Running the race

One of the greatest tools man has in his inventory is the ability to serve.

Haven't updated this puppy for a bit, so here goes.

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It's been an interesting last seven days. Exhausting, but so worthwhile and so interesting at the same time.

A 5am alarm saw me start my Saturday heading to Meghan Mutrie's hotel to grab the camera she uses for the Crowd Goes Wild in Wellignton, get a bit of practice in then get shooting.

It was hard to see at times, with rain shooting through to my eyes and the rest of my face as I tried desperately to find her on the course.

For the record, Meghan finished with an awesome time of two hours and 38 minutes, becoming the third woman overall to finish the race.

Helping Meghan was an experience I'll never forget. Not just because of the uncompromising rain or the chills that felt eternal for the hours that were to follow.

I got some camera work under my belt and really found out what it's like to film in the worst-case scenario: alone in the cold, wet, wintry conditions.

But more importantly, I was introduced to a world of feel-good stories. Watching several runners cross the finish line, or who knew they were close, was mega inspiring.

Days, weeks and months of training paid off for all of the athletes and I left feeling like I had witnessed something special. Without helping Meghan I know for sure I wouldn't have even bothered to see any of the racing, so there were plenty of benefits for both parties.

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And then there was Martin Parnell's humongous effort.

Here's a guy who ran around Rarotonga twice the night before the event proper en route to a quest of running 100 kilometres around the island.

Then, on the wet Saturday morning, having run in unforgiving ammounts of rain the night earlier, Parnell was forced to walk 40 kilometres because the blisters on his feet had swelled up from the night before's effort.

Meghan and I waited patiently for him to arrive, anxious of missing him while we were eating lunch.

And then, the moment. When we recognised him through a jacket given to him by an accompanying local walker named Toru Tutai.

Hands in the year, cries of exaltation, a relief that this pain and torture that started in the late hours of Saturday night was all over.

Sixteen hours, 21 minutes, 38 seconds was the total time Parnell spent running and walking around the island. Over two-thirds of a day spent in the gruelling rain, and the sneaky spells of wind.

Yet amongst it all, a heart-warming story that will surely live on, at least in my heart, for many years to come.

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I'm reaching the stage here now where I know my writing is improving.

Sometimes there's nothing more satisfying then being able to improve your own stuff - add a little zing, tidy up the superfluous fluff and the unnecessary cliches.

It really has already shown that this trip to Rarotonga has been incredibly beneficial within a short space of time.

Not only have I been able to experience some things I know I never would have been able to if I was in New Zealand. I've been able to sit back, look at my writing properly and understand where I need to get better.

Feedback, it's outstanding.

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Finally, I just want to say thanks, again, to those of you who read the blog and suggest ideas and give some awesome comments.

I have always said that me ending up as a journalist was somewhat of a mismatch given my lack of desire to read growing up.

But here I am.

And I'm still here because it's about trying to showcase the stories of people around the world.

What seperates everyone is their intrinsic ability to learn, perhaps overcome things and hopefully triumph. It's a story. It's something we all have and something I'm inspired by.

Meitaki maata.

Matiu

The joys of home

It's always an interesting intrigue when being apart from people regardless of distance can further enhance ties.

Not that I'm against such a thought. In fact, in my honest opinion it's always a good indication as to perhaps the level of friendship where both parties are actively seeking out how the other is doing.

It's always refreshing and certainly aids what can be a difficult day in Paradise.

Last Monday was one of my favourite days since I've been here in Rarotonga, and in an odd twist it had nothing to do with life here at all.

Instead it was during work when, in a moment of surprise, I received a small package from my sister Desiree and her two beautiful children.

As well as a neat wee photobook from Fay Looney, a touching two-page letter with updates on two nieces I have never met was the perfect antidote to what had been a grinding day at work.

Not only did I get a description on life in Rotorua, but three precious photos of both nieces, Anahera and Layla, that I treasure as much as anything I own here in the Cooks.

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There are the awesome phone calls home with the parents. Getting to hear how family is going down in Wellington is something I always look forward to (and I know they're always interested as to if 'that room' at my place still stands!)

I'm used to living away from my Wellington-based parents. I did so for about five years while I was at university and then in my first proper job in Auckland.

But having these phone calls almost make me feel like I'm still back down in Waterloo at our house like old times.

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Even friends coming over and wanting to catch up make me chuffed. Seeing friendly, familiar faces - even after almost three months in the Cooks - make for awesome catchups and further kindling for on-fire friendships.

Having seen so many old friends already (some of whom now permanently live here) it's been an awesome experience and one I hope to share with many of you who are looking to spend some time in Raro soon.

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Anywho, that's all for this week. A nice short, sharp reminder about the power of friendships and the benefit of hearing each of you.

Here's hoping for a great, fresh new week for us all,

Until next time, kia manuia friends and family.

Matiu Workman

Getting amongst it in the Cooks

Sometimes there's nothing more enjoyable than being involved in sport.


Getting into a ruck with the NZ Parliamentary Rugby Team.
Photo: Matariki Wilson.

Playing, refereeing, writing about it or simply supporting it - there is no better than accomplishing something as a team on the field, pitch, turf or all of the above.

In the Cook Islands, sport is what they live on. From rugby to league, netball to cricket, football to handball (turns out they have their own association that is proving to be popular) and all of the other sports, participation is healthy, competitive and makes for good viewing.

 You do have to blink a few times to realise that the same guy you saw play at halfback on the rugby field could very well be the right back for the local football team, too.

