Tales from the Men's Locker Room

Fair warning – do not read this post while you’re eating.  It will most definitely ruin whatever lovely meal you have planned.  On second thought, if you’re like me (and really, who wouldn’t want to be like me?) you probably are used to eating delicious tailgate food while watching Cleveland Browns football, so it can’t be any worse than that.

The men’s locker room.  

One of the most disgusting and hilarious places that you’ll ever find. 

It’s a place where towels are completely optional.  Want to walk around, strutting your manhood publically on your way to the shower while holding your towel in your hand?  Sure, go ahead, you’re in the men’s locker room. 

It’s a place where eye contact is key.  In fact, it’s probably best to just stare at the ceiling while walking around so you don’t inadvertently ruin your day by the sight of somebody's dear grandfather getting in one last stretch completely nude.

It’s a place where some of the funniest things on this Earth occur.  These examples below are 100% true and not exaggerated one bit.  You can’t make this stuff up.  Here are some of the characters at my gym:

Blow Dry His Junk Guy

I have no clue what his real name is, but I’ll call him Dale.  One, he kind of looks like a Dale.  And two, if you had to guess the name of a guy that takes a blow dryer to the crotch; wouldn’t Dale be on the short list of finalists?  That’s what I thought.

Dale has the same locker room routine every day.  He stands in front of the mirror, takes the blow dryer in hand, and then proceeds to dry off completely……everywhere.  A towel simply just isn’t enough for Dale – he must have electric hot air accelerate the evaporation of water particles on his junk.  Dale HATES towels.  He is a sans-towel man, as one would expect when being described as Blow Dry His Junk Guy. 

Dale’s shenanigans were finally thwarted once the gym staff found out about his foibles.  This sign was posted at every counter with a hair dryer.  Oh, but a small laminated piece of paper didn’t stop ‘Ole Dale though.  He still, from time-to-time will take his liberties with the hair dryer.  Needless to say, I moved my locker to the other side of the locker room.

To this day, this is the funniest sign I've ever seen.

Flosses His Teeth Completely Nude at the Sink Guy

This gentleman has a disdain for towels, but LOVES dental hygiene.  Like clockwork, at 11:45am every day as I am finishing my workout, Floss Man stands completely nude at the sink brushing his teeth, flossing his teeth, and then getting a nice shave in.  It's a 5-minute nude routine that would be much better served in his bathroom at home. 

Smarties in the Shower Guy

As I was showering a few weeks back, I looked down at the shampoo and did a double-take.  Between the bottles of shampoo and conditioner sat a soaking wet half-eaten roll of Smarties.  I had so many questions.  The only thing I knew for sure is that he had to have been 60+ in age, because nobody younger than that eats Smarties.  I’ll be on the look-out for Werther’s Original and Bit-O-Honey in the shower in the future.  Gross.

Socks at the Urinal Guy

It’s best practice to wear flip flops in the locker room. 99% of gym members behave like normal human beings, and then there is Socks at the Urinal Guy. 

Before going on a run, I saw a man who was changing after a workout.  I could tell that he had already showered. He had on underwear and socks, and that’s it. As far as locker room gym attire goes, he basically was dressed for winter.  He proceeded to the urinal to do his business and then back to his locker, where he put on the rest of his clothes and shoes, pissy socks and all. 

Nude Executive Guys

There are numerous benefits of having a gym across the street from work.  Subsidized gym costs, marathon training, genuine stress relief…It’s super-convenient.  It’s also super-awkward sometimes.

A few years back, I saw three VP-level executives from my company having an extended conversation with each other completely nude right next to my locker.  They were talking about my company's retail strategy, a conversation that is better served in a boardroom......fully-clothed.  

As Blow Dry His Junk Guy as my witness, two of the guys were doing the Captain Morgan pose on the bench.  For those non-drinkers that have no clue what I'm referencing, see the picture below and then let your imagination go wild.  I quickly changed and got out of dodge before they engaged me in conversation.  Again....you can't make this stuff up.

So what say you?  Have you ever been knocked over by the swaying breeze of a pants-less old man?  If you've had any awkward gym encounters I want to hear them!

