Sunday 8th October 2017 was a brilliant day for York, North Yorkshire. It was the day of the Plusnet Yorkshire Marathon 2017 and I was running it. Having never ran a marathon before this was quite something for me.

5.45am the alarm went off, I rolled over and switched it off. Marathon day was here. I nudged the hubby who was running with me today and we both got up. Breakfast was your standard affair before a long run- a big bowl of oats with a few spoons of Nutella. I was feeling surprisingly calm and fine at this point. I expected the pre-race nerves to kick in but they didn’t seem to be. I started to feel confident that everything was going to be ok and I was quite excited to run my first ever marathon.

7am we set off. We live about 25 miles away from where the marathon started so we estimated it would take about 45 minutes to get to the car park where we could get a bus into York (buses were put on from Elvington airfield so that traffic wasn’t going straight into York as there were loads of road closures). As we got closer to the airfield, the traffic was pretty hectic so we had to queue for a while. At this point I started to feel the nerves a little, but I kept a positive mind and just kept imagining us finishing the race. That was our goal for this- having never ran 26.2 miles before we didn’t know what to expect so we just wanted to get round in one piece and finish it. We finally managed to park the car and grab the next bus to the university which is where the marathon started and finished. The atmosphere was buzzing when we arrived.

The bag drop and event area was pretty well organised, everything was well signposted. The only thing that was annoying was the toilets. I know with such a big event with thousands of people there that of course there’s going to be queues for the toilets but I think there should have been more. We queued for about 15-20 minutes just to go for a wee! After we finally managed to use the toilets it was time to head to the start line which was a 5 minute walk away. The warm-up for the race was non-existent so we had to just do a little jiggle and a quick jump about in the tiny space we had and that would have to do.

Before we knew it the countdown had begun and it was time to go. As we were so far back from the actual start line it took around 10 minutes to get to it but we were off. The first couple of miles were straight through York city centre and the support and atmosphere here was incredible, it really made me feel confident. I had noticed from the beginning that the 5-hour pacer was behind us and she was slowly getting further and further away from us. This made me feel confident and made me believe that we may finish this in a pretty good time for a first marathon (anything sub 5 hours was a good time for us). The first half of the marathon flew by and I was feeling great although I did have to stop at the toilet I had drank so much water and isotonic drink that there was no way I could have ran any further feeling so full.

I told my husband to carry on running and I would catch him up, which I did. Mile 15 was a bit of a struggle and I feared I’d hit the dreaded wall. But I focused and pulled myself back. At this point we saw the 5 hour pacer go by and disappear ahead- bye bye sub 5 hours for us! To be honest, at this point it didn’t really matter what time we finished in, we just wanted to finish.

Miles 16 to 20 were probably the most awful ones as when you reach mile 17 you can see mile 19 on the other side of the road- you know you have to run all the way down that road to come all the way back- not the best feeling in the world. At this point I was keeping an eye on my husband as he was starting to slow down. I kept a slow pace just ahead of him and kept encouraging him to keep going. This continued until mile 20 when my husband had to stop. I feared he hadn’t taken on enough energy to keep him going so I made him continuously sip water and isotonic and told him to have an energy gel sachet. He did and we started to run again. Unfortunately, this was now the point of no return for him and I had to continuously encourage him to keep going. This is when the aches and pains started to kick in for me as I was running so slowly to keep my husband going.

Miles 23-25 were the slowest due to walking quite a lot but I was determined to keep us going. I told my husband that when we got to the mile 25 marker we were going to run and not stop until we finished. Mile 25 arrived, I grabbed his hand and off we went. At 25.5 miles there is quite a steep hill to get back up to the university campus but there was no way I was letting that stop me from running. I completely zoned in on my husband and kept him going. We got to the top and then it was downhill from there- the last few hundred feet and the finish line were in sight. The crowds going up the hill and on the way to the finish line were awesome. There was so much encouragement from everyone!

It was done, we had done it! Off to get our goody bag and medal we went. Would I recommend the Yorkshire marathon? Yes I would. Looking back it actually was a very pleasant run (as pleasant as a marathon can be I guess). 90% of the course is pretty flat which makes for a great first marathon. I would certainly do it again and I would be aiming for a better time- we did it in 5 hours 30 minutes so I would definitely aim for sub 5 hours next time. To have an event like that so close to where I live is fantastic and I will be back!

