The 70th running of the Yorkshire Three Peaks fell race, 26 April 2025 – and my first running of this iconic event. And it turned out to be a memorable day, for more reasons than just the racing!
Three Harriers were racing today – Joe Martlew, Esther Harrison, and myself. It was an early start to get to the race venue but we arrived in good time (2 hours before race start) to pick up race numbers, get ourselves sorted, and even enjoy a bit of the atmosphere, with the PA system announcer helping with that.
After a brief race briefing in the tent – inaudible to any of the few hundred of us outside the tent – at 10:30 we were off. Personally, it wasn’t a target race, so I’d been telling myself (and anyone who would listen) the unlikely story that I was going to ‘take it easy’. So Joe and I started conservatively in the 4-5 hours start group. “Three” – yes, I’m taking this one easy. “Two” – definitely be sensible today. “One” – very, very steady pace and nothing daft. “Go” – sod it, let’s open the legs a bit. The run up to Pen-Y-Ghent starts on the road, turning into a gradual, wide farm track, before you begin the climb proper a couple of miles in. Lots of time spent yo-yoing with people whose strengths lie either in climbing, descending, or flat level speed. Also a good chance to spot a few familiar faces – lots of Scarborough, Loftus & Whitby, and Easingwold faces to pick out today. The climb to Pen-Y-Ghent passed, and I was feeling strong enough. The race descent returns via a different route before you rejoin the usual path. I felt like my descending was better than in recent memory, so let that flow into the next 7-8 miles of flat (undulating) track, path and road over to Ribblehead – combining this with a chat with Matt Jonesi of Scarborough about the benefits of lifting fire doors (?) for climbing. Joe Martlew and I also leapfrogged each other once or twice, both running well. But it was a warm day under the cloud cover, and it was to take its toll – cramp started to kick in around the Ribblehead road crossing / checkpoint. But not before I’d got a shout out from the PA announcer at the checkpoint after a big thumbs up for getting my name right – he very politely thanked me for acknowledging him, and complimented me on my t-shirt.
Already starting to feel the cramp, and a bit of dehydration, I took my time at the checkpoint to refill my water bottle and have a bit of a chat with the marshalls. It was still early in the day without too many people coming through, so they had time to natter, and after the speedy transition from Pen-Y-Ghent, I arrived in exactly 100th place, Joe not far behind in 120th (yet only 2 minutes in it!), and Esther around 10 minutes later. After this checkpoint, we head off up Whernside. The race route follows the viaduct, before cutting under the train line a little way up and taking a usually out-of-bounds route directly up Whernside. But this is where some drama came. Just after the rail crossing, we came to a boggy patch of ground to wade through – very boggy. Before we reached it, I jumped a small puddle and the runner behind me shouted “you’ll have to get your feet wet sooner or later!” – how little did he know… We turned the corner to find a walker stuck, 60 metres or so off the trod path, stuck in the bog up to her waist! The prescient runner and I went over to help pull her out, but it took us and another two trailing runners around five minutes to pull up one of her legs, quickly followed by the other. It could have been quite a scary predicament for that poor walker if it weren’t race day, with 100s of fell runners passing by that spot!
By this point, with the cramp and tiredness kicking in, my hopes were already dashed of either (a) taking the race easy or (b) doing well by NOT taking it easy. So having helped this stricken walker, my day suddenly seemed to have taken on a useful purpose. Onto that little Whernside climb… one mile and 1,200ft, with gradients of up to 50% on grass, dirt and rock. Being honest, it wasn’t enjoyable. So I took to litter picking (runners can generate a right mess, and fragments of gel wrappers were all too frequent) and having the occasional ‘nice sit down’ to take in the views of the surrounding countryside, and the snake of runners following us up the hill.
The top of Whernside came (along with a mid-climb jelly baby thrown to me from a hillside spectator), and a slow grind of a descent was on. Nothing much of note from the descent, except pain and regret on my part, until we turned a corner to find an ice cream van parked up. My saviour! As I struggled to find some cash in my backpack, another runner barged in front and demanded “bottle of Coke. And whatever he’s having” thumbing to me. The fraternity of the fell runner in action! Well… except this ice cream van charged a premium for hillside snacks. And my new friend didn’t have enough cash… so it was back on me. A clever trick. But ice lolly in hand (a Rowntree’s blackcurrant push up), and a bottle of Coke in my bag (hoping it would help the cramp), I was back off. I wonder if the regular flow of Three Peaks walkers thought it was a normal fell running practice, running for miles around hills with an ice lolly in hand, much akin to carrying a baton in a relay race? Anyway, I don’t care, it tasted great and the sugar was a good friend to me.
Next up after our roadside checkpoint at the Hill Inn (now in 241st place…) was the third and final peak, Ingleborough. Joe, Esther & I had recced part of the race the previous month, and Ingleborough is where the clouds had opened up, dumped torrential rain on us, and thrown in 40mph winds for free. Yet the memories of that recce were far less miserable than this death march to the top on race day. Cramp was making running close to impossible, and a blister on the sole of my right foot made any perambulation painful, so I turned to my bottle of Coke for hope… It was not to be. I ran this leg of the race in the 425th slowest time of all competitors (around 600 finishers and around 800 starters). But by this point, I didn’t care, I just wanted it to be over and I had to get to the finish to make that happen.
Descending from Ingleborough is not much more fun than ascending. The ground underfoot is rocky, jagged, and uneven. Throw in the dual threat of cramp and blisters, and there was no fun to be had. But hold on – after a mile or so of questioning life choices, something happened – the caffeine and the sugar were working their magic – so after 9 miles and about 2½ hours – I had a second wind and rallied for the last 3 miles, into the show ground, for a sprint finish with two other runners. Finished, in a time of 4 hours 48 minutes – 24 miles and over 5,000ft of climbing. Joe had finished in 3 hours 59 minutes, and Esther came in shortly after me in 4 hours 52.
As part of the race entry, there is no medal, no t-shirt, nothing like that – but each runner gets a hot meal and a hot drink voucher. Much more appreciated! And it is a great atmosphere afterwards, with lots of benches and tables, teams and individuals all mixing to eat and drink together, including a Northern Monk beer specially brewed for the race.
Overall, while I personally had a mixed bag of a race (enjoyed some, miserable for the rest), the event itself was great. It is a festival atmosphere, and it is lovely to catch up with so many familiar faces from the local fell running scene on a much bigger scale. As an event, I’d recommend trying to do it once in your life if you like fell or trail running, long distances, and big events. In my view it’s not the most interesting route – there are quite a few stretches of just slog along tracks, and more road than I had expected – but it’s the whole package that makes it such an event. Will I be back? Maybe… but next time, I’ll be better prepared, and stick to a plan.
Special thanks to Kerri-Lee and Rose for driving duties (and honorary mention to Mabel for joining, too), meaning Joe, Esther and I could just relax and focus on running & recovering.
