01시련을 넘어 필드로, 멈추지 않는 도전 정신
골프 코스는 때로는 단순한 경기장을 넘어 인생의 축복이자 가장 혹독한 시험대가 되기도 합니다. 암 진단이라는 인생 최대의 난관에 봉착하고도 클럽을 놓지 않은 골퍼의 이야기는 많은 이들에게 깊은 울림을 전하고 있습니다.
병마와 싸우는 과정은 매 순간이 고통의 연속이지만, 필드 위에 서면 오직 '지금 당장의 한 샷'에만 집중하며 자신과의 싸움을 이어갑니다. 투병 중에도 코스에 서는 것은 단순히 승패를 겨루기 위함이 아니라, 삶에 대한 강한 의지와 골프를 향한 변함없는 열정을 증명하는 과정입니다.
한 홀 한 홀을 이겨내듯 차근차근 병마와 맞서 싸우는 이 모습은 같은 아픔을 겪고 있는 많은 이들에게 커다란 용기와 희망의 메시지를 전달합니다. 필드 위에서 펼쳐지는 희망의 여정은 오늘도 한 걸음씩 앞으로 나아가고 있습니다.
02Original (English) — LPGA
Kim Kaufman first joined the LPGA Tour in 2014 and currently competes on the Epson Tour. She is a breast cancer survivor and lives in Fort Worth, Texas with her husband, Johan.
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In golf, you learn pretty quickly that you’re not in control.
You can do everything right and still get a bad bounce. So, you stop trying to control everything and focus on what you can: your preparation, your response, your mindset.
I’ve spent my entire career doing that. I just never expected to need those skills the way I did.
Golf has been part of my identity for as long as I can remember. I’ve spent more than a decade as a touring professional — seven years on the LPGA Tour and the last four on the Epson Tour.
All of us on the Epson Tour share a common goal each year: make it to the LPGA Tour. And it’s a tough road to get there.
My 2024 season was good, just not quite good enough. At the conclusion of the Epson Tour Championship in October, the season’s top 15 players received their LPGA Tour cards. I finished 16th on the money list, so where I played in 2025 – the Epson Tour or LPGA – ultimately came down to how I did in Q-Series in the fall.
I thought that was going to be the worst thing that happened to me that year.
But less than two weeks after the end of the Epson Tour season, on October 19, 2024, I got a phone call that changed everything.
A few weeks earlier, I’d gone for my annual women’s wellness exam. Usually, it’s something to check off my to-do list, and then I move on with my life. This time, my doctor told me I needed a mammogram.
When I got home from the Epson Tour Championship, I went for the mammogram, then an ultrasound and a biopsy, all within 24 hours. When I got a call two days later – on a Saturday – I knew it was bad news.
“The results came back positive. You have breast cancer. Your next step is to see a surgeon.”
In the span of just a few minutes, my priorities shifted completely. Golf became insignificant. The only thing that mattered was: What do I do now?
I’m a Type A kind of person. I organize. I schedule. I plan. So, I didn’t spend much time asking, why me?
Instead, I was more like, Okay. Here’s the situation. What’s the plan?
That’s how I’ve always handled golf, too. Hit a bad shot? Figure out where you are, decide what comes next, and move forward.
You could say I approached breast cancer the way I approach golf: Consult the experts. Make a plan. Prepare relentlessly.
But at the time, I didn’t fully appreciate how much my experience as a professional athlete was going to help me navigate cancer.
Sports teach you how to deal with adversity. How to narrow your focus. How to manage your body, your energy and your emotions. They also teach you how to keep going when things are uncomfortable, exhausting or unfair.
Cancer demanded every one of those skills, and cancer reinforced some of the things I’ve learned in golf as well.
You can do all the “right things” and still hear the words nobody wants to hear. Genetics matter. Timing matters. So does luck. I was in various treatment regimens for more than seven months. I had surgery in November 2024 and started chemo in January. I did four rounds, which lasted until early April, followed by 33 radiation sessions.
On June 2, 2025, I finished all my active treatment. For most of that time, I didn’t touch my golf clubs.
Not because I couldn’t, but because I wasn’t sure I wanted to play professionally anymore.
The truth is, before cancer, golf had become a grind. When I returned to the Epson Tour after seven years on the LPGA, I thought it was a “pit stop” in my career. I told myself, I’ll play here for a year or two, get my game back, and go back to the LPGA.
After four years, that hadn’t happened. Going from competing all over the world on the LPGA Tour to buying a pushcart to lug my own clubs around on the Epson Tour was a difficult pill to swallow, and I’d started to ask myself if it was time to move on.
