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One would think it’s simply a scam. Just some depressing telemarketer who’s been hired to call Canada on a daily basis to sell a bunch of crap nobody wants. You know what I’m talking about – iPhones, Blackberries, none are immune to the prevalent calls recurring from Texas each month. But since our lives are far too busy and important to put up with these rodeo-clowns, it’s time to take some action.

Let’s start with what we know. We’ve each had various encounters with this tricky Texan which might help narrow it down. One friend actually accepted the call, only to find static noise on the other end. And another, got into a heated fight with her boyfriend; who was wondering what steamy phone calls were taking his girl down south. I myself simply find it a nuisance. Interrupting episodes of Dexter, getting my hopes up that a friend might actually be trying to contact me. Which is never the case.

Thus, the following is a proposed plan of attack:

1. Start answering all calls from Texas, yelling and swearing into the receiver until the bastard starts to talk.
2. Once they talk, threaten to take away their famous chicken fried steak unless they stop. Nobody should be allowed to eat anything that amazing.
3. Apologize for the harsh threats. Everyone should be allowed chicken fried steak.
4. Offer up an alternative. You will repeatedly call all of your friends and sit silently on the other end until they pull their hair out in rage. Giving the Texan a break from their job.
5. Ask what Tony Romo is like in real life. And whether the Cowboys are in for a good season.
6. Get the Texan to teach you how to use your phone chord as a lasso. Then lasso a beer from the fridge. Cheers.
7. Discuss a business plan together on how to make wads of cash through mass telemarketing. Within the year you’ll be millionaires.
8. Thank the Texan for all they’ve done for you. And let them know they can call you anytime.
9. Start receiving multiple calls from Texas each month.
10. Repeat step one.

* If you or anyone you know is currently receiving unwanted calls from Texas, have them call 1-800-Mushy-Pony and we totally promise not to enter your number into a mass mailing system to be used for soliciting purposes.*

– Emma Farquharson

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Last June, I signed-up on a whim for the Scotiabank Half-Marathon on Oct. 16th. At the time, I figured I would spend many months training and getting my body into proper shape before the big day – seeing as I hadn’t run a day in my life. That’s a lie, I once ran to the pub at the end of my street to grab a table for the Leafs game.

Frankly, I hate running. I love sports and staying fit through an engaging activity, but the idea of stepping outside and running for no apparent reason has never appealed to me. I signed up for the marathon because I believe in the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society of Canada. My mother suffered a tumultuous battle against Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma a few years back and I wanted to support the foundation in her name. So I raised $1,300 for Team in Training, sat back, and carried on with my life.

Fast forward to 8:00 am race day and I’m standing with my mum inside the Metropolitan Hotel on the verge of an anxiety attack. I’ve done nothing to prepare for this. I haven’t gone for a single run, I don’t know how long a kilometer is (let alone 22 kms), I was at the Leafs game the night before drinking beers, and all I’ve eaten this morning is part of a Mars bar.

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After some words of encouragement and a big good luck hug, I found myself sardined amongst 22,000 eager runners in the start line waiting for the countdown. I didn’t know what a pace bunny was or why people were wearing army blankets, but it was too late to ask questions. Ready. Set. Go.

The first 3 kms were tough. I felt this rush of overwhelming emotion with so many Torontonians cheering for me and holding up signs; crying over lost loved ones and “thank yous” being yelled out in surround sound. While trying to keep up with the athletes surrounding me, I suddenly felt a stitch in my right side. What am I doing? I’m tired already, I’m not keeping up. People are relying on me to run on their behalf and here I am disappointing them at 2 kms. But then I saw a sign.

On the back of the runner in front of me was a photo of her mother who had recently passed away from cancer. I immediately remembered my own mother who would not want me to injure myself running in her name – and remembered that this is for her and her alone. If I can’t finish, I can’t finish. So I slowed my speed, walked for a bit, let the stitch fade, and lightly jogged at a comfortable pace. Let’s do this.

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7 kms in and we were on Lakeshore ave. I’d gotten into a groove of power-walking at the same speed as the slower runners, then running at a fast pace whenever I felt the energy to do so. Running kept the weight off my legs, but hurt my chest. Walking kept my cardio down but slowly was hurting my legs. It’s probably not recommended to attempt marathons in this fashion, but it was keeping me going.

Amazingly, the supporters lined the entire marathon route. At every step there was another beaming individual, cheering and thanking us. How could I just walk off and quit? Look at all the pride and enthusiasm this city is showing! We’re all coming together, through various cancer foundations, all fighting for a cause. Plugging along, I finally found myself approaching Windermere – the 13 km mark. Where the heck am I? With no idea of how to get back to my parents, I figured I’d follow the other runners. We were looping back around anyway and the soundtrack of the crowd was far greater than any iPod mix. It wasn’t until I hit the 18 km mark that my body started to seriously protest against me.

My ankles were starting to twist, my knees were sore, my muscles were shaking, I couldn’t run far before feeling chest pains. Injury was not out of the question at this point. As I turned the final corner with 500 meters left in the race I saw the finish line. Hundreds of people all waiting with signs and balloons, cheering like crazy, a timer on the top reading “2:45:00”. I stopped dead. Is this a mirage? I can’t run to catch the subway, and here I am standing 500 meters from finishing a half-marathon. But it’s not over yet.

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I took off my blue windbreaker jacket to proudly display my Leukemia and Lymphoma Society jersey with my name across the front. We all may be running for a cure for cancer, we all may be fighting for a similar cause – but I am running for my mother. And thus I wear purple.

Looking back on everything the next day – legs throbbing, arms aching, and hobbling around my house like E.T., I realized that with proper training and stretching, this might have been a little easier on me. The half-marathon isn’t for everybody, it takes a certain mind-frame and physique to be able to do. But it is do-able, and even if the world laughs at you and says you can’t do it – the only person whose opinion really matters is you.

