I have lived with Type 1 Diabetes since I was twenty-one months old. It has never been a background detail in my life, it is woven into every morning I wake up, every meal I eat, and every round of golf I play. Managing T1D as a competitive athlete means carrying an invisible workload that most people never see. Before I ever step onto a course, I am checking my CGM, adjusting my t:slim insulin pump, and carefully calculating what my body will need across eighteen holes. Between shots I am monitoring my levels, eating to stay in range, and making constant adjustments that have nothing to do with golf and everything to do with simply functioning. For a long time, I thought I had it figured out. Then a regional tournament showed me how much I still had to learn. My blood glucose crashed on the first tee. I topped the ball badly, my body working against me before I ever had a chance to compete. By the 14th hole, my coach told me my season was over. Standing there, holding back tears, I felt something I had never felt before — a genuine desire to walk away from the game entirely. It felt deeply unfair to work as hard as I had, only to have my own body betray me on the biggest day of my season. But that tournament, as painful as it was, became the turning point that shaped who I am today. I went back to my endocrinologist and we dove deep, adjusting my pump settings specifically for the physical demands of competitive golf, dialing in my pre-round nutrition, and building a management plan designed around performance rather than just survival. I stopped treating T1D as something to work around and started treating it as something to work with. The difference that work made became clear this spring when I received an invite-only opportunity to play in the 2026 Denver Broncos Alumni Tournament, competing alongside retired NFL players including former Bronco Don Summers. Standing on that first tee — the same moment that had broken me at regionals, I crushed my drive and set the tone for a great round. My numbers were level, my mind was clear, and I played some of the best golf of my life, highlighted by several birdies throughout the round. That round did not happen because T1D got easier. It happened because I got better at carrying it. (The attached picture is me before the tournament) T1D has shaped me in ways I am still discovering. It has made me disciplined, detail-oriented, and relentlessly self-aware. It has taught me that preparation is not optional it is survival. And it has given me an empathy for others facing invisible challenges that I could not have developed any other way. My goal is to pursue PGA Golf Management and ultimately become a PGA Tour level swing coach. I want to work at the highest level of the game, and I want to do it as someone who has never had the luxury of taking a single round for granted. T1D did not derail that dream. If anything, it made me more certain of it because I have already proven, one birdie at a time, that I can compete at my best even when the conditions are hardest.

When people picture a high school student, they rarely picture someone simultaneously earning a college degree. But that is exactly what a uniquely tailored academic experience made possible for me, and it is setting me up to pursue a career I have been working toward my entire life. Through my high school's ASCENT program and concurrent enrollment at Pikes Peak State College, I was able to design an academic path that worked around the demands of competitive golf, managing Type 1 Diabetes and a subsequent 504 plan, and pursuing a degree that actually mattered to my future. That flexibility was not a shortcut, it was a lifeline. Without it, balancing a 4.0 GPA, varsity golf, volunteering, and the daily invisible work of managing T1D would have been nearly impossible. The ASCENT program gave me the structure to do all of it without having to sacrifice one for another. The results speak for themselves. I just graduated this spring with both a high school diploma and an Associate in Arts degree with a designation in Business. But more than the credential, the concurrent enrollment experience gave me something harder to measure, genuine confidence in my ability to handle college-level work, navigate a college campus, and hold my own in a classroom alongside students older than me. That confidence will carry me directly into my next chapter. I plan to pursue a degree in PGA Golf Management, a program that is built on a business foundation, which means my Associate in Arts with a Business designation transfers 52 credit hours directly toward my degree. That is not a coincidence. I chose my concurrent enrollment coursework with this exact path in mind, treating my high school years as the first chapters of a career rather than a waiting room before real life began. My goal is to become a PGA Tour level swing coach. I want to work at the highest level of the game, helping elite players refine the technical and mental side of their swing. That ambition did not appear out of nowhere. It was shaped by years of competing, coaching youth golfers through the Pikes Peak Linkers Program, and understanding firsthand what it takes to perform under pressure. Golf has taught me that the smallest adjustments can make the biggest difference, and I want to spend my career being the person who finds those adjustments for others. Ryan Murray's story resonates with me because he found his path through an academic experience that fit who he was, not a mold someone else designed for him. That is exactly what ASCENT and concurrent enrollment gave me, a customized launchpad built around my strengths, my goals, and my future. I am leaving high school not just with a diploma, but with a degree, a plan, and the confidence to pursue it at the highest level.