So, when cancer forced me to take a break from golf, I wanted to see if I missed it.
I missed the work. I missed the competition. I missed the challenge of a sport that you’ll never fully master. And I really, really missed the people and that feeling of belonging this difficult, demanding – but beautiful – game provides.
Cancer took golf away from me for a while. And somehow, in doing that, it gave it back. When I started practicing again, the game felt different. Lighter. More joyful. More purposeful.
I’d been away from competition for nearly nine months and decided to play a “test event” on the Women’s All Pro Tour in Muskogee, Okla. It was dreadfully hot, and the course conditions were rough. But what I remember most is how happy and excited I was to tee it up again. It felt like a milestone in my recovery, and it solidified that playing professional golf was exactly what I wanted to do with my life.
I played two more test events in 2025 and was then invited to compete in the Epson event in Arkansas in September. It felt like coming home in the best possible way. I made it to the final stage of qualifying in December and have played a full schedule in 2026.
But I’ll be honest, I’ve been disappointed with my performance this year. This season has seen its ups and downs, just like it did before the cancer. I’m now ranked 65th in the Race for the Card, a far cry from where I was two years ago entering the Epson Tour Championship.
And while I definitely have a newfound gratitude for my career after having to fight for it as hard as I did, the competitor never leaves you. I still get angry after double bogeys. I still get mad when I three-putt. I still expect to play as well as I know I can and am bummed when that doesn’t happen.
But in those moments of frustration, I catch myself and think, A year ago, I wasn’t counting shots or stressing about my results. I was counting the days until I finished treatment.
That perspective doesn’t stay with you on its own, though. You have to work at it. I do think cancer stripped away some of that noise.
I’ve also made some changes to my lifestyle. I take better care of myself now and am healthier than I’ve ever been. That’s one silver lining.
There are others, too. The way my family became even closer.
The way I see my career now — not as something I have to do, but something I get to do.
And the way people showed up for me. I’ve learned that cancer affects an entire community, not just the patient.
My mom and sister came for my second chemo session and were ready to travel in for all of them until I said, “I’ve got this.” My support team at home was led by my husband, Johan, and close friend, Angela Stanford.
We decided early on that Angela could help with my medical appointments so Johan could continue working. While it feels like your entire world stops for cancer treatment, the bills still need to be paid. Knowing that we had Johan’s income to get us through was a huge relief.
Angela lost her mom to breast cancer, and she taught me how to navigate the treatment process. When I told her I was going for my first appointment with my surgeon, she asked to come along. She knew I needed two sets of ears, and she had practical advice to give along the way at every stage of the treatment process.
She sat with me through chemo, relentlessly watching the clock and changing my cold cap right on time so I wouldn’t lose my hair. She laughed with me in a room that felt eerily somber.
Athletes on both the LPGA and Epson Tours reached out constantly. Dorsey Addicks sold “Kim’s Army” shirts with the proceeds going to the Joan Katz Cancer Resource Center in Ft. Worth.
Members at Shady Oaks Country Club organized a “Stand Up for Kim” event and supported me in ways I’ll never forget. Some days, I’d open my front door and find bags of groceries waiting for us.
I was overwhelmed by the generosity, support and care I received. Some of it came from people I’d never met before — women who had already walked this road and reached out to help guide me through.
I understand now why survivors do that for one another. When someone helps you carry the weight, you want to help carry it for the next person.
And that's a big part of why I’m sharing my story.
I’m a private person. If I weren’t a professional golfer, I probably wouldn’t have written this essay or posted about being diagnosed. But when I had to withdraw from 2024 Q-Series, I knew I had to say something. When I did, I realized there were bigger reasons to share what I was going through.
Women in sports have helped lead the conversation around breast cancer awareness and early detection for decades. On the LPGA, athletes like Kathy Linney, Heather Farr, Val Skinner, Judy Rankin, Jan Stephenson and many others have helped make those important conversations more visible and more human.
The other reason is more personal. Even with all the love and support I received, cancer can feel deeply lonely.
I want people going through it to know they are not alone. And if someone facing cancer or any other illness reads these words, I hope they think, She did it. So can I.
When I was in chemo, I remember looking around the room thinking, I wish I could give some of these women what sports gave me.
Not a perfect attitude. Not fearlessness. Not courage.
Athletes learn how to face adversity. How to stay in the present. How to focus on the next shot instead of getting overwhelmed by the entire round.
That mindset mattered more than I ever realized.
Cancer was the hardest round of my life. But golf had prepared me for it long before I ever knew I’d need those lessons:
Control what you can. Assess where you are.
And when things get hard, keep moving forward.