As AC/DC almost sang: “I’m on a highway to fell.” That is, on Wednesday 9 July, I will take part in my first fell race.
I should imagine I’m exactly the kind of person the fell running community looks to discourage: a southern flatlander with questionable navigational skills, who was introduced to fell running not by his sheep-farming father but by Richard Askwith’s Feet in the Clouds.
Still, I mean no harm; I simply want to share in the suffering.
For those unfamiliar with the rugged joys of fell running, it essentially involves running up and down a vertiginous slope as quick as your body – and courage – will allow. Some routes are marked; most are not. It’s about four quid to enter, and there’s no post-race goody bag or massage on offer. This is hardy running for hardy men.
Lots of fell races are over within 30 minutes. But that doesn’t detract from their difficulty. Imagine running up impossibly steep gradients of stone and scree, heart pumping out of your chest, legs screaming for you to stop.
Well, that’s the easy bit.
It’s when you head back down that the problems really start. “Brakes off, brains off” is the immortal fell running mantra – a command to let gravity do its work and whisk you at break-neck speed back from whence you came. This approach actually puts less pressure on your body – unless, of course, you twist an ankle and are sent flying face-first on to a rock.
Naturally I’m a little nervous about my fell running debut, even if it is only 9K. Find out if it took me all night long in the next issue of Men’s Running.