2015 Akron Marathon Recap

Every race brings its own set of challenges.  For the 2015 Akron Marathon, it certainly wasn’t the weather.  A runner could not ask for a more perfect race day.  At 60 degrees at the starting line at 6:30am – it really was “no-excuses weather”, as Frank Shorter, a gold medal winner in the 1972 Olympic marathon told the runners over the loud speaker just before the race began.  The weather may have offered “no-excuses”, but I had plenty of them in the weeks leading up to the Akron Marathon. 

Phil doing a great job not looking Poop-His-Pants-Scared
at the starting line before his first race

My particular challenge for this race was trying to overcome a right knee injury that seriously hindered my training.  I was already on an accelerated training schedule, opting for 10-weeks of training instead of my usual 16-week schedule, so I was nervous.  About halfway into this training I had an unbearable pain on the outside of my right knee that prohibited me from walking normal, let alone run. 

I am a stubborn person, so I still had my sights on running this race 6 weeks out, no matter how bad my leg hurt.  I took two weeks off, and miraculously….the pain was gone.  I returned to training and got one more long run in of 11 miles on a Saturday two weeks before the race and then uh-oh…..Hobbling Old Man Ryan was back in full force.  I was rather disappointed, but still I was determined, come hell or high water that I was running this race.  This was going to be my brother in-law Phil’s first half marathon and I promised him I would be there.  And any promise made after sharing an entire bottle of bourbon late at night deserves to be carried through.

I went to the doctor the Tuesday of race week and was diagnosed with IT Band Syndrome.  It’s a common running injury that comes from overuse, but holy hell can it be bad.  After an x-ray and 2 hours in a waiting room, Dr. Shah, who happens to be the medical director for the Akron Marathon, shot my knee up with cortisone.  What a magical and wonderful drug.  Minutes after the shot, I was dancing around the office with nary the pain like Charlie Bucket’s Grandpa Joe after realizing he gets free chocolate.  My golden ticket was the chance to run the Blue Line with little to no pain.  I was ecstatic.

The race itself was the cherry on-top.  After mile 2, I quickly revised my race-day goal of finishing under two hours to just finishing the race without stopping to walk.  I’ve never ran all the way through, so that was a lofty goal in itself.  I just wanted to have fun out there – I went through enough pain just to get to race day – no need to push it to the limit. 

A few of the mile highlights:

Mile 2 – Made the awful decision to drink a free milkshake that Swenson’s was handing out in front of their North Akron restaurant.  It may have only been 4 ounces of goodness, but milkshake + 13 miles of running = potential horrible outcome.

Mile 4 – Up until this point Phil and I were running together.  I know the city like the back of my hand, so I let him know that a steady downhill stretch was around the corner.  He took this moment to run faster downhill to make up some time and left me in the dust for good.  With IT Band Syndrome, downhill running hurts more than anything due to the stress it puts on the knees, so this was no time to keep up with Phil.

Mile 7 – I saw Eileen and my mom waiting for me on the corner of Spicer and Exchange.  At last year’s Akron Marathon, Eileen was 8 months pregnant with Annie and came down to cheer me on.  It was one of the most emotional moments of my life….running my first half marathon, becoming a father for the first time, and seeing my proud wife cheering me on, I cried buckets for a good quarter mile.  A year later I have 3 half marathons under my belt and we just celebrated Annie’s first birthday yesterday.  So much changes in the course of a year.  It’s always great seeing your family cheer you on – they are my biggest fans.

Miles 8 – It was during mile 8 that my competitive spirit was thrown out the window.  I decided here that I was not going to push myself and cause further injury.  I just wanted to have fun, while not stopping until I cross the finish line.  Although the next 5 miles were not fun – I had a blast running them.  I know, doesn’t make sense right?  Only a runner can truly understand that statement.  One of my favorite running quotes is. “It hurts more to stop than it does to keep going”.  That was certainly the case here.

Mile 10 – My knee starts to tingle, then goes kinda numb.  Fun!

Proud guys with their medals and watered-down
beers at the finishing party in the outfield

Mile 12 - When you’re running a race, the crowd support is real.  It keeps you going when you feel like quitting and motivates you to be your best.  At this point of the race I saw a sign held by a young girl that said “Tap Here for Girl Power”.  Whewww, thank goodness, I was running low.  You bet your ass I tapped the sign – now, with a re-fueled and full supply of Girl Power, I was heading towards the finish line.

