Etobicoke is Ford country. A suburban, mom-and-pop enclave that is home to Toronto's boisterous mayor Rob and his councillor and big brother Doug. The houses are nondescript post-war bungalows, ranchers and side-splits with wide lots, driveways and actual backyards. It seems like there are more Tim Hortons per capita than most city neighbourhoods, and the big shopping attractions are clustered in strip malls. I'd say it’s leafy and idyllic, but it’s the middle of January and too darn cold. I'm in the belly of the beast on a mission: track down the mayor.
Earlier, I'd been in front of his house, the place that's gotten so much attention recently, with his sister's ex-boyfriend paying an unwanted visit and, of course, the prank gone wrong by 22 Minutes comedienne Mary Walsh.
His house is remarkable in its simplicity. It is the picture of suburban life — nothing less, nothing more. There are blue bins yet to be put away on his driveway, and the small single-level white brick home doesn't look much more expensive than my own row house in Little Portugal. Say what you will about politicians, but there's no way someone like Michael Ignatieff or George Smitherman lives as simply as Mayor Ford.
In his backyard, there's a Molson Canadian umbrella and toys scattered about in the snow. It’s all part of the everyman appeal that rocketed Ford to the mayor's chair in 2010.
But the mayor isn't at home, and the search continues at a local high school near Casa Ford. Bingo.
When I see Rob Ford on the track, the first thing I want to do is apologize. I'm in Etobicoke near his house, and I've been scouting out the mayor of Toronto like he's Angelina Jolie and I'm the paparazzi. At first, I see this large frame on the opposite side of the parking lot from where I'm standing, and I wonder if that could really be him. The figure is wearing a hood and walking purposefully, briskly and swinging its arms with a mighty force. Is it possible that the mayor is out here alone?
The track is snow covered and it's NFL playoff Sunday. Even though Rob Ford, who weighs 330 pounds, has publicly announced a Cut the Waist program, in which he and his brother are trying to lose 50 pounds by this June, I can't get over how the mayor looks like any other guy. Rob Ford is supposed to be an intimidating man. And not just for his politics.
When the figure on the track finally turns toward where I'm standing, it's unmistakably him. The mayor, dressed like Sylvester Stallone in the first Rocky -— wearing a cotton hooded sweatshirt, sweatpants and a winter cap and gloves — says I can talk to him if I follow him around on the track. His teeth are yellow and crooked, but he's smiling. And even though his face is red and he's short of breath, he seems in good spirits.
"Gotta do it," he grunts, when I say how impressed I am that he's out here alone in the cold on the second biggest football day of the year. Just around the block, Ford coaches the sport at Don Bosco, and despite everything I've heard about the man — his dislike of the media, his heavy-handed dealings with unions and his stubbornness toward simple olive-branch gestures such as walking in the Pride Parade — it's impossible not to like him.
Rob Ford is working his ass off, and every time I say something akin to how impressed I am by the effort he's exerting all alone in the cold, walking circles, he shrugs me off and grins. "I'm getting down," he says, and he seems like such a regular guy that it doesn't even occur to me to talk about politics. He's sweating underneath his winter cap and hood, and he's huffing and puffing and short of breath. I meet him on lap 13 of his intended 20, and instead of talking about libraries or budgets, we talk about the afternoon games.
"If Ray Lewis can get at Brady, the Ravens stand a chance," huffs the mayor, and as he briskly power walks his circles, struggling, sweating, briskly swinging his arms like two giant mallets, he compliments me on my running strides.
I tell the mayor that I started running because I wanted to change my lifestyle. That, for me, running circles is important, not only because of what it gets me doing on Saturday morning, but what it keeps me from getting involved in on Friday nights. The mayor smiles his understanding. For him, the running and the trips to the local gym are going to save him from fairly serious obesity. He wants to cut down on ice cream and late night snacks. One in four Canadians suffer from obesity, so although the mayor's weight has become a punchline for local city columnists and free weeklies, it's admirable, even important, watching the mayor work.
When he seems to be running out of oxygen, I ask him if I can bring him some water. "I'm OK," he retorts.
This is probably part of Ford's appeal to voters. He doesn't put on airs and he doesn't use fancy words and he isn't easy on the eyes. When I see him at the track power walking — the track just a few kilometres from his house and the same one where he went to high school — I'm not only impressed, I'm inspired. There's not a fancy bone in his body. Nor is there a security detail or media handler. Instead, it's just Mayor Ford outside, by himself in the cold in Etobicoke — face red, heart pounding, ticking off laps.
Eventually, I feel embarrassed about the intrusion and ask him to recommend a spot for me to get something to eat. He suggests the Dundas Street Grille, a diner with Formica tables that's been serving burgers for the past 28 years.
When I first saw the mayor on the track near his house, I was filled with all sorts of emotions. I'm preconditioned to not like the man. But he smiled when I approached him, his teeth accenting his goofy grin.
The mayor allowed our photographer right up in his face when he knew he must've looked horrible. And, what's more, he told me he was attempting to walk 20 laps, though I doubted he would be able to complete 15.
Rob Ford is sort of a boogeyman for large swaths of Toronto. But when I met the mayor on his home turf, I was impressed by his toughness and how open he was. We pounded fists before leaving, and I wished him good luck.
"The most important thing is that I keep this up," said the mayor. "If I do this every day — if I'm able to keep going — I'll be all right."
