But not this year.
This year we were cruising along with a record high number of sponsorships and raffle donations, bemoaning the fact that we had to close the tournament to some golfers because we sold out. Volunteer life was good, until one of my golfing Facebook friends posted an ominous note a week before: “looks wet Monday, augh”.
“Augh” was right, as I checked the 10-day forecast, which showed rain the day of our event. Huge rain. Flash flood producing rain. Potential golf tournament canceling rain.
And so the worry marathon began. Just as a watched pot never boils, watched weather never improves. In fact, it often gets worse. And although I realized there was not a darn thing I could do about it, my nervous system wouldn’t listen. By Tuesday, insomnia kicked in, prompting me to post blurry eyed 3 a.m. comments on Facebook like “We said rain or shine, right?!” and “Remember its for a good cause!” Wednesday, sleep comes in fitful intervals with nightmares of waterfalls, white water rafting and drowning peppered with talk radio in which every call is about storm preparation.
By Thursday, I’m so exhausted I fall asleep in my car during lunch with my sunroof open- wondering why Monday’s forecast can’t be as nice as today- and wake up 20 minutes later covered with tree residue while a guy with a camera stares at me through my passenger window, certain I’m now posted on some messed-up site called “random pictures of people sleeping”.
By Friday, I’ve developed a quivering tick in my left eye and wonder if my staff thinks I’m winking at them. Every email with the subject “golf” makes me sick to my stomach. Every missed call on my phone taunts me as no one leaves a message after they hear my fake chipper voice confirming “It’s on!”
I finally decide to take a weather worry day off, and not check again until Sunday night. But on Saturday an acquaintance sends a note that the weather seems to be changing, which prompts me to jump on weather.com and see that yes, it is indeed changing! In fact, the storm that had been previously spread out over several days is now centered directly over the golf tournament, indicted by a giant cloud/rain/thunder icon I’ve never seen on weather.com before that looks like the black cloud of evil hanging over Philadelphia in the final battle of Ghostbusters.
At this point, I become a human calculator doing the math on the losses that could potentially incur as the weather forecast worsens. It’s not much of a leap until I’m imagining a scenario where we not only don’t have a tournament, but we end up owing money- literally “in the hole”- resulting in no scholarships, kids being denied a college education because they have no way to pay, which leads to high unemployment and economic ruin. Then I remember some of that stuff has happened already without my help, which only makes me feel worse.
If you expect me to wrap this up with a happy ending, you are right, but not because the weather changed. We still had rain. Heavy rain. Flood producing rain. But on tournament day, as the early morning minutes ticked by, golfers began to show up. Then more. And finally, we found ourselves with a nearly full tournament despite having to shorten it to nine holes. In fact, it was a record year for us, so go figure.
It’s now the Friday after our tournament, and reflecting back on the worry that eventually turned into WOW, I’m relieved to have it all behind me. As I prepare to volunteer at another outdoors event tonight, The Derby Street Mile, the forecast of widely scattered showers signals significantly less stress. Until a co-worker runs into my window-less office a few hours before the race with a handful of dripping ice cubes, and screams, “I just caught this falling out of the sky!”
“Awesome.” I respond, with a twitch of my left eye. Here we go again.
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