The last 0.1 – Always the best part of the race.  The home stretch, through the right field wall and down the first base line to the finish line.  The feeling is indescribable.  I crossed the finish line at 2:07:04, a full 8 minutes off my PR earlier this year in Cleveland, but better than my 2:28 finish in Akron last year.  Baby steps.

After everything I went through just to get to race day, I was proud of myself for finishing.  No, I did not break my 1:59:37 PR that I set back in May at the Cleveland Marathon.  Nor did I keep up with marathon-newbie Phil, who blazed to a sub-2 hour half!  But I did overcome an injury (with the help of Dr. Shah and that wonderful needle full of cortisone) and had an unbelievable time running though my favorite city on Earth, my hometown. See you next year Akron.

A Not-So Brief Hiatus

What a whirlwind of a year 2015 is turning out to be.  I just realized that I haven’t written a blog post since January 16th.  That is a long time ago, way back in the good ‘ol days of new daddyhood.  Back when I was a shiny new dad that didn’t know which side of the diaper was the front and which was the back.  I mean, Winnie the Pooh is on both freaking sides, thanks for making it so hard Pampers.  Just put Pooh on the back and nothing on the front and make it easier for all the newly minted dads out there.  Tee-hee….Poo on the back, 12 year-old Ryan strikes again!

I really enjoy blogging and I’m disappointed in myself that I have taken a brief hiatus, so I’m revving up the engine and heading back out on the road.  Albeit it in a rusted old clunker that is my blog, but nevertheless I’m on the road again.  There are just too many stories of being a dad, running, good beer, and bad sports out there that need to live on the internet for the rest of humanity.  I’ll be back soon.

Lessons to Teach My Daughter Annie

Annie started daycare this week, one that has been a whirlwind of emotion for Eileen and I. All of the clichés are starting to finally hit home:

“I just don’t want her to grow up”

I've heard parents say this a million times and I never quite understood it, since the older your child grows, the more cool stuff you can do with her.  Well now, I finally understand what this means.  At only 3 months of age, Annie is growing and starting to show some of her personality, which so happens to be, “I am the princess here and things will go my way, get it?”  I’m already a pushover.

With Annie’s first “big” milestone of attending daycare, this past week I’ve been thinking about how I am going to progress as a father as she grows older as well as what types of lessons I am going to teach my daughter during her life.  So since I tend to over-share my life with anybody who feels like listening, I thought I would list them here.

These are just some of the lessons that I am going to teach my daughter.  I think that they’re pretty important – so important that they pertain to all of us at any age, so read up:

Acting like a goof with Daddy, Annie's favorite pastime.

Be Yourself.  It’s the best and absolute hardest person to be.  There is no lesson greater than this – there is a reason I listed it first.  I’ve found out during my life that genuinely being yourself doesn’t always come with the best benefits.  Sometimes you will be laughed at and other times you will be susceptible to the scrutiny of others.  But guess what?  Authenticity matters; and it’s clear as day to see in somebody.  There are many people that value you for just being you and those are the people you want to associate yourself with.  I’m sure my wife laughs off the fact that I love teenage pop music, that I iron jeans even if they aren’t wrinkled, or that I am the clumsiest person north of Columbus, but she loves the hell out of me and wouldn’t have it any other way (I think).  I am not afraid of who I am and I hope that Annie grows to be just as insanely goofy, passionate, and unique as the tall guy that she calls Daddy.

Laugh Often. Sure, there are times to take things serious, but I haven’t quite found one yet. 

It’s Okay to Fail.  And it’s okay to fail a lot.  As long as each failure brings opportunities for new learnings then go ahead, fail away.  There is no blueprint for success.  Everybody learns and creates in their own unique style through many experiences in life.  Some of my greatest achievements at work have been born out of massive failures.  Our current schooling system does not reward failure, so it seems like a counter-intuitive lesson to teach a child, but I believe it is an important one.  The more you fail – the more you are trying – the more you win.  The sum of those experiences breeds success.

Wear Sunscreen. Your last name is Simcox and you come from Flannery genes.  You’re going to need SPF 85 for the entirety of your life. Sorry kid, them’s the breaks.  You might be pigmentally challenged, but you’re beautiful no matter what.

Be a Strong Woman. I won’t really have to teach Annie this.  First off, I have no clue what being a strong woman entails – it’s okay to admit when you don’t know something (Hey look, another lesson!).  More importantly, Eileen can write the book on strong womandom.  Eileen attributes the majority of her confidence from attending Our Lady of the Elms, an all-girl high school in Akron, a school that Annie will hopefully someday attend.  There is no better mentor to Annie on how to become a strong woman than the incredibly short, but amazing strong lady that she calls Mommy.