This is Sundried ambassador Vanessa Cullen's race report from her first marathon and ultramarathon at the Great Ocean Walk Trail Run in Victoria, Australia where her and teammate Rohini finished as first female team overall.

My First Ultramarathon

My longest run to date had been 38km (23 miles) so I had plenty of questions in my mind whilst waiting for my relay team mate Rohini to finish her 55km (34-mile) leg before I could commence my 45km (28 miles) in the Great Ocean Walk Trail Run 100km event (100km is roughly 62 miles). It was hard to know when to eat, not knowing when Rohini would come through the exchange checkpoint, but I got lucky with a gel, a piece of banana and a lolly snake timed to perfection just before she appeared.

Once I was off and running alone, in the quiet of my mind, all the questions and niggles evaporated. After the initial 5km climb I really settled emotionally and physically. After 10km I felt gloriously happy, in command and confident I would complete the race. The course was very testing with 'shark's tooth' elevation changes, sand, mud and stairs but it was also incredibly beautiful. There were so many breathtaking moments at the crests of hills and as we emerged from single trail onto coastal headlands and lush green paddock clearings.

I loved every single moment, even the most gruelling, and did pause a few seconds to savour the world renowned views quite a few times! I was very happy to see our crew at the 25km mark but was feeling strong and was in and out of the checkpoint in barely a minute. At 37km I felt nauseous but settled it with food, recognising the sensation as just hunger. The iconic Twelve Apostles stone formations came into view and I exclaimed out loud "Wow!". No one was there to hear but that didn't matter.

My watch hit 40km (25 miles) exactly as I clambered over a fence stile. I had a brief moment of personal cheerleading at the excitement of seeing those digits for the first time! 2.2km later I was beaming and celebrating again at having cracked my first marathon. The remainder of the distance to the finish line seemed to drag on because I was so excited to have nailed the race and wanting so bad to see my relay buddy, crew and friends. The final finish was a brilliant celebration as I accomplished our aim of beating nightfall and Rohini ran down the finish chute with me, hand in hand. My partner and crew were all there and it was a moment that I will cherish for the rest of my life.

But what really stood out for me, in this race, was:

- The pure fun of the training process in preparing for the race.

- The incredible peace, joy and sense of being 'at home' I flowed in over the course.

- Confirming that I can run so far beyond physical pain when my soul is in control.

I can’t wait to take on my next trail ultramarathon experience now. I’m hooked!

On a chilly Saturday morning earlier this year, I found myself running from zombies. Well, fake zombies, but it felt real enough and was nevertheless very scary! Although I have done a few long distance runs before, I always find I enjoy obstacle running events more, and so when I found out about the Zombie Run I just had to try it out.

I recruited a group of friends, did some training for it and mentally prepared myself for the horror and messiness that I knew would ensue once the race began. Not wanting to ruin any nice clothes in the mud, I dressed in my least favourite clothes, all except for my Sundried sports bra which I can’t live without when running!

The 5k obstacle event featured actors dressed as zombies who had to try and take our tags, which were attached to us on a Velcro belt. Runners get 3 lives and if you manage to finish with at least one in tact, you are crowned a Survivor. If you fail, you finish as 'Infected'. The adrenaline really gets the blood pumping!

We ran through forest and traipsed through deep water, and let’s not forget the mud! We all looked in good need of a bath by the end of it.



Anyone who is up for a bit of a scare should definitely try one of the Zombie Runs, I will be signing up again but bringing a bigger posse with me to calm my nerves!

Sundried ambassador Simon Ward won his Age Group at the prestigious London Duathlon this year. He gives us a report of how he got on at the electric event.

The Biggest Duathlon In The World

As the sun rose on September 17th, I found myself making my way to Richmond Park, London for the start of the biggest Duathlon in the World, The London Duathlon. It has been a tough year and a long season. Qualifying for the World Championships in Canada was in March, in the snow! The Championships in August had delivered a slightly disappointing 34th place. Today felt different. I had been coached by Australian Michael Pratt, a coach to multiple World Champions, for the last month, and I found myself being delivered to the start line feeling confident and strong.

