In 2025, Nicola didn't choose to stop. She was taken out.
A bad call on electrolytes left her sick on the canal path, and at checkpoint 6 her race was over. Forty-eight miles in. Her first DNF — ever.
"I felt like my race had been robbed from me. And I took it really, really bad."
So she did the only thing that made sense to her. She signed up again.
48 miles tells you nothing
The Cheshire Ring 100 is a GB Ultras race. It starts and finishes at MediaCity in Salford and loops 102 miles of canal path, towpath, mud and grass.
Nicola is a GB Ultras ambassador. When the race launched in 2025 she thought it was "crazy to even contemplate." Then she put her name down anyway.
She trained properly for it. She ran from South Liverpool to Southport and halfway back — 40 miles, until it got dark. She ran Stoke-on-Trent to Lymm. She stacked up 30-milers. She was strong.
None of that told her anything about 100 miles. Her DNF came at 48, and she'd covered 48 miles in every ultra she'd ever run.
"I know I can get to 48 miles. I don't know if I can get to 100 miles. I've got no benchmark."
She went in on tired legs
This year wasn't a clean build. Nicola had run an ultra every month since March:
- Chester 50
- Manchester to Liverpool
- Pennine Barrier
- Ultra Scotland, 57 miles, the toughest thing she'd ever done
- Snowdon Ultra, 30 of the 45 miles, through the mountains and Devil's Kitchen, before her body told her to stop
That's 1,600km+ for the year so far. The most she has ever run.
"Who does that? Never thought I would do that, that's for sure."
The pattern was relentless. Race, a week off, a couple of weeks of running, then taper for the next one. No room for the long run-walk sessions she'd used to prepare for the Ring last year.
The warning signs came early. A week after Snowdon she set out for 30 miles, felt great for 10K, then jumped into a parkrun on the way past. She didn't race it, but she didn't hold back enough either. The rest of the run felt like being hit by a bus. She called it at 20.
The week before the race, another parkrun — 26:01, and it hurt.
So she stopped running. Sports massage. Sauna and cold plunge. Rest.
She went to the start line nervous. Not about the distance. About the unknown.
Walking after five minutes
The plan was simple. Run five minutes, walk five minutes. From the gun.
That means walking while half the field pelts past you.
"It's so disheartening. But I think — how many of these people am I going to pass later on?"
The answer, it turned out, was a lot.
She flew through the early checkpoints carrying her own supplies and barely stopping. The aim was to bank time. She had no idea what happened after 50 miles, or how slow she'd get through the night.
When she did stop, she ate. Full-fat Coke. Chocolate mousse. Pineapple chunks. Ham sandwiches. Gels. At one checkpoint, a plate of pasta: "It felt like drugs."
The race began at checkpoint 6
Between checkpoints 5 and 6, the past caught up with her. Same route. Same footsteps. She knew the exact points where she'd started being sick a year earlier.
Then she walked into checkpoint 6 feeling fine. And walked out of it.
"I'd never walked out of checkpoint 6 before. This was new. I felt like the race really began at checkpoint 6."
11 miles in the wrong shoes
Nicola ran the first half in her road shoes — Brooks Glycerin Max, two sizes up from her normal size. "I couldn't have worn a better shoe."
After the halfway point, a support runner is allowed. Her friend Claire told her she was coming, whether Nicola liked it or not. Claire's partner crewed them by car.
At checkpoint 7, two things happened.
First, she was sick. A cheese toastie went down like cardboard; she ran to the toilet. Then she felt amazing.
Second, she swapped into her trail shoes. The second half was more mud, grass and grit than path, and she'd be doing it in the dark, tired. She wanted the grip. She'd worn the same pair for all of Snowdon without a problem.
Within minutes, they were crushing her toes. Walking hurt. Running was impossible.
It was 11 miles to the next checkpoint.
"I literally wanted to cry. Can't I run anymore? Are my feet done? Have I just lost all the time I banked?"
The crew messaged ahead: bring the road shoes. At checkpoint 8 she swapped back — and everything felt great. "There was just that much space."
Her feet had swollen so much over 60-odd miles that a shoe she trusted no longer fitted. Without a crew, she says, she'd have had no way to get her road shoes back.
Freezing fog and a 2am milkshake
Then came the night. Canal path in the middle of nowhere. Just Nicola, Claire and two head torches.
Freezing fog rolled at them along the water. You could see it coming.