Born to Run is the Best Album Ever Recorded.  I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to deal with “Dad’s music is not cool”.  The daughter of Eileen and Ryan must like Springsteen, there are no options here.  No room for discussion.  Hell, it’s amazing her name isn’t Rosalita Simcox.

Peace.

Have Faith.  Have faith in God. Have faith in others. Have faith in yourself.  Believe in your abilities, have confidence.  You can do anything that you put your mind to.  All of those clichés…..They are popular for a reason, because they are true. 

I know that they are true because faith helped me pull through during 2014, the best year of my life.  We waited a long time to have a child and leaned on faith that one day that dream would come true.  And it did.  And now she’s here.  And her name is Annie Grace.  And she’s the best thing to ever happen.  And I can’t wait to teach her all that I know.

Running My First Half-Marathon

Jog for 60 seconds.  Walk for 90 seconds.  Repeat for 20 minutes.  That was my very first week of training with the Couch to 5K program.  That’s how all of this craziness began 18 months ago.  Up to that point in my life I honestly do not think that I ever ran a mile consecutively without stopping.  I trained for a 5K and had fun.  It was my intro to running.  Never at any moment during that time did I consider myself a runner nor foresee ever becoming a runner.  It just wasn’t for me.  Now, I’m part of the club.  On September 27, 2014, I ran the Akron Marathon.  Here are the random thoughts that were running through my head at every step during that race:

Prior to race start:

Waiting in Corral C @ the starting line.

• Damn, there's a lot of people here.

• Can I even finish this race?  After tearing my right calf muscle, I only “ran” one mile in the two weeks leading up to the race.  I can’t quite call it a run; it was more like an elderly shuffle.  If I was on a NFL injury report, I’d be listed as Questionable.

• Did I pee enough?  No explanation needed.  I'm dead set on not stopping to go on the course.  If nature called, I’ll pull a Harry Dunne and just go…man.

I'm doing MUCH better than the poor girl in front of me.

• This is going to be the hardest thing that I’ve ever done in my life.

Mile 1:

• Let everybody pass you.  There is no need to start quick.  You injured your leg and you have a buttload of miles to go.  Slow and steady wins the race finishes with a very mediocre time.

Mile 2:

•  Hey look – there are my parents!  This is the most un-Simcox thing to ever happen in my family.  I don’t know if the looks on their faces are showing pride or complete befuddlement as they wonder why their son would ever willingly run without somebody chasing him.  I'm glad they're here, it helps to have support.

• My calf is starting to warm up and I am getting into my groove.  Hopefully this keeps up.

•  I hope I don’t get shot as I make this left turn on Tallmadge Avenue.
•   Side story:  I went to school in North Akron at St. Anthony on this block that I am running.  Every day we had to walk across the parking lot and into the church basement to get to the cafeteria.  One day there was a blown drug deal across the street from the school in which somebody got shot and then stumbled on to the school property bleeding heavily.  The shooter was on the run and not detained.  Needless to say, we didn’t get lunch that day.  Love me some Akron.

Mile 3:

•  Man, the Y-Bridge is longer than I thought – it’s probably not going to be fun running across this again 9 miles from now.  Spoiler alert…..it wasn’t.

•  Oh wait, crap.  Now I have to run all the way to Firestone Park and back?  That’s pretty far.  It sure would help if I didn’t know this city like the back of my hand.

• But….I just ran 5K.  18 months ago, this was the biggest running accomplishment I would ever hope to achieve – now I’ve upped the game.  Let’s get this.

Mile 4:

• Hey look! – there is my sister Stephanie and my wife Eileen!  Warning, emotional stuff ahead:



My #1 Fan

• There were moments during this race that were super emotional.  The strongest of these moments was when I saw Eileen and her 8 month pregnant belly cheering me on.  I stopped to give her a kiss and then proceeded to cry buckets for the next half mile.  I’m not afraid or embarrassed to admit this; it was one of the most emotional moments of my life.  I lost it when I saw her.  The emotions of running my first race, seeing my proud wife, and becoming a dad for the first time collided right there on the corner of Exchange and High Streets. There are many reasons why I started running seriously.  A few are quite selfish.  But the biggest reason was for Eileen and our baby.  I want to live a healthy lifestyle and always be there for them – and I want to be the absolute best and happiest version of me.  Running allows that to happen.

