Hotfoot Up Famau Fell Race

‘Fell running’, I declared, whilst huffing along a rare bit of flat ground, ‘is the epitome of running.’

‘Definitely’, agreed one of the Deestriders women who had joined me in being at the back of the pack.

My legs were like mush after the second descent, and evidently my brain was too, if I was spouting crazy talk like that. Why, after slip-sliding down, like an uncouth crab, on my feet, hands and backside, was I thinking that way? My visual image was of some lissom youth cantering serenely on a gently sloping track at the top of a mountain surrounded by the vastness of nature. Well, at least we had the vast nature bit.

I should, by rights, have been warned off by the chat in the club’s fell running WhatsApp group. Several ankles had been turned on this race in previous years. And when I asked someone if it was harder than The Druid, my first and scariest fell race last year, they just laughed at me.

But it was a beautifully sunny evening, and I would have a few days to recover before my half marathon race at the weekend, and Alex had said that the last bit to the finish was a nice runnable downhill. And it was short, just over 5K. 

Jeff walked up to me and Alex in the carpark as I finished safety-pinning my number to my vest. Jeff is a great fell runner and normally really encouraging of new and not so great fell runners. He gave me a big smile. 
‘I’m really surprised to see you here Rita.’ 
Hmmm. That really did not bode well. Was it going to be as bad as that?

I had put Alex’s route from last year on to my watch. I know you’re not supposed to do that, but I needed the backup in case my ability to follow sporadic trails of orange tape in the foliage failed. Plus, this time, I knew that I had the back sweeper to call on before things went really awry.

It was a given that we began by heading uphill. They always seem to start that way. I was able to run it, but evidently a lot more slowly than absolutely everyone else, and a gap between me and them appeared almost instantaneously. I was okay with that. Although it’s called a ‘race’, my aim was just to experience it, and ideally get to the end in one piece. I checked behind, and a bloke with a rucksack was jogging a few yards back. Good to know.

I’d made the mistake of putting my rain jacket on because, although sunny, it was a bit parky still, while standing. I had to take it off almost immediately after we set off and wrap it round my waist as the effort had warmed me right up. From the stony path, I was directed to veer left onto a downward slope in the hills only visible by the previously trampled ferns. In the distance I could see a couple of green vests which was encouraging, and eventually, on this first downhill, the one where I just about remained upright, I caught the women up. We passed a small group of runners in red vests from Prestatyn. One of them had twisted an ankle and ended up having to hobble back up the way we’d just come. One clubmate went back with them while the other two passed us on the ‘small’ up of the middle hill and were quickly out of sight.

All around us the hills were a lush green, mostly with ferns, with the odd pink fox glove sneaking through. The Deestriders were very friendly, and although I couldn’t chat loads with them, owing to a lack of spare oxygen, their sense of fun and encouragement made the evening really kind of enjoyable. 

I was told that I’d need my hands to climb up the gully, which was twice as long as this first stretch of uphill. It seemed unfathomable that the angle of my ankle could get any more acute than what it was already doing so after, so I tried to forget what was to come and kept slogging up. We could see, once we’d reached the top, some multi-coloured ants making their way up far ahead of us, and I followed the front runners of our group along a path that seemed to lead directly to that second hill. And then we were called back a few minutes later by the others because we were on the wrong path.

The path we should have gone on nose-dived to the left. More ferns with some nettles and gorse bushes thrown in. I found out later that Lisa, from our club, had taken her ankle in the wrong direction on this descent, and I’m not surprised. Jeff, aside from being bemused by my presence, had told me to just take my time on the route. It was good advice, although I did feel a bit like a slalom skier as I grabbed the fern stalks on either side of me to steady myself and landed on my butt several times. On the fifth landing, I stayed down, and crab-walked the final drop to the bottom. Uncouth or not, it certainly felt safer to have four limbs on the ground.

Almost immediately, on crossing the rivulet at the bottom, we started to head up. There was a small runnable section at the beginning but then the slog began in earnest. Nigel told me later, in the pub, that he had had a go at going down the gully once. He preferred up. There were a couple of moments on the rocky ridge, where I felt legs slipping down and my hands tiring in their grip. I think I’d only contemplate going down this bit if I was harnessed to a rope. It was almost at the right angle for a nice abseil.

I eventually got past that tricky bit onto a firmer ground, but there was still plenty more steep climbing to do.

‘You’re nearly at the top’, said Rob. I discovered our back-sweeper’s name during a moment when I could breathe and chat at the same time. He had said this several times though and each time I glanced up, the only thing I could see was a lot more up. I was back to being last as the green vests of the Deestriders were well ahead of me. 

The top did finally come. There were normal (non-running) people ambling along the wide stony path that would take them to and from the top of Moel Famau. I wasn’t headed to the Jubilee Tower this time; I was running, actually running, down the stony but wide path to the carpark and the finish. Alex had been right. I caught up again with the ladies and we bundled over the metaphorical line as a group.

At one and a half hours, it was my slowest 5K ever. I suppose you could knock off a few minutes for the bit where we went wrong, but it was a terrific all over body work out, and I’m pleased that I was brave enough to give it a go and glad of the lovely group company. Rob, our back sweeper was always smiley and never hurried us. He was a reassuring presence to make sure we (mostly) stayed on the right path.

Despite being much, much harder than The Druid – we were as far from ‘hotfooting’ as anybody with feet could be – it was a little less scary. Perhaps because I’d now got over the shock of the first race. Perhaps because there were very few runnable bits, for me anyway, in this race. Perhaps because I didn’t have to complete it alone. Whatever it was, I came away feeling as if I had weirdly enjoyed myself. 

Although I look nothing like my mental image of a fell runner, I am prepared to concede that this image may need a little updating.