Watch Out

Moving out of the motherhood is challenging and re-inventing yourself is an up and down journey that throws more curve balls at you than Chris Carpenter throws at National League hitters. You have to get motivation and inspiration wherever you can find it. And where do I usually find it? That's right. . .sports.

Yesterday, I spent a few hours watching a golf tournament. Nothing unusual about that.Anyone who is a regular reader of this blog knows I'm kind of obsessed with sports and tune in to any major event that doesn't involve cricket, soccer or rugby. This latest excuse to put my own life on hold and gawk at a bunch of people actually doing something with theirs happened to be The British Open (or just The Open for those purists on the other side of the pond). I told myself that this productivity detour was okay because a) it came on at 7:00am and would be over by noon and b) one of my favorite players just happened to be in contention.

As I sat there, happily ensconced with The Sunday Tribune and a cup of tea (Britain, remember?), doing double duty rooting Phil on and cheering whenever Tiger made a mistake, I felt encouraged by what I saw unfolding in front of me. Here was a forty-three year-old guy that one month ago had the biggest disappointment of his career when he came in second in The U.S. Open for the sixth time (after leading in the final round with a couple of holes to go). He was conquering an insidious Scottish course that had chewed up and spit out some of the best players in the game. Not to mention, he was doing it after being written off as not having the kind of game to ever win this particular major.

So, what happened? Even non-sports nuts probably know the answer to that one. He went out there and won the thing from five shots back, leaving Tiger and a whole lot of other talented players in his wake. It was great TV but, for me, it was more than that. This was one for the good guys and I picked up a few pointers watching him on his way to winning The Claret Jug. He succeeded by taking chances and trusting his talent. He triumphed because he didn't listen to the naysayers that said he couldn't. And he came out on top without acting like a jerk while he was doing it.

Now that he's won the tournament, I wonder if he might have a few minutes to teach me one other lesson - how to stop watching others live out their dreams and go out and fulfill a few of my own.

Giving Up the Game?

I’ve written often about my love of sports; how watching talented athletes pushing themselves to achieve life-long goals inspires me. Today, I’m writing about the flip side – when talented athletes falter and rip your heart out in the process.

The other day I wrote about my perfect day walking around the grounds of Medinah Country Club with my family, enjoying the scenery as well as the atmosphere of the first Ryder Cup to be held in the area. By the time Saturday night rolled around, the American team had taken a huge lead in the event and it looked as if we had finally beaten the Europeans at their own game. If you’ve been away from your TV or can’t be bothered with this stuff, you might not know that we left that beautiful venue empty-handed. And now my club, (okay, I don’t belong but thanks to my dad I do get to play there on a regular basis), will always be known as the site of one of the biggest disasters in American golf – and that stinks.

I can’t tell you how much I hate myself for taking this stuff so seriously. I can’t believe I woke up twice during the night and the first thing I thought of (no, it wasn’t that I had to use the bathroom) was that stupid golf tournament. My poor dad, who’s been working at Medinah for twenty-three years, said he did the same thing; certain that he was just waking up from a bad dream. But that’s the thing about sports. You invest your time, your energy and your spirit rooting for your team and, if you let it, a crushing defeat will devastate you almost as much as it devastates your team.

You don’t have to remind me that it’s just a game. I’ve been telling myself that all day. I know no one died; everyone will live to fight another day. But we were so close; so close and now we have to wait two years to have another chance.

So now it’s up to the Bears. C’mon guys, I’m counting on you. Don’t ruin my Tuesday.

A Beautiful Day

When you’ve had a few beautiful days, you get to know what they look like. They usually aren’t the big, special days that we all expect to be amazing but are usually over-hyped spectacles that don’t live up to expectations or overworked occasions that can’t be enjoyed due to sheer exhaustion. No, beautiful days are the ones that sneak up on you, the ones that start out small and build to a conclusion that usually involves looking up and saying, “Thank you”.

A golf tournament isn’t supposed to be a part of one of those days - a wedding, yes; a trip to Venice, yes; a golf tournament, I didn’t think so. But today, strolling around the grounds of Medinah Country Club with my husband, my dad, and my sister, was as good as any day walking under the Eiffel Tower.

Sharing a sunny September day with three of my favorite people reminded me once again how lucky I am. Despite the fact that our "picnic" under one of the enormous oak trees cost $36.50, the day couldn’t have been better. My dad, so happy to be there with his girls, walked around like he owned the joint. And he kind of does. After working there for 23 years, he knows just about everything there is to know about the place. Seeing his excitement about the Ryder Cup coming to “his” club made us all appreciate the time together even more. We only had a few hours before he needed to do a shift change with other members of the family (he wants to make sure everybody gets their chance) but it was enough.

As I get older, I realize more and more how little one really needs to be happy. Time spent in the sunshine with people you love is more than enough to make one beautiful day.