Returning to the Cologuard Classic

Unsponsored, Uncommitted, and More Moved Than Ever

Five years ago, I walked into my first Cologuard Classic as one of roughly 140 patient advocates gathered in Tucson. This year, I walked in as one of 500. No sponsor. No commitments. No schedule to keep. Just me, the desert sun, and a tournament that has quietly become one of the most meaningful weekends of my year.

Being there without organizational obligations felt strange at first. For years, the Cologuard Classic had been structured around who I was attending with and what I was there to do. This time, I just got to be present. And it turns out, being present is when the best things happen.

A Trophy, a Champion, and a Full-Circle Moment

Saturday afternoon, I found myself talking with Wendi Hawkins and her daughter in Survivor Central on the 15th green. Wendi had been paired with Steven Alker, the same golfer I was paired with last year when he won the championship. As Alker crept within two shots of the lead, I got to share with her what that day felt like for me. I couldn’t promise anything, I told her, but I would absolutely be pulling for history to repeat itself.

It did.

Alker won again, in a playoff, on the same hole as last year. Two firsts for the tournament came with that victory. And somehow, I was asked to present the trophy to Wendi. Standing there in that moment, knowing her story, knowing she had lost her husband to colorectal cancer, knowing she has remained a tireless advocate through all of it, it was one of those moments that defies easy description. It was an honor I didn’t expect and will never forget.

Andre Is an Idiot (But He’s Also All of Us)

One of the unexpected highlights of the week was a screening of Andre Is an Idiot, a documentary that is, in equal measure, one of the funniest and most emotionally gutting things I’ve ever watched. Andre was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer after refusing to get a colonoscopy when he was supposed to. The film is raw, real, and exactly the kind of storytelling that moves people from awareness to action. We laughed. We cried. We all knew an Andre.

The Empty Spaces

But this year also had a different kind of weight to it, the weight of absence.

My roommate from last year, Nic Young, wasn’t there. Liz Healy, someone I first met here two years ago who became one of the fiercest advocates I’ve ever known, passed away earlier this year. Taken by the same disease she fought so hard to raise awareness about. And Jill MacDonald, my CRC sister and fellow FightCRC ambassador, wasn’t there either. Jill was someone who showed all of us what it looks like to live fully while in the middle of treatment, year after year. The tournament felt different without her energy in the crowd.

There were others, too. Shawn Gibson, who for years was a cornerstone of getting the Man Up to Cancer crew where they needed to go, was missed. This year, Don Helgeson stepped up and coordinated rides for everyone, making sure nobody in our group was left stranded at an airport. That kind of quiet, logistical love matters more than people realize.

The End of an Era

There was a larger transition hovering over this year’s event as well. Exact Sciences, the title sponsor and maker of the Cologuard test, is being acquired by Abbott. Meaning this was the final Cologuard Classic with Exact Sciences as its own standalone company. Kevin Conroy, their longtime CEO, has stepped down as part of that transition.

It’s the end of something, and it’s right to acknowledge that. But the commitment has been made: the Cologuard sponsorship will continue. The tournament, the advocacy gathering, the mission. All of it carries forward. That matters.

500 Strong

When I think about 140 advocates five years ago growing to 500 today, I don’t just see a number. I see Liz. I see Jill. I see Wendi holding a trophy. I see a room full of people who either beat this disease, are fighting it right now, or lost someone to it, and who refuse to let that be the end of the story.

Coming to the Cologuard Classic unsponsored this year meant I was free to feel all of it. The joy, the grief, the full-circle moments, the absences that sting, the new connections that fill you back up. I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

See you in Tucson next year.