Mile 5:

•  I kind of hope that an official race photographer snapped a few photos of Weeping Ryan.  If there is something I enjoy more than breathing, it’s willingly throwing myself under the bus.  I’d share that picture everywhere.  Please Mr. Photographer, please be in the right spot.

Mile 6:

• Is that guy walking faster than I am running?  Yes, yes he is.  There is a man, easily in his 70's that is “mall walking” faster than almost everybody else around him is running.  He is also running (or walking?) the half marathon and all I keep thinking is, “I better beat this guy across the finish line”.  I am not allowing Elderly Mall Walking Guy to beat me. No way.

Mile 7:

•  Halfway home!  At mile 6½ I am halfway finished, and still very far away from Canal Park.  I am now 1 hour and 15 minutes into my run and I don’t feel like I’m completely dying.  I have that going for me....which is nice.

Mile 8:

• Hey look! – It’s Elderly Mall Walking Guy!  Let’s pass this guy and put him in the rear view mirror for good.  By now, I am slightly concerned with my level of competitiveness and also my revised goal for the marathon.  Before I got injured, I wanted to run a sub 2 hour race - a goal that was ridiculously lofty considering that it was my first race, but one that I felt obtainable based on my splits during training.  Now, I am puffing out my chest with pride in passing a 70 year-old man that is walking.  Read that again.  Yes, it’s pathetic.

Mile 9:

• You’re entering the toughest part of this race.  There is a decent elevation change ahead of you and you're mentally starting to doubt yourself, just keep going.  Trust in your training.  Again, you totally can do this.

Mile 10:

•  I’m back in downtown Akron.  Only 4 more miles to go.  At this point of the race, I begin breaking down the remaining miles into more manageable goals.  Just get to the next mile.

• Wait…..I’m back in downtown Akron? How the hell did that happen – I was just in a neighborhood in Firestone Park, right?  The most mentally draining part of the race is now before me.  The next 3 miles echo the first 3 of the race….meaning that I have to run the Y-Bridge again.  Remember when you thought that kind of sucked the first time?  Well it’s not getting any easier now.

•  I just ran under a Welcome Home LeBron banner hanging from a walking bridge.  I'm so happy that my favorite player is home playing for my favorite team again.  I wonder how David Blatt is going to handle the rotation?  Is Dion Waiters going to be a wrecking ball to team chemistry?  Do I spray champagne in my baby's face this year if the Cavs win the championship?  These are all of the things running through my head under that bridge.  For a moment I'm not thinking about the pain - thanks LeBron.

Mile 11:

• My. Calf. Is. Killing.  Do not be ashamed of yourself for walking, you are still finishing a half-marathon.  I had to absolutely stop and walk for a minute to mentally reset myself and give my leg a short break.  I read in a blog to listen to your body when it is hurting and do whatever it takes to fully run that last mile of the race.  Walking is the only option here.  Whomp, whomp.

Mile 12: 

• Just made a left onto Mosser Place and ran past St. Anthony church.  I know that it’s a big racing no-no and I will never do it again, but I stopped for a second and took a selfie in front of the same steps that I walked up to get my first communion and the same steps that I walked my grandfather’s casket down.  Many, many memories in that church.  I’m not going to pretend that my grandfather would have even began to comprehend why I was running a marathon, but I do know that he would have been proud of me anyways.  I miss him and felt a little closer to him as I was running past the church he loved so dearly.  Emotional Ryan in full force.

St. Anthony selfie.

• Crap, my phone died.  That’s what I get for taking a selfie during a race – I deserved that.  No more music.  That’s okay though, I want to hear the crowd as I run the home stretch anyways.

•  My. Calves. Are. Killing. Plural.  I physically hit a wall within the past 5 minutes.  Not being able to complete my last two weeks of training was getting to me.  I stop on the Y-Bridge and stretch for 2-3 minutes.  Anything to feel better.  I’ll be damned if I’m not running that last mile.

Mile 13:

• One more mile to go! This is my victory lap in a long, 16 weeks of training.

•  Hey look!  There is my Uncle Brian in his police uniform and on duty.  I give him a high five and he assured me that there is one more mile to go.  I text Eileen and let her know that I would be arriving in the stadium within the next 10 minutes.  

