Review of 2009 Coombe 8

Or

Hitler, and Sphinx A.C.’s part in his downfall

by Mark Coyle

It must have been a strange site that met the eyes of the group of yellow jacketed marshals as they chatted ahead of the briefing for the Sphinx A.C. inaugural Coombe Abbey Winter 8. For there I was tottering across the slippery wet grass, a pair of little legs the rest of me hidden behind three big boxes of finishers t-shirts that teetered precariously in my hands in the gusting winter wind.

“Need a hand?” Laughed Hells Bells Rathbone and ‘Not so’ Tall Paul Kenning sarcastically.

“No thanks” I managed to blurt out through gritted teeth determined not to make an even bigger fool of myself as I finally dropped the lot beside the finish funnel my face a dark shade of beetroot.

I say ‘not so’ Tall Paul because a couple of new recruits to the men’s senior section i.e. Chris Brown and Rob Anderson even make the big fella look vertically challenged. I am of course delighted to welcome both Chris and Rob, two more 6 foot plus recruits, is just what the club needs….. Great! I am forever destined to be the smallest in the men’s showers, thank God for John French I say! Anywho, I digress.

Under a heavy over cast sky the club’s organisation skills seemed to be working like the proverbial well oiled machine. Paul and Bob were fizzing around jabbering into walkie-talkies, answering phones, controlling marshals and making last minute tweaks. Jackie Bagley was handling on the day entries with consummate ease. Over in the car park Tracey and Rachel had everything under control, the water and t-shirts were ready, the marshal’s had been briefed, the soup was coming to the boil, the course was marked out and the sheep were being warmed up. (More of that later)

All the hard work behind the scenes over the last two years had finally borne fruit, even the weather wasn’t too bad, over cast, a little billowy, with rain in the air, near on perfect for a bit of cross country.  Light hearted banter was bandied around as runners from all the Coventry clubs and many from Warwickshire warmed up alongside those from further a field. A steady stream of on the day entries had bumped the numbers up to 175 with runners from as far a field as Doncaster, Thames Valley and Australia, yes, Australia toeing the start line. The start line was literally a line in the sand and after a short speech from Bergs the Lord Mayor started us off with the longest blast I’ve heard on a start line since Tracey Higgins over did the carbo-loading at the Norwich Half Marathon in 2007.

Racing off through the avenue lined with trees we negotiated a number of fields laced with thistles before skirting the edge of another field filled with a flock of kamikaze sheep who rumour has it were on the look out for Steve Colbourne. It was at this point that I caught my last glimpse of the leaders and Matt Melia, Ashley Miles, Tom Delaney and Chris Brown seemed well placed at this early stage. Running beside Steve Court and the Leg end that is Graham Patton I could also see several other Sphinx lads ahead including Ian Gower, Mick Hudspith, Trevor Clark, Ben Orme Collin Taylor, another new recruit Nick Gilkes plus young Ali Lord, all of whom were going well. Sadly rather than playing spot the Sphinx runner I should have been playing spot the tree route as I managed to turn my ankle on one in the path through the woods. Thankfully it wasn’t terminal and I was able to resume. The marshals were doing a fantastic job and the course was working well as it twisted and turned through the trees and around the top field before heading back toward the start then turning right across open fields where the wind had picked up. Looping around a fence we all shouted encouragement at each other except Ali Lord’s dad who seeing me pass Ali at the turn roared;

“Come on Ali, don’t let that old man beat you” Charming I thought, that’s no way to talk about Graham Patton.

It was a great turn out from the club and running along the fence I swapped encouraging shouts with John French, Terry, Mitch, Rob and Will Robertson as we turned and headed up the hill toward the surprise – a la Bob Carey - that awaited us, a route through a series of deep craters gouged out of the land by WWII bombs dropped by the German’s.

(History lesson) The Germans mistakenly believed that Coombe Lake was the Swanswell - which had been drained by the council because the Germans were using it as a marker during the Blitz - and precision bombed several acres of farmland thinking that it was Sandy Lane, so much for your “Vorsprung Durch Technik” from the master race. On a serious note, many innocent sheep paid the ultimate price that night so that we could enjoy our freedom to run. Still, it was jolly nice of the Luftwaffe to provide us with a testing finish to the race although I found myself cursing Herman Goering and Bob Carey for that matter in equal measure as I clambered out of one of the particularly steep sided examples of what will now forever be known as Carey’s Craters. The finish line hove into view and it was a blessed relief to turn under the avenue of trees that lead to the end where a t-shirt and bottle of water and a welcome hot cup of soup awaited.

Feedback suggests that the event was a hit with all who entered. Positive comments could be found on websites such as RW and FETCH as well as our own message board. Early indications would suggest that the powers that be at Coombe were also happy with the organisation and thanks to the efforts of many it looks like the club may have unearthed an event to fill the hole left by Hartshill with holes left by the Germans, funny how things work out.