Isle of Wight Fell Running Championships – a diary by Cat O’Shea
Gavin LauHazel Norton-Hale recruited me to the Isle of Wight Fell Series just after the Three Bridges Relay in June this year. Following an event organised by the London Stock Exchange Athletics Club, one that took three people to run one pancake-flat race, with 2.3 mile laps, that started at the chime of Big Ben (how much more London-centric could it be?) and was located a seven minute jog from my office; Hazel persuaded me that three hilly races over two days (total distance a few miles short of a marathon) in a location that required a train, boat and bus to get to would be great fun. In the post-race high of a summer evening I said yes.
I signed up at the spectacularly reasonable price of £20 for all three races – Hackney Half eat your heart out! – and didn’t think about it much for the rest of the summer until early September I found myself googling, “What is fell running? “Should you be as green to this as I was, fell running is basically: hills. As I had spent summer Sundays on Hampstead Heath for some ups-and-downs followed by a dip in the ponds and had attended Springfield Park Project V training twice I assumed I would be fine. Hazel had promised me it would be fun after all. Fast forward to sitting on the train leaving Waterloo as Hazel admitted to a deep anxiety and trepidation about the weekend that had nearly prevented her from signing up for this year – and this as the reigning champion of the fells!
Too late for a change of plan, so onwards to the Isle of Wight where we met Connor Johnston and family and headed to the house that would be our shared home for the weekend. Simeon Bennett and family arrived and it was time for dinner, and lots of chats about what to expect. Simeon, Connor and Hazel (as well as Erica Brown and Elaine Battson who were staying elsewhere) had done the races before so there was a mix of reassuring “don’t be scared”, “I’ve never seen anyone fall over”, “nobody has ever got lost”, “everybody is lovely” and a little terrifying “the weather has never been this bad” on top of some very useful advice. Tea and an early night so that we’d be ready for Day 1.
DAY 1: Oh my god we have to run up that?
Breakfast, bib collection, coffee and chit chat until the start of the first race – The St Boniface Fell. This was the shortest race (about 4km) but the steepest, just running up and down one hill. I say “running” but as we cautiously jogged down from race HQ to the start line, I took solace in the advice from the night before – there’s lots of walking. We lined up and at 11am started the charge up the hill. My own charge ended about 400m in when I decided that maybe now was a nice time to begin walking, but then I saw Hazel come running up beside me and I realised that alas, I was still meant to be running. Up we went, out of the town and into the fields, onto a steep grassy slope where everyone (even really experienced fell folk at the front of the pack) had to commence walking, or ‘speed hiking’ to the summit where there was a respite of some lovely flat running over the crest of the hill. Here we had the most beautiful view of the sea ahead – and then downhill. People had warned that downhill could be worse than up, and there were quite a few positions lost here as more confident runners dashed down the face of the hill like mountain goats. The rest of us minced our way down with as much haste and as little danger as possible. A sprint finish between Simeon and I (Connor already safely home) followed immediately by Hazel and cheers for Erica and Elaine.
Race 1 done! Time to get in the sea, essential for muscle recovery, then back home for a good lunch and a nap before race 2.
Come 2pm, phone alarms were ringing. Race 1 had seen us warm up and stretch – race 2 a little less so. Just enough time for coffee and a short jog and we were lining up in exactly the same place. Quite a strange feeling to be lining up at the same line twice in a day, but nice to see some familiar faces. At 3pm there was an “On your marks, get set, go” and off we went, for The Ventnor Horseshoe, a 12km race starting back up the same hill as we had raced this morning. I was very glad that the second race only went halfway up the morning’s climb, before veering off in a different direction. An extremely dedicated girl from Highgate who had travelled from North London to the Isle of Wight solely to take part in the 12km race overtook me on the first walking section and I immediately knew there was no catching her as she scarpered away, seeming more or less unbothered by the gradient.
By this stage I had a fell-running strategy: make as most of the flats as possible, stop running and climb whenever it feels like running is going backwards, then bomb it downhill wherever you feel confident. I thought I’d see how many people I could hold off at the very least.
Race 2, with its increased distance, may have been the most difficult of the three (although they all enjoyed their fiendish moments.) As is the nature of hills, anytime you enjoyed a brief downwards slope, you knew there was a climb coming somewhere else. And it was hard to enjoy the downhills, with the risk of a topple always seconds away. A longish flat section that should have been a reprieve turned out to be an annoyingly irregular surface in which it was impossible to get a sure footing. But it was still beautiful, as we made our way across grassy fields and through hedgerows, clambering over stiles, flora and fauna all around plus the occasional smiling volunteer with directions and words of support.
But then: the mile of mud. We found ourselves faced with a slope that would no doubt have been tough any year, but following heavy rain this week, had turned into a real obstacle course. Ankle deep mud but vertical, through brambles and nettles up a hill for what wasn’t a mile, but sure felt like it. An element of slowmo comedy police chase as we all dragged ourselves uphill through the shoe-sucking mud, the terrain being such that no-one could move fast enough to either catch or lose a place. Many expletives overheard between laboured breathing. Eventually we made it, and the race was back on, along a mercifully flat section we knew from the first race and back down the precipitous drop – any momentum generated evaporated as I failed to figure out how to open a gate and had to have Simeon show me how the latch operated – and then into the town for the finish line.