The last 10^th of a Mile:

• I bleeping did it!  Except the real word came out of my mouth, Ralphie style.  I can’t believe that this is happening.  One more left turn – I see the back of the outfield wall!

• The finish line is ahead, I am in the stadium – Hey look! – There is Eileen again!  I raise my arms up and point to show her that I see her.  We're both sporting the biggest grins in the history of grins.  What a rush!  I cannot explain this feeling.  I envisioned the finishing line every single day during my 16 weeks of training.  I did all of my long runs down at Sand Run and my “finish line” was always the intersection of Portage Path and Sand Run.  I kept pushing the end of training until I hit that intersection.  Now this is the real deal.

• Arms up.  Fists pumping. Finish Line!  I am officially a marathon runner.  02:28:49. A slow marathon runner, but a marathon runner nevertheless.

Proud owner of a Half-Marathon Finishing Medal

The feeling that you get when crossing a finish line is like no other.  It’s a definitive end.  It’s a validation that all of the hard work, dedication, and sacrifice that went into training were worth it.  All of the aches, the pains, the awful digestion problems (you runners know what I mean!) were worth it.  Most of all, it’s an overwhelming confirmation that you can do anything that you put your mind towards.  It’s an important life lesson that I always heard, but never truly learned until last week – and one that I look forward to teaching my child as they grow older.  I can officially call myself a runner - it's a great obsession, one that I would encourage everybody to try.  13.1 – it’s more than a number or a sticker on the back of a car, it’s a way of life.  I'm proud that I am in the club - when's the next race?

Thoughts on Being a First Time Dad

There are many things that I have enjoyed writing about over the past few years.  Cleveland sports and music are usually my go-to topics - especially when I’m in a writing rut, which is pretty much every time I try to write.  Now, I have a new, thrilling part of my life to be able to share with those who are bored enough to be reading these ramblings.  I'm pretty sure that I won't find myself in writing ruts much longer.

I’m going to be a dad.  

Those six words have been floating in my head ever since the evening of February 20^th, when Eileen came rushing into our house holding a baby onesie to share her news.  It was hands-down the most exhilarating moment of my life. 

I'm going to be a dad.  

I just keep repeating those short and simple, yet extremely challenging words over and over in my head.

Before I share my thoughts on being a dad (a pretty kick-ass dad, by the way), I need to write about the Byner to my Mack, the Springsteen to my E-Street, the Bertman’s Stadium Mustard to my brat – okay, too far?  Well, you know what I mean and who I’m talking about.  It’s impossible not to talk about Eileen and how amazing she has been through her entire pregnancy; not to mention the events that she stood extremely tall through (all five feet of her) even before getting pregnant.  If I’m going to be a great dad, it’s going to be because I have a great mom right by my side.  

As a first-time parent, I admittedly know very little about the journey that I am about to embark upon.  I think I know how it's going to play out, but I don't truly know what parenting means until I'm in the trenches.  What I am 100% sure of though, is that I have one of the best by my sides.  Together, Eileen and I are going to be undisputed Tag-Team champs.  We're going to rock this - and I can't wait to hit the ground running with her.

We do not know the sex of the baby, we're going old school and want to be surprised.  Does the sex of the baby matter in my plans on being a kick-ass dad?  Not at all.  I'm a pretty versatile guy.  I know that a baby boy brings a lifetime of rooting for Cleveland sports, golfing, burps, fart jokes, Playstation and whatever else comes with living the life of a boy.  I've got that covered.  At the age of 30, I am still well-versed in all that was listed.  

On the flip side, I understand that a baby girl brings a lifetime of princesses, glitter, dance recitals, bubblegum pop music, and Easy-Bake ovens.  Not a problem at all, I've got that covered as well.  I won't say that I'm equally as versed in those topics, but compared to the average male, I definitely rate high in understanding these categories.  I'll just chalk up the last 5 years of obsessively listening to Taylor Swift songs as "practice" for having a daughter.  At least that's what I'll keep telling myself to still be a card-carrying male.

Oh yeah, I'm forgetting one thing....In addition to having a fantastic mother and father, Baby Simcox is going to have one-hell of a best friend.  Well, hopefully Baby likes our dog Clancy.  If I had an old lady with smelly hair and horrendous breath in my face, I might think otherwise of calling them my friend, let alone slapping the Besties tag in front.