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– Emma Farquharson

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When it comes to pro-sports updates, we trust nobody better than The Score‘s Will Farquharson (unrelated to our Editor in Chief, Emma Farquharson).  We’ve gabbed about TFC, the Blue Jays, and now, we’re tackling the Leafs head-on right before the season opener on Oct. 6th. Problem is, one Farq is an optimist and the other – a little pucked up.

Emma: I’m starting to feel skeptical. I came into this preseason with high hopes for Reimer, Kessel and the entire roster. I even was immediately impressed by Scrivens. But what’s going on right now? We’re playing well, passing well, defending well (as far as Reims is concerned). So why are we not sweeping the scoreboard? Did every other team just get immensely better over the summer and we yet again can’t keep up? I’m having doubts already about my faith in the team.

Will: Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves here Emma. The real season doesn’t begin for another week and a half. So the Leafs are 3-6 in the preseason, but that means absolutely nothing. The Leafs had come into camp with 70 players. Now that stands at 29 and will need to be down to 23 by the time the season starts. Save the judgement until the final roster starts playing some games.

Emma: But isn’t this the case with all the teams? They don’t have their rosters perfectly set either and yet they’re still beating us. Do we have any more reason to hope for success this year than any other? I’m tired of getting amped up for a team that so frequently gives up mid season. I want them to win, I bleed blue like any other diehard fan. I’m even willing to make an exception purely due to Reimer, but something in my gut is turning based on all the inconsistencies I’ve seen.

Will: There’s definitely room for skepticism given the team’s struggles over the last six seasons, but I think any diehard fan like you or me have to fully expect the team to make the playoffs this time around. Put aside these preseason losses and look to the Leafs defence. Luke Schenn has just been locked up for five years as he continues to grow into one of the best defensive defencemen in the league. Cody Franson was acquired from Nashville and John-Michael Liles comes over from Colorado to effectively replace Tomas Kaberle. There will be questions surrounding Reimer if he can repeat his awesome performance from last year, but if he can put up similar numbers and the defence in front of him lives up to their potential, we’ll see the playoffs!

Emma: Okay, I’ll hang tight and give our defense team a shot (pun intended). But what about our offense? Can we expect a better year out of Kessel and get our money’s worth – or was his performance last year simply due to bad assists? I’ve been impressed so far in preseason with the passing going on (ie. I’m not pulling my hair out and yelling at the tv) but can we get the job done? If we make the playoffs this year then I’ll owe you a beer for my momentary doubts. I can’t help but miss the glory days of Sundin and Tucker.

Will: Now I have even more motivation to cheer for the Leafs making the playoffs! I think Phil Kessel will reach 40 goals this year. We signed Tim Connolly from Buffalo to be our #1 centre and playmaker, and if he can keep healthy then he’ll be dishing off sweet passes to Kessel all year. That’s a big if though, since Connolly has been injury prone in his career, and he’s not exactly a top-calibre talent. But given the right situation, he’ll be able to rack up the assists. I always miss Sundin and Tucker, but now we’ve got to make new days with Phaneuf and Grabovski instead!

Emma: Maybe if people stopped throwing so many waffles there’d be less injuries.

– Emma and Will Farquharson.

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I wish I could say it was love at first sight – but like love, my affinity for motorbikes grew steadily over time into a passion I couldn’t ignore. Being the ‘girl on a motorcycle’ was the last idea I had in mind when signing up for the M2 course, and for a while, I forgot I even had a license.

You see, I did my M2 test during a difficult time. It was a dark and rainy weekend, I’d just moved out from an apartment post-breakup, and my grandma had unexpectedly passed away. But somehow through the tears fogging up my helmet, I was able to pass the test and forget about biking for the next little while.

Two years passed, and my dad and I found ourselves browsing the bikes at BMW Toronto. We already owned an F650GS and were looking at getting something a little more… oh, how shall I say it… Boxer-esque. I still didn’t ride much, but with such positive support and enthusiasm from our sales consultant, I almost believed I could handle a 490 lb, 110 bhp R1200R. A few lessons with Clinton Smout at CMTS later, and I really started to feel the bite of the bug.

I’d always been under the impression that extreme sports weren’t in the cards for me – nothing my spaghetti arms weren’t already aware of. But it’s true with motorbikes that you really just need to let the bike do the work. No matter how big a person you are, or how big a bike you ride, it all comes down to skills, not strength.

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Each week from then on, I went dirt biking in Ganaraska Forest with various friends, and each week, I faced the same stupid log in this one single track that I couldn’t get over. I fell, and I fell, and I fell. The thing with single track is, you often can’t go around your obstacles. You can only face them head on. So finally, one day, I stood up, cranked the throttle, and got over the log. Turns out there’s always a much bigger one right around the corner.

With continuous incentive to develop better skills, and a bike I could trust (boxers break in at about 1,000,000 kms) I quickly realized that riding is far less about image than it is about the love of the sport. On a recent Ride to Muskoka with Viktor Radics of ViKPIC Creative, I learned how quickly a group of perfect strangers become friends with something so simple like motorbikes binding us together. It’s a social sport that thrives on continual self-development.

Lastly, there’s a reason why I’ll never give it up. That moment when your right leg swings around and balances the weight of such a powerful machine beneath you – it’s that moment where my pride sets in. Knowing the immense power I can control the minute I turn the key, tap down with my left foot, ease the clutch, and crank some serious throttle. That’s the moment I look forward to every day. Besides, as long as my old man is pulling wheelies in circles around me, I know I’ve got some work to do.

– Emma Farquharson.