This reflection was written by TCF supporter Ryan Marsh (pictured right)
This past June, I had the honor of participating in the Golf Fights Cancer (GFC) Golf Marathon event—a truly unforgettable experience that combined my love of the game and my passion to give back. Alongside my dear friend, Colin Carey, we played as the TargetCancer Foundation team, dedicating our time, energy, and emotions to the course in memory of two people who shaped our lives: Colin’s Dad and my Mom, both of whom we lost to cancer in 2017.
I’ve played a lot of golf in my life, but was not sure I was quite prepared for 100 holes. The challenge was as mental as it was physical—sunrise to sunset, navigating the course, spacing the beverages. But even before we teed off, we were greeted by the GFC team, and we knew exactly why we were there.
Participants on Day 1 of the 2025 Golf Fights Cancer Golf Marathon in Northborough, MA.
This wasn’t just a test of endurance. It was a tribute. The event is not your typical charity tournament. No scramble. No gimmicks. No auctions. It was golf at its most raw and personal—just us, our swings, and the memory of people we love. Finding holes to play. Playing them multiple times. And moving on to the next.
Throughout the day, we talked about our parents—laughing at stories, sharing moments we miss, and reflecting on everything they taught us. The day gave us plenty of time to grieve, to celebrate, and to feel deeply connected—not just to our own families, but to everyone out there playing for someone they lost or someone currently fighting.
If you know Colin and me, you know we are similar … but different. 
100 holes in a cart together had its ups and downs, but it was really cathartic—every step and every swing—was more than just golf. We told stories, obviously laughed, and talked a lot about all the people who donated (time and money) to support us. Any aches or pains we felt were nothing compared to the weight of those battling this horrific disease.
Colin’s dad was the kind of person who brought people together, who could light up a room with humor, warmth, and obviously a dance move. My mom was more of a quiet force—strong, kind, and fiercely loving. We carried them with us all day. We played for them.
Colin introduced me to TargetCancer Foundation years ago when he ran his first marathon with Team TCF, and I got to know them even better when my childhood friend, Patty C., joined their 2024 Boston Marathon team. It was more of an honor than I imagined to be part of the team myself. It brought an added layer of connection and meaning. TargetCancer is dedicated to finding treatments for rare cancers—an often-overlooked area of cancer research. Their mission resonates deeply with me and many around me.
There’s something truly remarkable about being surrounded by people who “get it”—who know what it’s like to lose someone too soon and who choose to channel that loss into action.
The support from Samantha and the TCF team was incredible—cheering us on, providing matching shirts and water fans (did I mention it was 100 degrees?), and collectively raising awareness and funds that will one day change outcomes for families like ours. The event raised over $1.1M with everyone we met having a remarkable story and a very personal “why” to their playing.
After the 100th hole, we were toast—sunburned, sore, and emotionally drained. But we were also filled with something more important: gratitude. This Colbert quote about grief took me a while to understand, but now is my favorite: “I have come to love the things I most wish never happened. If you are grateful for your life, then you have to be grateful for all of it.”
I don’t love that my Mom passed away, nor Colin’s Dad, but we choose to celebrate them and fight for a cause that impacts everyone at one point in their lives.
It was an honor to play in the Golf Fights Cancer event. I’m beyond grateful for being there, for the support of friends and family who donated, encouraged, and believed in the cause. And grateful for Colin and for the kind of friendship that makes something like this possible.
We will 100% be back next year.
For Colin’s dad.
For my mom.
For everyone still fighting.
For a future without cancer.