A few days after crossing the finish line of the 1000 Race, I finally feel like I've got the brain space to sit down and actually take it all in. I’ve finished my first ever solo IMOCA race!

I'm writing this from home, properly horizontal, with a slightly stiff neck - it turns out a hotel bed is somehow worse for me than the bunk on the boat! Maybe I should've just stayed onboard. I'm tired, definitely, but not destroyed; that on its own feels like a win.

Our plan for me going into the 1000 Race was deliberately simple. I really tried not to fixate on the result, or the numbers. I wanted to get around the course cleanly, do the maneuvers properly, make good decisions with the weather, and bring the boat back in one piece. Tick, tick, tick, tick. I'm genuinely proud that I did all of that.

But (there's always a but) the moment the gun goes, I’m a racer. I want to beat the boats next to me; I just can't help it! So the number result might not be where I want to be, but overall it was definitely a good result for us as a team.

Looking back at the race

So, I had a decent start, and then within the first few miles I had a moment where the boat just wouldn't sit on the foils anymore, and suddenly the front group was gone - five, six miles up the road ahead of me. In a 1000-mile long race that sounds like nothing, and in my head I was telling myself, "It's a long race, it'll be fine." But actually there is never a long race .... Losing that kind of distance on the first leg was honestly pretty bad.

So I pushed. I made some choices that maybe weren't ‘bold’ so much as a bit unconventional. I tried to open the game up by taking different angles, betting on shifts other boats weren't betting on. And it paid off. By the time we got to the Fastnet Rock, I was already attached to the front group again.

That, for me, was the best thing that happened all race. Not the position itself, but the fact that I had something to fight for the whole way round. There were always boats around me, always something to play against. That's such a different mindset to being a hundred miles behind just trying to grind out a finish. It’s way nicer, way more rewarding.

There were a few points in the race where I had a really clear picture in my head: where the next breeze was coming from, where the shifts were, and I had to decide: “Do I follow, or do I do my own thing?”.

The problem with following is that you just keep following. It becomes a pure speed race, and that's only a winning bet if you've got a faster boat. Ours isn't the fastest in the fleet, certainly not in those medium-to-light conditions, so I knew I had to play on strategy. Position myself. Gybe before they gybed. Force them to ask the question: is she onto something? Should we follow her, or stick with the plan? You can plant a little bit of doubt in someone's head that way.

After the last waypoint, I knew the breeze was coming in from the east-southeast, filling from the south first. Violette and another of the boats up front were busy scrapping with each other, and I thought “right, this is the moment”. Take a big shift, commit, see if I can get some distance on them. And for a while it looked beautiful. But when one boat is doing 18 knots upwind and you're doing 15, the maths catches up with you pretty quickly!

Hats off to the fleet

I have to say something about the rest of the boats out there, because the level was unreal. The way people are pushing these IMOCAs solo right now (speeds, decisions, maneuvers on no sleep etc), it's seriously impressive. The whole front group was sailing brilliantly.

The scrap with Elodie in particular was a really good one. We were trading places, trading ideas, and you could feel both of us trying to outthink each other the whole way. That kind of racing is exactly why I'm doing this. Hats off to everyone who finished, and a huge well done to the boats at the front who were absolutely flying.

Looking ahead: new solo race in three weeks already

Right now, the priority is a couple of weeks at home. Time with my daughter. Sleep. Eat. Recover. That stuff matters more than people realize, and I'm not going to rush it.

Then it's the Vendée Arctique Les Sable d’Olonne, and that one is a completely different beast. I don't think we'll see anything like the conditions we just had, probably the opposite. Heavy race, cold weather, properly far north. Last time the fleet got hit by a massive storm and some of the boats actually had to stop and moor up in a fjord to ride it out. So it's almost a 180 in terms of the feeling inside the boat. You have to mentally flip a switch.

But here's the thing: this race has given me so much confidence. I feel confident managing the boat by myself, I feel confident in the maneuvers, I feel confident just being out there alone and being happy with it. That's a huge thing to carry into the Vendée Arctique.

Honestly, this race has given me the bug. I just want to get back out there and do it all again.

Andiamo!

Frankie