FB post mentioned at the beginning, I changed out of my gear and started to head west. The plan was to drive until I was tired and then find a hotel for the night. After passing through four mountains, I came to a turnpike rest area to pee and get something to eat.
Though gimpy, I decided to not use the crutches I brought and hobbled into the building. After three paces inside, both legs seized up and if there was not a chair close by, I likely would have gone down. There were tears but they were not of joy. People asked if they should call an ambulance.
Eventually, I made it to the bathroom where I noticed my face was bright red and then got some food. I decided to get a hotel sooner rather than later and this time used my crutches to help me. The hotel staff was able to get me a handicap room due to the difficulty I had walking.
In spite of the pain medication I was taking, the idea of sleep seemed remote as it was not working at all. I needed all my energy to get out of bed to pee and after plopping on the bed, felt that I was done.
I did not want to return to reality. I did not want to deal with life anymore and most of all, I wanted the pain to go away. Then I realized there is enough pain medication my bag to accomplish those things.
I did not want to call anyone knowing that the response I get could influence my decision and not in the way most would normally think as my decision to continue needed to be mine and mine alone. I also did not want to worry anyone while I was three states away from home or have someone rush to my hotel room to "save me from myself".
Though tempted, I was so drained and the bag seemed so far away, eventually I did fall asleep. The next morning, my legs were somewhat functional and I managed to hide my discomfort at a family gathering on Saturday before returning home on Sunday afternoon. Once I got home, I could not stay awake for more than an hour until Tuesday morning. When others mentioned the Chicago area Weird Al concert from that Sunday which I missed, I realized ahead of time that I would unlikely be physically up for attending.
It took a couple stressful weeks to get back to normal thinking and though I remember the Joy experienced on the trip, I will never forget the price paid for it.
This was posted to Facebook from the parking lot of Boulder Woods Disc Golf Course in Wellsville, PA after I finished my sixth and final round of the PDGA Amateur Worlds on July 26th. Five and a half days prior to this post, my attitude was different.
Though my right knee popped out of place in my sleep 48 hours previously, I was on my way to my "last of a lifetime trip" to the 2019 Disc Golf Amateur World Championship in York, PA.
The drive there was the most anticipated thing and due to Spotify. I had my tablet loaded with hours of music that has shaped my life and every time a song played, an awesome memory was rekindled. Multiple times on the trip my voice cracked being unable to sing along due to how emotionally powerful it was to me.
While delivering food in June with METV FM playing they mentioned a song that you may have missed before. Joy by Apollo 100. All of a sudden, I remember the awesome instrumental which I have likely not heard in decades. (I know it is based on a classical piece but this version is the one I enjoy.)
There was a special set list for my trip. It had the songs I played at the start of the trip and Joy. When I was about to get to Coyote Hills (the furthest west course of those used for the event) to get some practice, I turned on that song and it was rolling through my head the rest of the day.
The next morning, I had to head to tournament central to check in and just before I got there once again played Joy and the tune was running through my head as I got my swag for the event.
I knew going in the highlight was everything before playing and it exceeded expectations. The staff there congratulated me for being there and while wearing a shirt with a drawing of me on it, had a huge smile on my face knowing all I went through to get to this point especially after having to give it up four years previously due to a lie.
After getting a bag of small items (including a tick extractor which I actually needed the next day), multiple hats, discs, and shirts, I had one more line. The person asked my name and division and stated box #15. I then realized what was in the boxes.
The staff person sorted through the lime green shirts with the tournament logo and sponsors on it and found the one with my name and player number on it. For some reason I was expecting it to be missing or spelled wrong but it was correct. After barely being able to choke out "thank you" I rushed through the pro shop that players had to pass to exit to get to the car.
I had always thought the phrase "tears of joy" made no sense but it took over five minutes for me to compose myself to the point where I can drive a car to one of the courses to practice.
At a college auditorium that evening, I got my player badge with my name and had to post a picture of it immediately after sending grateful messages to many who helped me get there.
The next morning was round one. Joy was still running through my head after playing it just before I got to the course among the first there. It was still running through my head as I was energized at the start making multiple long putts to keep things going well.
On my twelfth hole, reality hit hard. The body said no and the next six holes featured shots I have never missed so badly before including one where while trying to stretch around a tree, the disc stayed in my hand instead of releasing and dropped six inches in front of me on the follow through.
The last 97 holes over those four days were not all bad and I actually hugged the 7 baskets I managed to get a birdie but it was mostly ugly play featuring moments when I had no idea where to aim not knowing where my disc was going to go. Between my talent gap to elite players and my leg, my 108 hole score was 101 worse than the person in first.
Through the frustration on the course and the pain off it which after the last three rounds kicked in on the walk back to turn in my scores as the adrenaline from the round subsided, the "Joy" I tried to keep in my head faded.
After making the FB post mentioned at the beginning, I changed out of my gear and started to head west. The plan was to drive until I was tired and then find a hotel for the night. After passing through four mountains, I came to a turnpike rest area to pee and get something to eat.
Though gimpy, I decided to not use the crutches I brought and hobbled into the building. After three paces inside, both legs seized up and if there was not a chair close by, I likely would have gone down. There were tears but they were not of joy. People asked if they should call an ambulance.
Eventually, I made it to the bathroom where I noticed my face was bright red and then got some food. I decided to get a hotel sooner rather than later and this time used my crutches to help me. The hotel staff was able to get me a handicap room due to the difficulty I had walking.
In spite of the pain medication I was taking, the idea of sleep seemed remote as it was not working at all. I needed all my energy to get out of bed to pee and after plopping on the bed, felt that I was done.
I did not want to return to reality. I did not want to deal with life anymore and most of all, I wanted the pain to go away. Then I realized there is enough pain medication my bag to accomplish those things.
I did not want to call anyone knowing that the response I get could influence my decision and not in the way most would normally think as my decision to continue needed to be mine and mine alone. I also did not want to worry anyone while I was three states away from home or have someone rush to my hotel room to "save me from myself".
Though tempted, I was so drained and the bag seemed so far away, eventually I did fall asleep. The next morning, my legs were somewhat functional and I managed to hide my discomfort at a family gathering on Saturday before returning home on Sunday afternoon. Once I got home, I could not stay awake for more than an hour until Tuesday morning. When others mentioned the Chicago area Weird Al concert from that Sunday which I missed, I realized ahead of time that I would unlikely be physically up for attending.
It took a couple stressful weeks to get back to normal thinking and though I remember the Joy experienced on the trip, I will never forget the price paid for it.
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