Carolyn Craddock embodied two qualities that are rarely found in equal measure, fierceness and kindness. Reading about her life, I recognized something familiar. Not because my journey mirrors hers exactly, but because Type 1 Diabetes has a way of demanding both of those things from you, every single day, whether you are ready or not. I was diagnosed with T1D at twenty-one months old, I have never known life without it. Managing it as a competitive high school golfer means that before I ever address a ball, I am already managing invisible variables; checking my CGM, adjusting my t:slim insulin pump, and stocking my bag with snacks and Body Armor drinks to keep my levels stable across eighteen holes. Most people watching never see any of that. They just see a golfer. The fierceness T1D has built in me was never clearer than during a regional tournament where my blood glucose crashed before the first tee. I topped the ball badly and on the first hole, and with my blood sugar spiraling, played one of the worst rounds of my life. By the 14th hole my coach told me my season was over. I was crushed and furious. Not at my coach, but at the condition I had carried since before I could walk, the one that had shown up uninvited on the biggest day of my season. I went back to my doctors, rebuilt my management plan, and returned to training more determined than before. That same determination carried into every area of my life. While managing T1D and competing on the golf team, I was also a concurrent enrollment student, and I am proud to say I just graduated with both a high school diploma and an Associate in Arts degree with a designation in Business, simultaneously. That is what T1D has taught me fierceness The kindness side of my character is quieter, but just as intentional. It shows up in the small, consistent ways I try to show up for others. I volunteer at my church as a Kindergarten Sparks leader, spending time with kids who just need someone patient and present in their corner. Each summer I provide care for my grandmother and mow lawns for elderly neighbors, because it is the right thing to do. Through my high school's National Honor Society chapter, I have taken part in service projects that pushed me to give back to my community in meaningful ways like putting together canned food drives, or making meals for Colorado police and fire service members. None of these things are flashy, but I have learned that kindness rarely is and sometimes shouldn't be, it is mostly just showing up, consistently, for the people around you who need it. I also feel a deep responsibility to represent the T1D community well, especially as an athlete. When teammates or classmates have questions about my condition, I always take the time to answer them honestly. I want people to understand what T1D actually looks like, not the stereotypes, but the real, daily discipline it requires. And on the course, no matter what my blood sugar is doing, I do not yell, throw clubs, or lose my composure, things I witnessed a lot in tournaments by other players. That restraint is a choice I make deliberately, because I know that how I carry myself reflects not just on me, but on every athlete and nonathlete managing this condition who comes after me.

Golf gave me a community before I ever fully understood what that meant. It was not until I started volunteering with the Pikes Peak Linkers Program that I realized just how powerful that gift truly is, and how much it means to be the person who extends it to someone else. Through the Pikes Peak Linkers Program, I led chipping clinics and guided groups of ten to fifteen kids, ranging from ages six to twelve, around the par three course. Teaching golf to that age range requires equal parts instruction and patience, especially when your students are more interested in catching grasshoppers than addressing the ball or when the jr. sized driver is still taller than the kindergarden golfer. But somewhere in the middle of the chaos, real moments happen. One that I will never forget involved a quiet first grader who had recently moved from Oregon to Colorado. He showed up to his first session shy and alone, the kind of kid who stands just outside the circle, hoping someone will pull him in. Over the course of the program, I made a point to check in on him, celebrate his small wins, and make sure he felt like he belonged. Watching him transform from that hesitant newcomer into a kid who showed up each week walking straight toward his group of friends, high-fiving them before we even got to the first hole, and talking to me nonstop on what his favorite car was. That memory told me everything I needed to know about why I want to spend my life in this game. That experience, combined with the lessons I have learned competing in high school regional tournaments while managing Type 1 Diabetes, has shaped exactly the kind of golf professional I want to become. Through PGA Golf Management, I plan to build programs and environments where the game is accessible, welcoming, and fun for all, but especially for young people who might otherwise never find their way to the fairway. I have seen firsthand what golf can do for a lonely kid from Oregon. I want to spend my career making sure more people get that chance. The biggest lesson golf has taught me is not about swing mechanics or course management. It is about showing up for people. That lesson started on a par three course with a group of kids and a bucket of range balls, and it will carry me through everything that comes next.

Golf has always been more than a sport to me, it is where I feel most alive. There is something irreplaceable about standing on a sun-lit fairway with friends or family. Whether it's the quiet competition between us pushing each of us to be better, or the rounds where me and my golf teammates could not control our laughter because of the way our coach pronounced the word “gummies”, or the great family memories that I have, like my dads first hole in one at Valley Hi Golf Course in Colorado Springs (Picture Included). That combination of the outdoors, the camaraderie, and the thrill of competing is what first drew me to the game, and it is what keeps me coming back every single day. Over the years, golf has taught me something I did not expect, how to lead gently. Through my involvement with the Pikes Peak Linkers Program, I discovered that the best leaders do not push, they guide. One moment that stands out came when a close friend of mine was struggling during a state tournament, it was one of those days where his swing had just disappeared. Rather than offering hollow encouragement, I walked alongside him, listened, and helped him find his footing again. He later told me that only because of my encouragement did he come back for day two of the tournament, which he played much better in. He went from second to last in the field to better than half of the field in an 80 player tournament. But my journey has not always been graceful. I live with Type 1 Diabetes, and managing it, especially in competition, is a challenge most people never see. During one regional tournament, my blood glucose crashed. Standing on the first tee, I topped the ball badly and with my blood sugar spiraling, proceeded to play one of the worst rounds of my life. By the 14th hole my coach, and I will never forget it, said, “you're not going to make the cut, you're not going to state. Just enjoy what you have left for this golf season because this is it” he ment well but I was crushed and held back tears for the rest of the round because I had worked incredibly hard to get to regionals and had the capacity to go to state. In the aftermath, I struggled. I was frustrated and, honestly, angry. Angry that I had to carry something other players did not. It felt unfair, and for a while, I considered never playing the game again. But eventually, with fond memories of friends on the course and help from my family, that frustration turned into fuel. I got back to my doctors, adjusted my management plan, and returned to training with a renewed sense of purpose. T1D has not disappeared and it never will, but I have stopped letting it define what I am capable of and how far I can go. If anything, learning to compete with it has sharpened my mental toughness in ways that ordinary challenges never could have. Golf has brought me to my lowest moments on the course but has also given me the tools and memories to rise back up. It has made me resilient, empathetic, and deeply grateful for every round I get to play.