"You know when you're in an aeroplane going through a cloud and you can't see anything? That's what it was like. Then it would pass your head and you could see again."
The path kept disappearing. Where there was one, it was grit. Where there wasn't, it was grass that turned out to be a muddy ditch. She went down once — soft landing, lots of mud. Every few hundred metres was a guess: run or walk?
What kept her going was small, and mostly food.
At checkpoint 8, her friend Jules was volunteering and had a tub of Häagen-Dazs waiting. Melted. Didn't matter. "I absolutely devoured it."
At checkpoint 9 the crew had been to McDonald's. A cheeseburger and a large strawberry milkshake, at around 2am.
"The cheeseburger was actually cold, but I still ate it. It was the milkshake that tasted the dog's. Seventy-odd miles in, your mouth's like a camel's. That milkshake brought it back to life."
There was dodgy singing. Long stretches where neither of them spoke. A few moments where Nicola bit Claire's head off — she has since apologised. But no tears, and no doubt.
Stronger with 30 miles to go
At every checkpoint Nicola asks for her ranking. Not for ego — she wants to know whether she's holding steady, getting better or fading.
154th. Then 140-something. 134th. 132nd.
Steady. Middle of the pack. Which is where she belongs, and she's fine with that.
"I used to be a back-of-the-pack runner. One of the last coming in. I'll never be on the podium. But I'm happy being middle of the pack."
Then, at around 70 miles, something switched on.
"With 30 miles to go, all of a sudden, I just felt stronger. Maybe it was the milkshake and the cheeseburger. I honestly don't know."
The waiting room
Checkpoint 10 was indoors, with the heating on full blast. Fatigue hit her "like a sledgehammer." Runners sat around like zombies. She forced down half a slice of toast and some beans and got out.
"It was literally the waiting room of death."
The cold air outside woke her straight back up.
The 200-200-200-400
She had also changed her run-walk pattern. Every kilometre:
- Walk 200m
- Run 200m
- Walk 200m
- Run 400m
That's 600m of running in every 1,000m. Her watch called out each kilometre, and her average pace kept coming down — from 10:15 per km to 10:04.
She hit Lymm Village Hall, checkpoint 11 and the last one, at around 5am. A hug from the checkpoint lead. A photographer snapping away. A freezing can of Coke, two chocolate mousses, salty pretzels. (She turned down the chilli. Not at 5am.)
Eleven miles to go.
"I'd never been so pumped in my whole life. I was like — right, Claire, let's go. We're going home."
Sunrise
They left Lymm under a navy sky. The sun came up pink and purple, then "a massive ball of fire" through the trees.
She kept to 200-200-200-400 all the way. Back on the canal into Manchester, there were suddenly people — dog walkers, rowers, runners — who saw her race number and cheered. And runners from the race, walking, wrecked. She ran past them. "Well done, well done."
At Old Trafford she knew where she was. The run-walk went out of the window. She just ran.
Two men with poles overtook her near Salford Quays — the first people to pass her in about 30 miles. "I was livid." She chased them and couldn't catch them. It just made her run faster to the line.
The same man at both ends
Over the bridge. Between the two BBC buildings. And there it was: the start line, now the finish line.
Claire filmed it. Nicola threw her arms in the air and screamed.
"I've done it. I've run 102 miles. What is 102 miles?"
She asked Copilot. From Liverpool, 102 miles gets you to Birmingham. Or Sheffield. Or Carlisle. Or out into the Irish Sea.
Waiting on the finish line was Anthony.
A year earlier, the checkpoint where Nicola's race ended was Anthony's. He looked after her. He tried to get food into her. He rang her mum.
This year he handed her the buckle.
"He was there for me the first time my race finished. And he was there for me the second time. From a DNF and being super sick, to crossing the line and being handed a gold buckle."
That's when she burst into tears.
The numbers:
- 102 miles
- 27 hours 43 minutes
- 94th of 208 starters
- Up from 154th mid-race
- Gold buckle — not the silver she'd been on course for
"Silver would have been fine. I wouldn't be ashamed of it. But I pulled it out of the bag and I got gold. I couldn't believe it."
Then she sat down, put her head in her hands — and fell asleep.
Two weeks later: 58 more
The buckle was one of two goals for 2026. The other was the GB Ultras 50 Slam: five races from their 50 to 60 mile series in one year.
Four were done. The fifth was Glasgow to Edinburgh, two weeks after the Ring.
She'd run it twice before. Flat canal path. "I don't find it difficult." She took two weeks of complete rest and had no idea what her legs would do.