I know that on or near October 31st (Eileen's due date), I will be forever changed for the better. I will give this kid my entire heart. Being a dad is kind of a big deal.  It's going to be the hardest thing I've ever done, but also the most rewarding.  Like I said, Eileen and I are going to rock this.  Only 2 more months - bring it on!

A Trip Unlike Any Other - The Masters

As I sit here writing this on the plane ride home from Georgia, there are tears in my eyes and goosebumps all over.  They just won't go away.  The emotion is palpable – is this real?

The Masters.  Augusta National.  Right from the moment that I walked into the gates, my already high expectations were shattered. "Welcome to The Masters". Four words that I never thought would be spoken to me.  The security guard greeted every patron with these words along the walkway, a St. Peter of sorts. 

I am forever grateful to my friend, Mick for inviting me along on this trip.  Mick is the biggest golf fan that I know and has an incredible encyclopedic knowledge of the game.  When he asked me to come along I didn’t even have to think twice - it was an automatic yes.  Mick had won the practice round lottery, which in some cases is better than winning the actual lottery.  I mean, this is Augusta National.

It was 7:45 am and the sun was shining perfectly over the clubhouse and onto the practice facility, where a few players, including Luke Donald and PGA Champion Keegan Bradley were warming up for the day.  As I strolled through the practice facility I was in awe.  Practice green and bunkers, driving range, all perfect.  Once on the course, the attention to detail was immediately noticed.  Nowhere else on earth will you find greener grass, not even in Ireland.  Every blade was perfectly manicured, as if they were artistically placed blade by blade.  It almost seemed as if I was walking on carpet because grass cannot be this perfect.

I walked the course hole by hole, starting with number 1.  What you don't see on television is the intense elevation changes, especially on number 1.  The fairway is a long, uphill climb – one that would be a perfect sled-riding hill, if only it were placed in Northeast Ohio.  Not much of an issue for professional golfers, as the landing area to the left of the fairway bunkers is relatively flat, but it would be a horror show of a hill for somebody such as myself to deal with.

As I circled around the first green and got a first look at the long, dogleg left beauty of number 2, it finally hit me.  This is the first of many “holy crap” moments.  Looking through the fairway towards the green with the same viewpoint that Louis Oosthuizen had that beautiful Easter Sunday as he double eagled was breathtaking.  It’s a long, downhill walk, with tall pines and the white scoreboard serving as a perfect backdrop.

As I kept walking through the middle of the first nine, I caught myself glancing over at the southeast corner of the course.  I knew that Amen Corner was waiting and wanted to jet immediately over to that portion of the course.  Perhaps if I weren’t with Mick, I would have.  But Mick helped me stay the course.  He convinced me that by skipping holes and looking forward to what was to come, I would be shortchanging the beauty of what was in front of me.  Much like the actual game of golf, patience was key.

As I walked up the side of the fairway of number 9, a dogleg left with an uphill approach to the green, all I kept thinking about was the second nine.  How would it look in person? It couldn't possibly be more brilliant than the first nine that we just walked, right?  The first nine is certainly world class, but the second nine is stuff of legends.

The Bubba Shot

It started with number 10.  We picked up a couple of groups on the second nine, watching Rory McIlroy, Jordan Spieth, and Masters champion Adam Scott roll through.  As I strolled down the right side of number 10, I found myself in the same pine straw that Bubba Watson had unfortunately found himself in two years earlier in a playoff with Louis Oosthuizen.  What looked like an impossibility on television was even more impressive in person.  Somehow, television makes that miraculous 40-yard hook shot to 15 feet from the pin look easy.  When standing in the exact spot, I don't know how he did it.  To hit that shot, with that pressure, in that moment was incredible.  

Speaking of incredible, the three most special holes in all of golf were waiting just around the corner.  I watched Jordan Spieth hit some putts on the 10th green, turned to the right, and there it was.  Amen Corner.  Words cannot express its beauty.  As soon as I stood behind the 11th tee box, I noticed that birds began to chirp. Perhaps they have been chirping all day, I imagine that is the case, but I did not notice until now.  It almost felt too perfect, like there are hidden speakers in the trees.  The 11^th hole is traditionally one of the most difficult holes in golf, with an average score over par.  After walking the hole, I came to the conclusion that I could play the hole 100 times and walk away all 100 with at least a bogey.  It is that tough.

