Around the bridges with the Walkers of Whanganui: Nicky Rennie

Runners at the start of last year's 3 Bridges Marathon. Photo / Andrew Ninness

Whanganui-based Nicky Rennie returned to her home town in 2018 while celebrating three decades in broadcasting. She has written a column for the Whanganui Chronicle since 2021.

OPINION

I’m looking to redeem myself. Not for all the bad decisions in my life – that would take this whole edition of the Chronicle to complete. Just one decision that I made last year, that I know I can do better with this year. I have been working to this end.

Last year my brother flew from Australia and my sister came from Dunedin to compete in the Whanganui 3 Bridges Marathon. My brother was running the half and my sister was walking it. They shared a training programme, spurred each other on and, to coin a phrase, hit the ground running (and walking). I was going to walk with Mum and Dad in the 5km. The weather turned to custard, I’d done no training and Dad decided “I’ve had my time as an athlete – I have nothing to prove” and we didn’t even start the race. He’s just turned 80, Mum is 78. They had an excuse. I didn’t. I’m hoping you get the picture. Hence my “Race of Redemption”.

At 6am on Sunday, December 1, I will line up for the 3 Bridges Half Marathon Walk.

One of the reasons I am writing about this is for public accountability. I have already let my Facebook friends know for the very same reason. To say that I’ve been training makes me sound like an athlete. I’m not, but what I am is determined and I know that I can beat my sister in long distances. She was a national sprint and hurdles champ in her day, but I could always beat her in cross-country. I also have to prove something to myself about the fact that I let myself down last year.

I walk twice a day. Once very early in the morning and again later with the dog. Two very different walks. Always going around the bridges. It’s just the number of bridges that changes. I have no training plan and every day something different pings, snaps or pulls. I’m crap at stretching but, at 53, I have no choice. Stretch first or hurt later. The fact you have to pay to put yourself through pain cracks me up, so I’m quite glad that in order to get me to the start line, my brother in Australia (who is coming back for the event this year) paid my entry fee. He is refusing to let me pull out again.

The course has changed from last year. I learned this only when I went to the website to get a bit of detail for this article about the course and the date.

I have now been walking every day for about six months. I need to walk for my mental health. I am a strider. I don’t walk with my arms swinging so vigorously that I nearly punch myself in the face, but I do get them going. I don’t like to walk with anyone else and I don’t listen to music. As it is, I nearly wet my pants when a cyclist scoots on by so if I had music playing, I would have ended up in the river many times over. I am also intrigued by the human condition. If you have no music, you can listen to conversations of fellow walkers and there are many types:

• The gaggle of young women – usually more than six. Medium pace, coffee obligatory, fast conversation.
• The gaggle of retired men – always more than six. Medium pace, faster conversation and more gossip than the women.
• The gaggle of retired women – always more than six, slow pace, conversation based on wisdom.
• The non-communicator – ignore you when you say “good morning” or “hello” (which I always do). Mentally, when these rude people pass me by and essentially leave me hanging like I’ve missed a high five, I flip them a bird.
• Male pram-pushers – these blokes will only ever push the pram with one hand (as if the child doesn’t belong to them). They are usually running.
• Female pram-pushers – usually two friends at the same stage. Coffee obligatory, conversation always child based.
• The walk-to-work-walkers – work attire, running shoes, work shoes in bag. One couple are particularly cute. He walks with her every morning and carries her bag. Naaaaw.

I’m not including dog walkers in the Walkers of Whanganui, but I did hear a great tip the other day if you are allergic to picking up the poo of your pooch. My neighbour has a friend who has a small plastic bag with a thick brown stick in it. He ties it to his dog lead every time he goes out. You’re welcome.

I’m not including cyclists either because they aren’t walkers but, as I was doing my walk yesterday, an old, toothless cyclist stopped right next to me and asked if I was a pensioner. He wanted to know what the Gold Card discount was at Woolies because he just got his and he thought I might know. Ouch.

Living in Whanganui and being able to say that you “walk the bridges” solidifies you are local. I love it. I love the people and I love that every single one of the Whanganui Walkers is out and moving. It’s better than the alternative. Come December 1, I will be on the start line in my Race of Redemption. I’ll let my Walkers of Whanganui know how I get on when I pass them.