The race is over but this story is not.

Starting the Vendée Globe race on the 10th November last year was one of the most memorable days of my lifetime. Just one week ago, I watched, for the first time, unedited footage of my trip down the canal and I was brought to tears by the noise of the crowd and all the memories that came flooding back from that 45-minute transit to the sea.

Tens of thousands of people came to watch the start of the race. Many of them camped out overnight on the canalside, keen to stake their place in the front row, watching the 40 sailors pass to take on the greatest racetrack on earth. Why did they come? Travel across countries and continents, give up their free time to watch 40 boats sail over the horizon?

I can’t speak for every individual that visited the race village - and there were over 3 million of them. But maybe my love and passion for the race speaks for us all. I first read about the Vendée Globe race at the age of 17 years old. I thought, quite simply, it must be the toughest sporting event on the planet, yet it was so simple; one person, one boat, alone, non-stop around the planet. To succeed in this race would never be simple. It would test, stretch and demand strength and ingenuity from every human trait and facet. There could be no single trait that would define a successful competitor and there are no favourites when it comes to Mother Nature.

Vendée Globe Start - Canalside

Perhaps one of the most challenging aspects of the race is that you can never categorically say you know how it will end. We set out prepared to manage every eventuality, with the tools, skills and preparation to compete, maintain, fix and exist all under our own ingenuity and determination. Despite the painstaking care and attention that has put in by every team over the previous years of training and racing, we all cross that start line knowing we cannot guarantee we will sail back over it again and complete the lap. Some things we cannot overcome.

I am a fighter, and I am a finisher. Knock me down and I will stand up again every time. Throw me a problem and I will find a solution. In the 16 years I have been solo ocean racing I have not retired from one single race. Broken rudders, mast climbs, crushed fingers, broken bulkheads, total electrical shutdown… the list is long. It has never been enough to send me off the racecourse. I have always found a way to stay in the game and come back fighting and fierce.

When I looked up to see the mast of Medallia falling towards me on the 15th December, in a split second everything was over, I felt a loss so deep I couldn’t breathe and I didn’t want to move because there was no getting up off the floor to be done. On average there have been four masts lost across the IMOCA fleet, every year, over the last four years. I have sent the skippers messages, commiserating with them at the loss of their race, wishing them strength and luck to come back to the next event, and putting aside any thoughts that it could have been me. To lose a mast during qualification races is bad but recoverable, there is still hope and a path to the end goal. To lose the mast during the Vendée Globe is the end of the story, the end of a journey four years in the making. There is no way to fight back.

I don’t think I will ever be at peace with dismasting during this race. The feelings I have are filled with pain, guilt and incredible loss. I keenly watched the rest of the fleet while I made my way around Melbourne trying to sort out future plans. I imagine where I would have been; I can see it clearly. Sometimes I am excited by what I know we were capable of achieving, sometimes I am angry and feel utterly robbed. It’s horrible. I don’t want to talk about it face to face, the feeling of failure hovers around me constantly, waiting for any moment of weakness to find its way into my head. Though in my rational mind there is still much to celebrate about the last four years, there are quiet moments when I just can’t spin the positive angle, and I hurt.

But, by nature I will not stay down. This happened. We dismasted. The race is over, but this story is not. As with every step of my sailing career to date, I have to decide what happens next and I have to make it happen.

Medallia following the dismasting

It started with a jury rig and my ‘slowboat’ journey to the shore. I didn’t want or need to be rescued after dismasting. I had only lost my big mast. I had the means to generate power for months, I had food, could make water, and had communications with the shore. I took responsibility for my situation, made a small mast and set sail for Melbourne under my own steam. Quite soon, my curiosity and competitive spirit had returned. I couldn’t bear sitting down when I knew just a little thought and effort might make my situation better. I moved weight around the boat, cut up old sails to make new little ones, changed the rigging, organised and tidied the inside of my boat. All the while documenting my journey and my thoughts because I realised this was an experience that very few people in the world would ever get to watch real time. It was a huge surprise to me how much I started to enjoy my journey to the shore. And how I couldn’t help myself from trying to go faster or make something better as though I was still in the race. There were still moments when I sat with my head in my hands and cried because I couldn’t hold back the feelings of loss. But when I was active and busy, I found pride and pleasure and other than to still being on the racetrack with my peers, there was no place in the world I would rather have been.