Although the last 4 weeks should not have a major effect on performance, I just felt like an athlete for the first time this year. I was to start in the first wave, which was a huge benefit to my race tactics - to attack from the gun. At the start, I settled into 2nd place on the initial run and sped out of the start arena and chased the leader who was a short distance ahead. Realising quickly that his run speed would inch him away, I established a rhythm and concentrated on my own race. That’s when I hit the first hill. A solid 3-minute climb spread the field out nicely before plunging downward to the half way point, and then a flat, fast finish for the first run.

I could see the leader 30 seconds ahead as I entered transition. Friends who were there supporting me screamed encouragement as I weaved amongst the bike racks finding shoes, bike and helmet in my pre-set positions. The rough ground that exited transition had dictated that my shoes were not attached to my pedals. Although this is quicker, my instinct proved right as I pushed my run first shoe off, fastened helmet and placed my first cycle shoe on in a fluid 5 second movement, quickly removing the second shoe and jumping into my cycle shoes and exiting the bike racks I found myself chasing the leader out of the transition area.

We mounted simultaneously, however he was struggling to get his feet into the pedal mounted shoes, as I immediately smashed through the gears following the rewarding snap of feet clipping into pedals and immediately delivering 400+ watt pedal strokes and firing me out of transition onto the cycle course and into the lead. I attacked the bike course with venom and determination I had not known for years, the first climb felt like a Tour-de-France stage, climbing endlessly into lactate threshold oblivion, watched by a bemused group of deer and several dozen spectators whose raucous support and loud cow bells would ring in my ears for the rest of the lap.

I estimated a 3-minute lead at the halfway point, then the disaster came. As I sped downhill to one of the roundabout turn points, my brakes smoking and screeching to a controlled speed, the downshift gearing struggled, then hesitated and then the chain came off the rear cogs and jammed. I leaped off the bike and immediately turned it upside down, within an agonising 40 seconds the chain was back on and the cogs turned freely. I was back on my way, 2-3 minutes lost and a swear box full to capacity. Apologies to anyone within earshot. It would be another few minutes before I would get back up to speed and rhythm. I no longer knew if I was still leading, the other races that day were now at various stages, meaning that around 3,000 people were on the bike course. The second lap completed without incident, and I had managed to push really hard towards the end, knowing I just had a 5k run to go.

The final run was a lesson in pain management. Cramp in both calves meant that I was going to find the hill a challenge to say the least. Every stride was agony, but I just couldn’t stop, I didn’t know where anyone else was in the race, I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other. 1k down, up the hill, drink station at 2.5k, photographer at 3k, turn at 4k and final straight were all a blur as my mental countdown to the finish pushed me onward. The music, cheers and commentators pulled me slowly towards the finish line as with huge relief I crossed the line. I had won, by around 2 minutes. The post-race data would show that it was the fastest I had raced all year, and the hardest I had pushed myself. The great Czech Emil Zatopek said of big race days- “Today, we die a little”. This was the day I died a lot. Cannot wait for the next time.

Never again I vowed as I delved through the depths of my sanity at mile 85 of the North Downs Way 100, having run through one of the hottest days of 2015. Never again.

A little over a year later, the alarm pierced through the peaceful autumn morning, rousing me from a restless night’s sleep. Though 3 or 4 options of running kit covered the floor, predictably, I grabbed my usual set up: 10-year-old leggings sporting holes and my Lavaredo ultra t-shirt. Given the nonsensical hour, it was too early to expect a cooked breakfast from the B&B, so I boiled the kettle, made myself some instant porridge and washed it down with an unappetising warm yoghurt and cup of coffee. Full of food and apprehension, I wandered the few metres down the road to the start.

A quiet hum of excitement and nerves spread through Goring village hall. There were a few familiar faces - you won't be surprised to hear that the ultra world is relatively small so you get to know the field. I scoured the crowd for my friends who'd convinced me to sign up to this, my second 100-mile race, but at 5ft 3, it's not easy to spot anyone who's not directly in front of you.

Just before 10am, we gathered outside to listen to the pre-race babble. We clapped for the first timers and for those who were doing all four Centurion 100 mile races in the year. I wished they'd clapped for those who had turned up totally unprepared and undertrained for the event.

I usually choose races with a different start and finish point because it means that from the very first step you are edging closer to the finish. This race, I realised after signing up, started at a centre point and went 12.5 miles out and back in four directions. Great for supporters, who could set up camp in the centre. Also great if you sensibly decide to duck out halfway. Not so great if you're hoping to finish.