Golden Bell - The 12th hole at Augusta National

My next, and biggest “holy crap” moment was here, the 12th hole, Golden Bell.  It’s as if I walked into a painting.  It is the most photographed hole in all of golf, and perhaps the most famous.  I can only think of a few that could give it a run for it’s money.  Hogan’s Bridge and Rae’s Creek were right there in front of me – there was one moment where I actually pinched myself.  As I sat in the grandstands behind the tee box I kept thinking about all of the times that I have seen this hole on television, paintings, photographs, and video games.  Now, I’m seeing it in person.  Sometimes, when you see something so famous and renowned, it looks different in person.  Maybe it’s smaller or larger than you’ve seen on television, or something is just a little off about what you’re looking at.  This is not the case with the 12^th hole at Augusta National.  The 155-yard par 3 looks exactly like it does on television and in photographs – unforgettable beauty.  I could have spent the entire day at that hole, but there was much more to see – and eat.

When talking about concessions, you won’t find anything less expensive at any other sporting event, or cafeteria for that matter.  The $1.50 egg salad sandwich is one of the most famous of offerings.  It was the best 150 pennies that I have ever spent.  To be honest, it didn’t really hold a candle to Eileen’s egg salad (which is my absolute favorite), but it was amazing nevertheless.  From potato chips and crackers, to beer and soft drinks, there are no brand names on any of the food or drinks, only The Masters logo.  Enough of the food though, there was the last hole of Amen Corner to still see.

Jordan Spieth on the famous 18th hole.

Walking up the 13^th hole, I could not get a great look at the green based on where the gallery is pushed back.  If I would say that there was any bit of disappointment in the day, this would be it.  The 13^th green is arguably the most beautiful of them all, with all of the azalea bushes behind the green.  To not get a great vantage point was kind of a bummer.

There were only a few more holes to see before heading over to the par 3 course.  As far as single shots in Masters history, for me, nothing will ever eclipse Tiger Woods’ incredible chip in from the back of the 16^th green.  As I sat at the 16^th hole, I kept thinking about that shot as well as Jack's near ace in 1986 – incredible.  

To close out the second nine, as almost all Masters champions have done, I walked up the steep slope of the 18th fairway and around the back of the green, completing my walk of Augusta.  It took exactly 4 hours  It was a walk that I will never forget, and one that I am extremely lucky to have taken.  Every year, I watch Masters Sunday in it's entirety.  From Tiger's record-breaking win in 1997, to Phil finally getting the Majors monkey off of his back in 2004, the 18th green has played host to many of my favorite memories throughout the years.  Seeing it in person was very, very special.

Par 3 Champion Ryan Moore's wife and son

After walking the course from start to finish, I headed over to the par 3 contest, which is played on a course adjacent to the 10^th hole.  The par 3 contest is family oriented, laid back, and fun.  Many of the player’s wives, girlfriends, and children caddy for them during these 9 holes.  The most unforgettable part of the par 3 contest was watching Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus, and Gary Player play the 7th hole on the ropes.  It was a surreal moment.  I was too young to watch these guys play, but to see the "Big Three" and their combined 13 green jackets a near 15 feet away was the most special moment of a day filled with unforgettable moments.  

The King - Arnold Palmer

And just like that, it was over.  As I was walking out I did not want to leave.  Like a child upset that he has to go to bed, I almost had to be dragged out through the gates.  Who knows if I'll ever return.  There are some that have been trying to get to The Masters for over 30 years with no luck.  Most people will never get the chance to visit, so I'm counting my blessings.  I took every second in with the utmost appreciation.  It is truly that special – the way that Augusta National wants it to be. The customer service was top notch. Not one bad attitude or even half a frown.  From security, to cashiers, bathroom attendants, and course ushers, every single person had a smile on their face and greeted you as if you were a past Masters champion yourself.

In a way, this experience has ruined me.  I will never look at any sporting event, golf tournament, or customer service model the same ever again.  The one word that I keep going back to sum it all up is experience.  You don't go to the tournament, you experience it.  You don't just simply walk the course.  You are transformed into the champions of past, an experience you will never get at any other course.  It’s hallowed ground, a heaven of sorts.  A tradition unlike any other. An experience that I will never forget.  These goosebumps will stay with me forever.