There is certainly enough talent here on the island to have a competitive league. There are several codes that cater for all sportspeople because, well, they have to.

With only 12,000 people on the rock, it's very hard to manage to find a sportsman or woman who focus on one sport. It's mind boggling seeing how many natural athletes there are here, who are the jack of all trades but unfortunately the masters of none, too.

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Had the ball taken off me haha, Avatiu FC taking on Arorangi
Photo: CIFA Media



I decided to join both cricket and football teams here that I later found out are on opposite sides of the island. Logic slapped me int he face with a stick and said "Think of the petrol costs!"

But in hindsight it has turned out to be one of the better ideas I've had since being here. How else would you be able to get to know more people if you were batting and bowling against some of the people you might be kicking a ball with only two or three days earlier?

And what an experience it has been. Comaraderie, compassion and commitment on both sports fields has seen me get into it more than I thought I would have.

We've all heard about how key sport is to uniting people, and it's no different here in the Cooks. Golden oldies rugby is prime and garners great support. Parliamentarians, veterans and the like all team up and give it their all regardless of ability.

This culminated in the NZ Parliamentary Rugby Team's recent visit to the island. Being 'short of numbers', the tourists called me up and asked if I'd like to lace up my boots. Being coached by former All Black and NZRU Chairman Richard Guy, it was an offer I couldn't refuse.

So I chucked on my boots and gave it my all for a quarter before letting someone else take my spot. Commentator Winston Peters apparently made mention of me which in itself is embarrassing enough to end one's rugby career.

For the record, the NZ team lost 17-10 to a passionate Cook Islands team. Haven't won on that ground in three attempts now.
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Life here is actually legitimately awesome. It's been a greyish start but now, into my third month, I could certainly see myself getting more and more used to Raro life.

Punctuality and sunburn aside, there are so many fantastic people and I've been lucky to call some of them my friends.

Certainly feel like I'm ready to make my mark - this is the Rarotonga I envisaged when I first came to the rock.

After a period of soul-searching, it's finally here - the Raro life!

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I'm just getting a couple of pieces of footage for the next vid and if you're interested in anything in particular do feel free to suggest it.

Unless it's my sunburn line - then it'll be an instant rejection.

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Take care my beloved friends and family. I do always appreciate your support and feedback and hope you enjoy reading of my time here in the Cook Islands. Kia manuia.

Kim Workman: My father

I love Father's Day for two reasons.

The first is to give us young fullas a chance to thank our fatherly figure in our lives for helping to mould us into the people we are today. It doesn't have to be a male - single mothers or whoever also do fantastic jobs, too.

It's also a healthy reminder for me to call my dad, Kim, and let him know how I'm going whether in Auckland, Rarotonga or wherever.

This year there won't be such an opportunity. Dad is currently at a silent retreat, where he'll be technologyless for a week or so (this is from my memory at least). It's almost ironic that the man who talks upfront with people for a living has decided voluntarily to give it all up for a week, and boy I find that inspiring.

So, as a result of me not being able to talk to him about how I'm going, I thought I'd talk to you about my love and adoration for the man I am proud to call my father, Robert Kinsela (Kim) Workman.

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Born on September 9, 1940, dad has always had a way with the piano. He'd tickle the ivories throughout his life and even played in Christmas parades growing up with a band under the banner of "Kim Workman and the Ambassadors".

What an ambassador dad has become since.

Dad has worked in the area of justice for at least 30 years. Having been recruited as a cop in 1960 alongside another young policeman known as Max Jones, dad focused on working with youth at the local high schools in the Wairarapa area.

Having gone through the system for a number of years, dad became the head of prisions in 1989 and was in the job until 1993.

He has had a career that has brought upon many changes, including working in the Police, the Office of the Ombudsman, the State Services Commission, the Department of Maori Affairs and the Ministry of Health.

Amongst all of these changes, however, one value has remained firm:

People can change.

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One of the biggest things I admire about my dad is he isn't afraid to go into bat for people who perhaps aren't seen in a positive light.

Gang members, convicted criminals, people we fear or even turn a blind eye to. Whoever they are they are all people to my father, and I respect him thoroughly for that.

And they do too. I distinctly recall dad telling of a time when gang members were invited to a conference, not to scare anybody or force

These people who are excluded from our community are welcomed by my father and, as a result they showed them one of the greatest gestures of respect in the Maori world - the spiritual unity through a hongi.

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So why is dad staying silent for a week-odd?

He has finally realised that technology has had so much of an influence on his daily life that it was time to almost reboot; to restore the natural wairua [spirit] inside him that had been drained by a new message or an imminent phone call.

He'll be back in no time, and there will come a time when those outstanding emails will be responded to and the missed calls will be addressed.

For now though, it's about getting back to life as it used to be ahead of such a drastic change in technology.

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Just before I finish I wanted to thank my father on behalf of all of those who recall him throughout their time in his company. Living in Rarotonga I know of at least two people who recall working with him.

One is Max Jones, the young cop who dad started alongside in the Wairarapa and the second is this country's minister of agriculture and health, Nandi Glassie, who dad worked with in Rotorua for a time.

Dad's legacy is one that is everlasting, in my opinion. His work with Rethinking Crime and Punishment has continued to change how a nation thinks about "locking everybody up". It needed somebody to light the fire, and it was my father who held the matches.

For that dad I thank you. Not just as a son, but as a fellow man and friend. Meitaki maata my brother, and I look forward to hearing you tickle those ivories again soon on my return.

Love you dad, happy father's day.

Matiu