I ran the first couple of legs with friends. We stuck to Justin’s plan: 9 minutes of running, 1 minute of walking. It's a good way to save your legs and allow you to continue for longer (in theory). The first leg along the Thames path was nice and green - a bit flat for my liking, but a good, gentle start to a long day. Like an excited spaniel, Ilsuk, one of the group, ran ahead and then obediently waited for us to catch up.

It always surprises me how tired I am at the beginning of any race. I always think I’ll struggle to run 5 miles, let alone 100. I start with my usual plan: enjoy 50 miles and then call it a day. It’s never quite worked out that way. 

9 hours and 50 minutes from the gun, having run 25 miles on the Thames path and nearly 25 on the Ridgeway, our group had dispersed. It was just Sean and me at the back, battling the ground, chewing the cud, slowly eating up the miles. As a new father, Sean had a good excuse for putting in fewer hours of training than usual. But he was doing ok. I was struggling. I remember thinking this might be the first time I do as planned and stop before the real pain begins. 

With big blisters and tired legs, I took a much needed seat. Cocktail sausages, fruit and chocolate consumed, I tended to my feet. My wonderful parents were there - mother putting her nursing skills to good use, father refilling my water bottles. I told them I'd had enough. After bursting the blisters, I wasn't in pain, but I knew that if I kept going I soon would be. Unfortunately, there were lots of people around willing me to continue. I looked ok so they figured I just needed a mental push. I resisted the temptation and took off my race number.

My parents were delighted. They were careful not to show it, as they knew I had to own the decision or I'd look back and blame them. But I knew how much they wanted to take me home and tuck me up in bed. Part of me wanted to give in. But then what was I going to do? Sleep? I could do that tomorrow. Sean had stuck with me until I convinced him I wouldn't be heading back out. I now regretted that.

Once again, I threw my plan out the window and tied my laces. 

Hating the thought that I'd be out there in the middle of the night on my own, mum hurried back to her hotel room and slipped on her trainers. If there's a better mum out there, I'd like to meet her. Race number reattached, I headed out into the dark, mum by my side. She stayed with me until I found a small group to join and was ready to run again. I promised I'd let her know when I was approaching the centre for the penultimate time and headed off, amazed - as I often am - by the sheer selflessness of the woman. 

My new friends and I stuck together for 7 or 8 miles before we fell into our own paces and I turned to Spotify for company. It was a long, undulating slog through the night, which I spent lost in my own thoughts. Not miserable, but not exactly having a blast, I knew that I would push to the finish now and celebrate with a long bath. I just had to put my head down and get on with it. I went in and out of the final checkpoint quite quickly, 25 miles to go. That's not even a marathon. Easy...

Aches and pains forced me to alternate between running and walking. Emphasis on the walking. And when I say running, I mean moving my arms faster, gritting my teeth and imagining I was running. The best part of this leg was bumping into some other friends - Kieran and Richard, the former a fellow competitor, the latter a triathlete who didn't understand why we did this, but had offered his services as a pacer. We shared some pizza at a food station, compared pain levels and tried to convince Richard, and ourselves, that this was a great sport.

We ran together for a while but I lost them on the hills. The pain in my legs was becoming unbearable. I wasn't wearing a watch (I never do) so I didn't know quite how far away my bath was. A bit doolally, I realised I needed some assistance. Scrambling around in the bushes, I found a couple of sturdy sticks. And named them. Esmeralda, Matilda and I soldiered on.

Mum! I wasn't at the finish, but the sight of her walking towards me told me I couldn't be far from it. She confirmed that I was nearly there as she turned to walk, once again, by my side. She lied. I wasn't close. Just a little further she said. No mum. Don't tell me what I want to hear, tell me the truth. When you're in so much pain you can barely hold it together, you don't want any surprises - you want to know exactly how much longer it will last. Then, whatever the answer, you can deal with it. Nevertheless, I was grateful for her company in those last couple of miles. 

Forty minutes later, I was being carried up the hotel stairs by my father. Exhausted, relieved, medal round my neck, yearning for that bath. 

I'd like to say never again, but I know that would be a lie. I crave the whole thing. The denial as the day draws closer. The excitement at the start of the adventure. The satisfaction of an egg sandwich, a bowl of rice pudding or a salted potato. The still, quiet nothingness as the body and brain switch off and you finally rest your head on a fluffy pillow that never felt so good.

Maybe just one more race...