The quads got the most attention.
"After the run, Bounce Back was getting slapped on my quads on a regular basis. It really did help ease the aches."
For 20 miles they were great. Five minutes running, five minutes walking, same as the Ring.
Then "someone hit a switch." Her quads went heavy and stiff. Not painful, just deeply uncomfortable. Every five-minute run felt like an hour. She'd check her watch and only 90 seconds had gone.
That's when the argument started.
"My brain's saying: I know we'll finish, but tell me HOW we're going to get through the next 30 kilometres. And I'm saying, shut up, brain."
No tears in 102 miles. On a canal path she knows well, she cried.
So she stopped fighting it. Her friend Jules caught her up, walking on a bad knee, and Nicola walked with her for around 12 miles. They had a moan and put the world to rights. A stranger handed out Rocket ice lollies. Claire popped up on the route with ice cream.
At the last checkpoint, her sister-in-law and youngest nephew were waiting. A total surprise. Claire ran across to the pub for a soda water and blackcurrant. Ice cold.
Then Nicola started running again. The walk had loosened her legs. She went back to 200-200-200-400 for the last 11.5km, all the way to the line.
- Just shy of 58 miles
- Under 300th of around 500 starters
- Silver medal
- 23 minutes off her course PB, two weeks after 102 miles
- The slam medal
That's 160 miles in two weeks.
"People would have laughed if I'd told them that years ago. That's MEGA."
Look after your feet and they'll carry you
160 miles in a fortnight leaves a mark. Nicola is honest about it: "My feet look absolutely awful."
- Swelling is real. Over 60-odd miles her feet swelled enough that a trail shoe she'd worn for all of Snowdon became unwearable. Her road shoes, two sizes up, saved the race.
- Have a plan B for shoes. Without a crew she'd have been stuck in the wrong pair. If you're on drop bags, put your roomiest pair in the second half.
- Hands off. In 102 miles she never changed her socks and never touched her feet. A medic popped one blister. "I wouldn't want to open up Pandora's box."
- The toe. She lost a toenail after the Ring, and a fresh blister formed in the same spot after Glasgow to Edinburgh. It drained on its own.
- The soles. After G2E, the soles of both feet were cracked and peeling.
The plan now: two weeks off running, and a proper foot pamper.
"They'll be getting absolutely caked in Sole Saviour to bring them back to life."
Above the ankles, there was no damage at all. Her hydration vest usually rubs. Not this time.
"A bit of KT tape and a bit of Chafe Guard. That perfect combo. After 102 miles, not one bit of chafe."
What Nicola would tell you
- Walk early, on purpose. Run five, walk five from the start. Let them go. You'll see them again.
- Bank time while you feel good. You don't know what mile 70 looks like until you get there.
- Eat real food. Pasta, cheeseburgers, chocolate mousse, pineapple, full-fat Coke. Whatever goes down.
- Plan for swollen feet. Have a roomier pair of shoes somewhere you can get to them.
- Don't hang around in warm checkpoints. Eat, then get back out into the cold air.
- Change the pattern when it stops working. 200-200-200-400 got her 11 miles home, twice.
- Let people help. Crew, a support runner, a friend on a bad knee, a stranger with ice lollies.
- Ask for your ranking. Not for ego. It tells you if you're holding steady, getting better or fading.
- A DNF isn't the end of the story. It's the first half of it.
This body
When Nicola crossed the line at MediaCity, it wasn't only the race that hit her. It was everything she'd carried to it.
"This girl that used to be over 17 stone. This girl that was told she'd never run more than 5K. This girl that's got chronic fatigue syndrome and chronic pelvic pain. This girl who's 44, and menopausal after a hysterectomy three years ago."
"This body, this amazing body. These legs. They got me through 102 miles and brought me back to the start line, which became the finish line."
"My body never fails to surprise me. It always exceeds my expectations. I'm bloody grateful for it, because it never stops me running."
She says she's "nothing special. Just one of millions of runners out there."
That's exactly why her story matters. No podium. No sponsorship deal. Just the everyday athlete who keeps turning up, a bit stronger each time.
She swore she'd never do another 100. She's already looking at the Ring again for next year, along with Ultra Wales and a return to Snowdon. "I'm going to go back and kick its ass."
As proud as ever to be a small part of Nicola's epic feats.
Go Get It, Nicola.
If you want to follow Nicola, and find out more check her Instagram on @runnikrun
