As I write this, I sit here with severe nausea, pains in places I didn’t know could hurt on my body, tears in my eyes and a burnt face.

Yesterday I attempted a 100km race.

A distance I have completed before.

24 hours previous to me writing this I was setting off along the Ridgeway to complete 100km by foot in what would turn out to be one of the hottest days of the year.

I felt strong, prepared and free.

I felt determined, at home in the countryside.

I had the most amazing support crew, my Mum, Paul and Hannah. Ready and waiting at pit stops to see me  come bounding in, top up my suntan lotion and feed me.

The first half flew by in a sea of blue skies and rolling hills.

50km I ate and refuelled ready for the second half. I ate pasta and fudge and drank sugary tea. All the things I had trained with previously.

I knew my body and what it needed.

My feet needed re taping, my socks needed changing. I saw the medic for sudocream for places we need not discuss. And my sister Hannah will never recover from.

I left 50km slightly emotional at the sudocream incident but in high spirits. I kissed all goodbye and headed off to 60km.

60km I needed to change my shoes. The pain in my feet was starting to creep in.

I ploughed on to 70km to meet the crew and change my shoes. From this I felt I had a new lease of life and felt great in more comfy runners. I upped my salt intake and continued.

I set off waving and cheering.

Half way between 70km-80km I suddenly came over with a wave of nausea.

I tried to convince myself I was just imagining it.

How could I feel so good one minute and so bad the next?

I ploughed on, starting to feel unsteady on my feet. I could feel myself swaying from side to side as I was now plodding along.

I suddenly felt extremely disorientated and for the first time questioned my abilities. The negative thoughts creep up on you without warning.

How can I do this? Why am I doing this?

Then it happened. I was violently ill at the side of the path.

All the fuelling I had done throughout the race was there, coming out of my body.

Dehydrating me.

I just wanted to lie down so bad, but with a few more kilometers to go to 80km I pushed on.

Daylight was slowly drifting away as I came into the check point.

I saw the medic and I tried everything I could to feel better.

My face was burning, but I felt cold.

My stomach was churning and I was struggling to keep water down.

My head was telling me to man up and move on, but my heart was telling me it was time.

I finished my 100km race in tears at the 80km stop.

One of the hardest decisions a runner will have to make and a memory that will last a life time.

Why would I think to keep going when so ill?

I have a yearning and determination for completion. When I commit, I commit wholeheartedly and I don’t like failure.

In time, as my body recovers, and my emotions get back on track, I will look at this experience as one of learning.

I know I did my absolute best and I know 80km, is still an achievement.

I will reminisce all the positives, the people and the scenery. That many will never experience.

I will go on, I will encourage others to achieve their goals, and I will always advise, when you know in your heart, you just know.

“There will be days you don’t think you can run a marathon, there will be a life time of knowing you have”