Ultramarathons have their unspoken givens, beyond someone dry-heaving or ruining their marriage to get in “just one more, honey, I swear!” 50-miler. Certain things happen during races that are as predictable as California sinking into more debt. Here are the Top 10 things that, on the local Southern California ultra scene, you can take to the bank (if there’s one still in business), No. 1 being the motivation for our newest feature “Rant of the Week.”

10. If Laguna Niguel dirt diva Keira Henninger (right) is crewing for you, there will be no DNF. That option is so off the table. She’ll roar: “Are you kidding me? I didn’t blow off my family and/or this entire weekend so you could slide in a 17-mile supported training run and then grab a quick nappie-poo. Down a Monster, get up, start moving and stop whining. We’ll see you in five miles, you oversized toddler. OMG, did you bring baby wipes?”

9.  If Dean Karnazes is running, autographs and pictures soon will follow. People just can’t help their star-struck inner child around Dean, and you’ll always hear this classic line: “We’re really good friends. We ran a few marathons together” (translation: “I said hello to Dean at mile 11 while he zoomed past me”).

8. Jorge Pacheco will win 80% of all the races he enters by more than an hour with an attitude and smile eclipsing the chief concierge at the St. Regis Hotel. And you will still mispronounce his first name and confuse his last with the name of a certain Temecula Indian casino.

7. If you ever have the chance to chit-chat with Michelle Barton, “couscous” will somehow surface during the conversation; that and maybe Hal Koerner’s hot legs.

6. George “The Smooth Guru” Velasco will be in attendance running or helping out.

5. Somebody will wear a one-size-too-small race day shirt and then DNF at mile 5.

4. Pam “I don’t do GPS!” Everett will get disoriented somewhere between the parking lot and the elusive registration table, misplace her car key and then erroneously follow the faded yellow ribbons marking the 1998 Lions Club Veterans Day group hike.

3. Krissy Moehl, with total class and grace, will annihilate 98% of the competition, men and women.

2. Somebody with years of experience will tow the starting line completely dehydrated (no more beer for you, Mr. Swiatkowski! {left of Greg Hardesty’s fab hair}). Maybe the INKnBURN tech shirts should read “Run or Hydrate.”

1. If the ultramarathon event boasts a “Live Webcast,” the webcast will be down for most of the race. On the rare occurrence when runner times are actually accessible, the information will be so outdated that some participants who are actually driving home will be shown just leaving mile 62. The information is borderline useless unless you have access to Marty McFly’s Delorean and know when lightning strikes. OK, did anyone aside from missing Kirk Fortini get that?

(And now begins, in earnest, our “Rant of the Week”)

Apparently, online access to ultramarathon events is limited to dialup Internet service, 386 PCs with 12MBs of RAM and 3½ inch floppy drives. For the life of us at The Run Down, we can’t figure out how technology has practically eluded the sport of endurance running.

During one cowboy themed 100-miler last year, we darn near drove from Orange County to Northern California to see what the heck was wrong with Rob “Robo” Cowan. At one time, the web results had Dirty Girl Xy Weiss in 9th place (OK, we can dream) and Robo was somehow going on six hours with no forward Internet movement. Good thing we didn’t jump into the Lamborghini and rocket up the 5 Freeway, as Robo was actual napping 30 miles away at a Hampton Inn. Apparently, he had snuck through each aid station checkpoint totally undetected. Robo is short and thin, but not that short and thin.

Another marquee event last year (hey, we can’t afford lawyers – we’re not naming names, at least at this point) was no exception to the apparent paralysis that sets in when RDs decide to try (bless their hearts) to maximize their race experience by turning to that newfangled thing known as the Internet. Is it a curse, or something? Officials at this particular race made the classic remark, after the webcast went dark on thousand of viewers who were constantly refreshing their LCDs, that “it’s really hot out here and the computers need a break.”

Um, was the normal 135 miles of blazing desert heat a total surprise? Did the historical weather pattern for the race area call for overcast skies, a chance of showers and a high of 60 degrees? We think not. Remind us next year to donate a thing called a car with air conditioning. We could go on, but won’t. We won’t even get into the problems experienced at a popular Central American race. We assumed everyone had just died on the way over in a plane crash and the race organizers were simply cashing in on the screenplay to “Alive 2.”

Here’s the 411, race directors: You only have one day per year to truly spotlight your event – one day when your website has real-time meaning and requires real-time, responsible and accurate reporting. Sorry, but remote terrain, weather problems and anything else are excuses for street runners, golfers and people from New Jersey.

Ultramarathons, by nature, are not spectator friendly. However, being able to watch idols, friends and loved ones compete online in an admittedly hazardous sport is extremely important to the remote parties involved. Getting the runner information correct, and in a timely manner, is just plain professional — which coincidentally fits nicely with every aspect of most events. When the advertised webcast goes down, spectator frustration is warranted. It is felt by many, and it is very real. The web coverage is the only thing many people have to really gauge an event. Like ultra training and competing, either provide the coverage all the way, or pack it up and we’ll wait for the ever-so-exciting race report a few months after the event. Hey, that’s a rant for another week.

Everybody, take a huge chill pill. We understand the complexity of putting on a first-class ultramarathon and respect all the hard work and difficult logistics that the really good RDs (Mills, Hawley, Martinez, Harvey, Hilliard, Kimmerly, etc.) and volunteers have to deal with, but why do everything first class with redundant contingency plans on almost everything and leave the Fisher Price laptop and tracking of runners to some dude’s cousin in between his TV repair calls and sneak away lap dances?

Maybe some of the runner’s 12 and 13-year old kids could handle the technical responsibilities. Just a thought!

Charlie Nickell,
and Greg Hardesty