If I could have picked any place in the world to crash out of the Vendée Globe, I doubt there would have been a greater welcome than I received in Melbourne. From the moment I announced I was heading their way, the local community made it their mission to look after me. Spearheaded by volunteers from the Ocean Racing Club of Victoria, I cannot begin to quantify the generosity and care that has accompanied me every step of the way. My arrival was organised, a berth found in Melbourne City Marina, a crew of volunteers aboard powerboat ‘Little Miss Magic’ came out in horrendous conditions through the heads of Port Philip to accompany me on my last night alone and through the whole of the next day on the final approaches to Melbourne. Local sailors came to say hello on their boats, a crowd had gathered when I arrived on the dock. I have been given a bed to sleep in, meals to eat, and volunteers continue to help me with organising the complicated equation of onward plans from here. The absolute silver lining of what has been an awful occurrence is the kindness and support of a community as far away from my home port as you could get. People are astonishing.

Pip and Medallia reaching the marina in Melbourne

So, what next?

It is down to me to decide and define the answer to this question. It starts with a process I have gone through after every major campaign has ended. Answering three questions to myself as honestly as I can.

Do you want to go on?

Do you have more to give?

Do you have the energy to get up and fight some more?

Yes, Yes, and bring it on.

The Pip Hare Ocean Racing team has achieved an incredible amount over the last four years. We have grown from a brand new, inexperienced team to one capable of top ten performance in the most competitive Ocean Racing fleet in the world. I have grown from a sailor that raced around the world on a 20-year-old boat, to one who can pilot and push a big foil IMOCA at 39.6 knots and nipping at the heels of newer boats and more experienced and well-funded teams.

Our path has been anything but easy. I’ve taken some big risks, never backing down from an opportunity to grow and develop. We’ve improved and adapted our boat, our business, and our own skills within the team. We have delivered great race results, genuinely impactful returns to our sponsors and partners, a cracking story to our supporters and we’ve done it all with the utmost integrity. We are exactly who we appear to be and proud to behave with honesty and respect toward others.

What could our team deliver in another four years? Just writing this now makes me excited. We’ve already achieved what many said was impossible, to set up a new and successful ocean racing team in the UK, away from the energy and expertise of the French epicentres. With another four years we will have more impact. We will create an environment where other teams can join, collaborate, and share knowledge. We will continue to bring sailing to a wider audience and inspire others to get involved on every level. We will be a competitive force on the racetrack and a collaborative force on the dock.

And me - what have I got to offer the world of ocean racing? So much more than you have seen yet. I learned an incredible amount during my six weeks in the 2024 Vendée Globe Race. I grew as a sailor and as a person. I proved myself to be a hard and worthy competitor and it makes me laugh to see my name still 6th on the overall top speed ranking board, for the best average speed over a 30-minute period. Five new build, big budget teams, then me… at 28 knots, punching, as ever, above my weight.

I know I could be better, stronger, smarter, faster. I want to be that person. The energy and power that filled me during my six weeks at sea have fuelled my competitive fire for another four years at least. The Vendée Globe Race offers me and every other sailor the chance to become the absolute best they possibly could be. To grow every day, to be the solution to every problem, to take every good, positive skill and attribute that a human can have and use them to drive us around the greatest racetrack in the world. Why would I not want to do this race again? I am not finished. We are not finished. There is more to learn and achieve.

It's hard times ahead though. I’m as far away from home as I can get, and my boat has no mast. I have now shared the news that our incredible title sponsor for the last two races, Medallia, will not be signing for a third term. We have an incredibly tough journey ahead to the start line of the Vendée Globe 2028. But I’ve stood up, and I know where I am going. I am not alone, and we have started to fight again.

Next week, I’ll write a more factual update with details of what our next steps look like. If you are as passionate as we are about getting back to racing, please share our story whenever you get the opportunity. You are our greatest ambassadors, and your support adds fuel to a fire that gets brighter every day.

Pip x