It’s 2014.

And a 100km lays between me and Brighton race course.

I’ve just been dropped (literally) at the start line in Richmond and I haven’t got a clue what lays ahead.

It’s 5am and thunder and lightning and I’m standing in a tent worrying if I have bought enough stuff to see me through and panicking about the loo roll in my backpack getting wet.

I have too much stuff.

I had dreamt of running this race for days, I had pictured how I would feel at the finish line over and over and all of a sudden I was overwhelmed.

The race started, I set off early to start covering miles of mud. Disposing of my coat within the first 10miles as I was too hot and the rain collecting it in was weighing me down.

I had my doubts from the start, I felt under prepared. I was tired from hours at work, I hadn’t rested and I had under fuelled.

I had no supporters to see me off, my now ex fiancé had dropped me at the start and driven off to get back to bed.

My Mum would be 100km away in Brighton.

Trudging through the mud, was tiring. It was too wet to listen to music and the rain at times was so hard I could hardly see.

Swimming goggles were missed off the kit list.

I made it to 56km, and watched in horror at runners eating piles of pasta, hot dogs, bread, cheese and … milk!

Baffled as to how they were going to run on all that food, I knew best of course. I didn’t need all the carbs. That would surely make me sick.

I pressed on in pain. I made it to 67km and proceeded to drop to the floor in a crying heap giving in, and pulling out the race.

The overwhelming feeling of failure was too hard to bare. I was put on a train and cried all my way to Brighton, where I was met with cheers and well done for getting as far as I did.

Dehydrated, hungry, exhausted I didn’t deserve this.

Whilst falling asleep in my Dads car, between tears, I utter the words “I’m never doing that again” for the first and last time.

Fast forward to 2015…

I was back on the start line in Richmond. Secretly two days after that awful DNF I signed up again for the London to Brighton 100km Challenge. I had unfinished business and I just had to go back.

This time however I was ready, I was determined more than ever in my life, and this time I was going back to prove to myself I can do anything.

I was well rested, I had taken the week off before the race to carb load, and check my kit a billion times.

My parents and sister were with me on the start line, they would meet me half way later and the support was immense.

The sun was shining, my bag on my back was half the size, I had no coat and I had my favourite pair of trainers on.

I headed off from Richmond beaming. (There is photo evidence for this).

I was looking around, taking in the scenery, I was smiling!!! The course was drier, the hills were still there, but this time my head was there too.

I made it to the half way point, to my mum, dad and sister cheering me on and seeing me in. I sat with them, I ate! Tomato pasta never tasted so good.

My sister was the best kit changer you could ask for, whilst eating she was on her hands and knees changing my socks, taping up my toes. She took my top off me and replaced it with a clean one, sprayed me fresh and wiped the salt from my face. I was ready to continue.

I waved goodbye with tears in my eyes, but happy tears.

I made it to 67km, this was it. Could I go on?

I had my knee taped up, ate again and set off into the unknown.

From 67km I was on my own and for about 5miles I didn’t see another single person. Then up ahead I could see three male runners. Little did I know at this point these three would make the event, and become friends for life.

I caught up with Ian, Josh and Chris. We battled along together, getting to know each other, making jokes, encouraging each other and sharing stories as to why we were here putting ourselves through this.

As the sun started to go down we came into 80km together, and made a pact to finish as one from here on in.

With jacket potatoes fuelling us from here, we left with head torches and glow sticks. 88km was the next stop as night started to fall.

We reached 87km, by this point I was in pain and text my mum to tell her my knee hurt so bad. Mum replied with “maybe think about stopping”.

My reply: “No way”.

And with that I threw my phone back into my rucksack and headed off up to Ditching Beacon. An extremely steep 2km incline, in the dark. It was tough, mentally and physically. But the support with our little team together we made it up to the top.

Running down hill the other side was tough on the feet, tough on the legs and tough on the body. The constant pounding against the hard ground sent shocks through my knee.

94km was meant to be our next stop, we missed it. In the dark we didn’t see it and decided to press on.

I had decided at 95km I would message my parents to tell them I was nearly there. I missed the 95km mark also. And 96km.

97Km mark popped up and overwhelmed that we were further along than I thought I got my phone out whilst jogging.

My phone was flashing with message upon message, missed calls and people asking for urgent replies. The Action Challenge tracking centre had been calling. Along with Mum, and friends and family.

I briefly read a message sharing condolences that I hadn’t made it!

WHAT!!

In a panic I rang the control centre. A young girl answered relieved to hear from me! From 87km, my tracker had failed and everyone thought I had withdrawn. Hell no!!

This gave me all the push I needed to get to the end. I was going to do this no matter what.

Ian, Josh and I pushed ahead and the race course came into sight in the dark. Both had wanted to finish the race with a sprint. We hugged our goodbyes and they ran the last bit ahead, with the promise to meet at the end.

I hobbled, jogging along with my bad knee. As the flags of the finish line came into view a voice in the dark shouted “Come on Jenny”.

My sister Hannah, my number one supporter, ran the last 100yards with me.

I had made it.

I cried.

The next few moments are still a blur, and to this day I still don’t know how I travelled all that way, but I do know I was always going to get there.

The one image I will alway treasure, is my family rushing towards me, relieved I was ok, relieved I was there and sharing my experience.

Running 100km is tough. It is a mental challenge that will push you to your limits. It will test your determination, it will test your stamina and strength.

But it will also test your memory as it is an achievement that will stay with you for the rest of your life.