Hurray! 2/3 of the races done, we got back in the sea before heading to the pub for some well-deserved supper and drinks. Some further chill-out time in the house before we put our weary bodies to bed.
Day 2: Hello extremely muddy hill my old friend
If Race 2 had lacked preparation in comparison to Race 1, Race 3 was a real roll-out-of-bed affair. The drizzle saw us huddling under beach umbrellas at the start line. Everyone was still very friendly, but noticeably more fatigued than on Saturday. However I had been told that despite this race being the longest, not far off a half marathon, it was the nicest – not quite as steep, not as fast, more chance to soak up the views. And we didn’t have to start up the same insane hill! Yes!
Instead, The Wroxall Round (21km) started with a gentle climb along the coast. Undulating and pretty pleasant. Feeling happy and perhaps a little overly confident that the worst of the weekend was over, I tried to stick with some speedy boys at the front of the race. This worked out fine for all of a mile or two before we headed into the woods for the beginning of a long ascent. Not insanely steep but maddeningly unrelenting. I did my best, but soon enough… it was time for more walking. Connor came up behind me with some words of encouragement and a friendly local Ryde runner Ellen overtook me. But as we reached the top of this hill and with fresher legs from walking, I skipped on past them both. For the first half of the race it stayed mostly like this: Ryde runner Ellie, Connor and I would catch up and overtake each other on various up and down hills. It was properly raining at this stage, and as we pelted through the downpour and splashed through puddles I thought, this is proper fell running.
Through a farm yard, past some ponies and a weeping willow tree. Around halfway, Connor took the time to give me some final race advice, and then he took off to try and catch the men in front of him. Myself and Ellie were neck and neck at the water station but as we headed into the second part of the race she began to put some distance in between. I thought maybe the mile of mud might slow her down and maybe it did – but not as much as it slowed me! The same sludgy uphill battle as yesterday, but muddier, plus rain, on much more tired legs. A small slip and slide resulted in my poor Garmin getting a nice lick of mud. But once I reached the top of the mud bath I knew the score. Physically spent after a weekend of hills, at least I knew there were no more ascents – the end was in sight. Not literally, it was incredibly foggy this time, so no fantastic views to enjoy today. Something very atmospheric about that! No time to worry about the scenery – there was a race to finish. A lovely feature of the races is that the finish is designed in a very generous manner for runners. After battling hills at positively glacial paces, you finish coming around the corner of a good smooth paved downhill and can get a bit of speed as you run past the spectators no matter how slowly you’ve been crawling around the course. Rounding that corner, I put on one last burst of speed as soon as I saw people watching and finished the third and final race looking probably mostly alright but feeling pretty zonked. Connor was waiting with the cheer squad, and we all whooped and waved as everyone completed the race.
The results
A final dip in the sea, a shower, and back to race HQ for prize giving. It was a medal bonanza for VPH, with every runner coming away with some bling. We seem to have real form in this particular race series. I had come first in the first race, and second in the 2nd and 3rd, meaning that while I didn’t quite emulate Hazel’s clean sweep of 2023, I did take away the Women’s Individual winner (second year in a row for VPH, 5th time since the current shield was inaugurated in 2012.) Hazel had come 2nd, 3d and 4th, and Erica 8th, 9th and 10th and together we won the women’s team prize – for the 6th time since 2008 (unfortunately Serpentine have won it 8 times, but we’re closing on them…) Hazel also took gold in the V40 category, with Erica taking bronze, and Elaine taking silver in the V50 category.
For the men, unfortunately with only two runners we didn’t field a team this year and so relinquished our trophy from 2023. But a very spirited performance from Connor in all three races meant that he took the Men’s South of England Championship medal for V40, whilst Sim took the bronze. Connor also took a number of MV40 prizes from the individual races. Medals (and Tesco vouchers) all around! Last minute paper bag of fish and chips acquired; it was a tight turnaround to catch the bus back to the ferry back to the train back to lovely level London. Tired legs, damp towels, muddy trainers… but what a weekend it was. Conditions this year were apparently much more challenging than previously – I am promised the weather is usually dry and warm – but I had a ball and would encourage everyone to consider signing up. We performed superbly for a very small squad, and we need to get more VPH members out to the Isle next year for a weekend of running and sea swimming. If you’re also into type 2 fun and fancy a bit of something different to end your summer or kick off the cross country season, this is it. Dates for next year are 13/14 Sept 2025 – I’ll see you gasping up that bloody hill at the start. Massive thank you to the Ryde Harriers for organising, especially all of the volunteers who stood on the course in the rain on Sunday. Further thanks to the VPH cheer squad who provided plenty of strong support and good vibes at the beginning and end of each race.
Words by Cat O’Shea
