Llanbedr- Blaenafon fell race

I am going to try to avoid any reference to my appalling performance in this race, and concentrate on sharing the experience.  For those of you who are not fell racers, you will hopefully gain some sense of why these races are a pure and natural joy.
As I drove to the start the mountains around were prominently covered in snow, but having competed in the MCN mountain trail race the week before in near-blizzard conditions I wasn't worried about this.  In standard fell racing style the race HQ was a rugby club, and people were putting up banners with bits of string most of the morning - in fact I suspect they never actually finished them.  Entry was a mere £7 and that came with a stern interrogation about taking the full kit - full body cover, map, compass, whistle etc, all of which I carry and never use.  Let's hope I never do.
A lift to the start with a bunch of other runners (the race was a place-to-place rather than out and back), plenty of jogging and chatting, another warning about the conditions of the hills and away we went.  The first 30 mins is just a solid climb up to Crug Mawr with the bunch in complete silence for want of breath.  The view revealed itself after exiting the trees and the sun caused the snowy hills to shine blindingly, but there was little time to admire this vista as the track surface was dotted with slicks of wet mud and snow requiring a good degree of concentration.
Running on terrain like this means that you need to study the ground carefully; a badly placed foot can cause you to slip back or slip right over - this creates the most intense connection with the land, enhanced by the rabbit-nibbled downy grass and little evidence of human development.

Over Crug Mawr and a romp down to the valley that separates it from Sugar Loaf, our next peak.  Running was very sketchy here and mostly consisted of crashing through the dead bracken hoping not to meet a hidden gully.  Every so often a runner would emit an odd noise and fall to the ground in a collapse caused by the foot landing in nothing - an embarrassed roll, and up and off again.  The sun was really quite warm and I regretted wearing two tops which was a surprise given the appalling weather of the last three weeks.
Through a farm with warm applause from the dozen or so spectators - given the remote location it was impressive to see anyone.  Then into woods for a slippery and leg-snappingly steep path that climbed onto Sugar Loaf.  The initial climb was relentless, but the demoralising part was hitting what appeared to be the top only to see the actual peak rising like a rounded Everest with a seemingly impossible approach.  We then hit snow and progressed carefully, not out of danger but sliding backwards loses a lot of time.
At the top there were a good number of walkers taking up what little path there was, up and around the marshal and another dodgy descent.  Down and down, until we hit Abergavenny.  Navigating through streets  so soon after the hills was a culture shock, then running down the road in the middle of traffic and off back to peaceful running.
 
By now a subtle change had stolen over myself and runners close by.  Instead of a competitive silence we ran along together quite companionably.  We also knew that the worst was yet to come - the dreaded climb of Blorenge, so steep all you can do is step in the marks worn by previous walkers; not runners, nobody runs up Blorenge.  A fuel stop at the bottom and away we went, like a team.
I can't describe to you how, after 12 miles already, this is like a primitive basic training torture.  I suspect that my Kung Fu training helped here, not in terms of climbing but just being able to tolerate suffering.  Luckily this is my strength and I moved away from the other runners near me.  I even had the presence of mind to take in the view at the top.
Three or so miles off the top through what another runner described as a slush puppy - churned up snow that defied a stable footing, then down through spoil heaps and frozen streams and swampy marshes, seeing the destination ahead, knowing that this was the end, starting to flail down the hill, scared of tiredness causing missed footing, hitting Blaenafon, getting onto the road turning down another looking back and seeing another runner catching up confident that I had checked the route sweeping round a corner minding the pavement two boys a dog a car the runner ahead took a short cut i didn't know the runner behind can't catch me round the corner - and there we are.  The finish.  One rubbery sprint, clapping, and stop for a bottle of water and the free t-shirt.
In the club house there was a free lunch laid on for the runners with the cook proudly announcing that she had made her two daughters slave all morning for this, and tuck in there's loads.
I was now able to literally stop and reflect on the race.  Unspeakably beautiful terrain and weather, pushing myself physically and the friendship that comes with a shared experience.
Not to mention, £7 got me a fully waymarked race, water and food on the race, a bottle of water at the end, a technical t-shirt a free lunch and photographs published and downloaded the same day - bargain!
What can I say, this is addictive, the chance to be alive in the countryside and being part of a group of people who all work together to create this experience - a mix of social and solitary.  Try one, or go up a mountain.