A sharp pain in my abdomen stopped me in my tracks on Amen Corner. A pain that I am all too familiar with. With each step I tried to take, it jolted through the rest of my body to the point of immobilizing me. A volunteer at Augusta National spotted my struggle and asked if I was OK. I was not. The kind man, with his warm, southern drawl — whose name I regret not getting — offered to seek assistance to get me off the course.
Crohn’s Disease, which has been a part of my life for the past 20 years, showed its ugly head at golf’s most beautiful corner. I’ve been poked, prodded and cut open enough times in my life to understand exactly what was happening last April. Tests in the following weeks confirmed what I already knew: I would have to go under the knife again — and the result of that procedure called for another several months later. Between surgeries, I was on a heavy drug regimen that required 10 to 12 hours of IV treatments daily.
One day, you’re freely roaming Amen Corner, and the next, you feel like you’re on house arrest with an IV pole playing the role of an ankle monitor. I was a prisoner in my own body for most of the last year.
“Gut It Out” are words I’ve learned to live by. Yes, there’s a literal component to it after having guts literally ripped out of me on several occasions. Yes, I have Crohn’s disease, but I refuse to let it have me. Whether I’m feeling great or in the middle of a flare up, I attack everything with a “gut it out” mentality. I refuse the notion of not being able to get through whatever obstacle life puts in front of me, and last year’s hellacious experience was no different.
I ARRIVED AT AUGUSTA THIS YEAR with last year’s experience on my mind. In the lead up to the Masters, whenever I saw highlights of Rory McIlroy’s 2025 victory, the first thought I had was a dark one. I was taken back to that day at Amen Corner, and to all the hard days and thoughts that followed.
But in the last two months, I’ve felt more like myself than I did in all of 2025. I was looking forward to a healthy return to Amen Corner. Early on Tuesday morning, I did just that. I took a solo walk out to the exact location where things went awry for me. I stood there for a moment of stoic silence. I didn’t want to talk to anyone or acknowledge the significance to anyone but myself. A quiet goal I set for myself was to get back to this spot in good health. A clear mind replaced those dark-clouded thoughts beneath blue skies.
A few days later, the Masters communication team put out a video that struck a chord with me. I watched it on repeat and let these words sink in:
“In a world that’s louder than ever, there’s power in a place of calm. Beautiful moments that don’t last forever. We all leave this week feeling different. Lighter. Closer to those we love. Feeling empowered to feel this way as long as we can. That’s the power of being present.”
I felt this to my core. The calm I found in the beauty of Amen Corner this year is something I won’t forget. I left the week feeling different. I know how fast good days can turn to bad, but in that moment, that didn’t matter. I reflected on those I love and how they supported me. After spending so much time feeling powerless, the morning sun beaming through those tall Georgia pines gave my body a solar-powered charge. I was present, and I maintained that present mentality every time I stepped foot on the course for the rest of the week.
The Masters is known for its rich history of traditions, but you won’t find mine anywhere on their social feeds. As Tuesday was winding down, I took a stroll with Josh Berhow, GOLF’s managing editor. We’ve taken a “calm before the storm” walk around Amen Corner with a drink in hand every year that we’ve attended the Masters together.
What he doesn’t know is how much that stroll took out of me last year, and how much it meant to do it again this year. But it’s these rituals that feel like a return to normalcy for me.
I knew what Amen Corner meant to me this year, and by being present the rest of the week, I was able to soak it in — better than I ever have before — and even see how much it meant to those around me. On Wednesday, I chatted with a Chinese couple and their 8-year-old boy, who was anxiously waiting for a glimpse of Haotong Li. They were thrilled to see him at Augusta. I walked the 13th with a pair of lifelong friends from the English countryside, who were there to cheer on Justin Rose. And after I finished a Friday morning sweet tea on the 11th fairway, I offered my empty cup to a woman who added them to her stack, which her nearby grandson was taking back to his fraternity house next week. (Grandma gave him an old bacon-collared Masters polo from his grandfather to wear, and he happily obliged.)
On Saturday, I spent a few hours with Maureen Farrell, a close friend and GOLF Top 100 Teacher to Watch, and her father, Tom. Maureen had surprised her dad with tickets on Monday. Snagging seats in the grandstands behind the 12th tee as the final groups come through is among the best seats in the house. That’s what we did, and that’s where reflection started to sink in once again.
Amen Corner brought these people together. In theory, you can lock your phone away anywhere to spend quality time with loved ones. And in theory, that sounds simple enough. But you simply can’t match the unexplainable feeling and aura that exists at Amen Corner.
It’s the closest thing to a spiritual setting in golf. I used to scoff at the mention of that. We’re talking about a golf course in the middle of Georgia? But after my moments of reflective solitude, reliving first-time experiences with strangers and witnessing a father-daughter dream fulfilled, I finally understood.
Amen Corner is a special place, and it was ironically the setting I needed for my closure. But it doesn’t need to be yours. Whatever you’re going through, gut it out and find your inner peace.
It’s the ups and downs in life that help shape the people we become. For me, I’ve always learned more on the way down this rollercoaster ride. But last week was a reminder that I’m on my way back up. I like this view better.
