From 31 Years at CAL FIRE to a 200-Mile Ultramarathon | Dennis Boche's Story

Redding is a beautiful place. We have national parks in three different directions, two world-class lakes. This is a sportsman's paradise, but it's also full of wonderful people. We have business leaders, community leaders, faith-based leaders, all of them working toward a singular goal, and that's to make this a great place to live. I wanted to showcase these people, give their perception of the place they call home. This is All Redding.

Welcome to the All Redding podcast. Let me start with an introduction. You're a longtime North State resident, a married father of two, and you spent your career protecting people in the North State from the dangers of wildland fire. You recently retired as a captain from CAL FIRE after 31 years of dedicated service, which took you to the Shasta-Trinity and Tehama-Glenn units. You're also the doting father of those two girls. And while I suspect you might decline the title, you're an avid athlete. You've completed more than two dozen ultramarathons. For listeners unfamiliar with ultramarathons, those are races longer than 26.2 miles, the distance of a marathon. They typically start at 50 kilometers, which is about 31 miles, and go up from there to sometimes hundreds of miles. You recently completed your first official 200-miler at the Tahoe 200 and were the third-place male finisher, with a finishing time of just over 58 hours. And in your retirement, you've opened what I think might be Redding's first pedicab service, known as Run Around Redding. It's great to have you here today, and I'm really excited about our conversation. Let's start with a little personal background. Where'd you grow up?

I was born in the Bay Area, in Redwood City, and lived there until high school. Then we moved up here and I went to Nova.

What was Nova?

It was a unique school, and it was pretty awesome. When I started, all the ninth graders went there. It wasn't quite high school yet. I went there four years, and over that time it turned into Foothill High School.

So you didn't repeat your freshman year four times. The school just changed.

Right. We went to school with everyone — people from Central Valley, people who went on to Shasta High, kids from all over. It was unique because you were with people from all these different areas. We were the last class at Nova.

I suspect that was helpful. You'd come from your childhood friend group, and now you're thrown into a new group — but everybody's new.

Everyone was new. Everyone came from different elementary schools, so it helped ease my way into Redding for sure.

And that became Foothill High School before they built the big campus out in Palo Cedro.

Yeah. I was there for four years.

One of the goals of the All Redding podcast is to highlight the cool parts of this community. For a city kid coming to a more rural area, what were your first impressions — the mountains, the lakes, the trails?

At first it was pretty challenging, because I was used to a whole different environment. As a kid, you don't want to move away. But it's the best thing that ever happened to me, no question. Moving here let me see what the mountains were like, and it got me into what became my career. I don't think I would have had those things if I'd stayed where I was. There was a lot more opportunity for me to grow here in Redding.

Were you an outdoorsy kid before moving to the Redding area?

I was, but the mountains were so far away. I was pretty much in the city. Here, the mountains are close — it doesn't take much to get into them. I really enjoyed that part of it: Shasta Bally, Lassen, Mount Shasta, Castle Crags, Hat Creek. The opportunity here was endless, and I didn't have to go very far.

And now, 35 years on, do you still think there are endless opportunities around here?

Redding is amazing. I was running with friends on Kanaka Peak maybe a month ago. The heat keeps the population down a little bit, but there's so much opportunity to recreate in Redding. It was a good move for me.

So you're not going to be one of those folks who retires and heads off somewhere else. This is home for you.

No. When something feels like home, you hold onto it.

You mentioned Kanaka Peak, and that makes me think you might have the wrong Tonkin interviewing you today. My wife is training for her first ultra, and part of it is out on Kanaka Peak. I'm going to try to ask you broad questions about what we can learn from someone who does these endurance events. She'd want to drill down on electrolyte intake, heart rate, pacing, rest periods, crewing — all of it. I'll try not to get too technical, but if I sneak a little in, it'll earn me some points with Mrs. Tonkin.

Those are all good questions for ultras. They'll make or break you. You need to do the work, or it's going to be challenging.

I don't know you well enough yet to say this, but with all due respect to you sitting across the table from me — she's the hardest worker I know. She's doing amazing training for it right now.

That's the one thing about ultras: you're around hard workers. You're around people who know how to work, no question, and I like being surrounded by people like that. There's a different type of energy. You have to have that work ethic, that self-motivation. Otherwise it doesn't work out — maybe you don't have the longevity that the hard workers do.

This is a bit of a rabbit trail — I wanted to get to it later, but you brought it up. That community — and it doesn't have to be ultras, it can be whatever someone is passionate about — when you're among people who are really engaged in that thing, do those people rise to that level because a rising tide lifts all boats? Or do people bring something different to that community, and the community benefits? I wonder what you think.

There are so many different people in it. There are business people, there are athletes. I know loggers and heavy equipment operators — people you wouldn't think would be into running. So you have all these different types of people coming into one type of event. What makes them all kind of the same is the work ethic. If you don't put in the work, you're just not going to be able to complete it. That's what I like about it. You can talk all day, but talking isn't going to get you through a big event like that.

We'll come back to that work ethic when we talk about your career and the folks you had a chance to lead. I know a couple of things about you, because we caught up over a relatively short run the other day — you just have a different definition of a short run than other people. In high school, you made some lifelong friends, right? Even one who's still up in the Mount Shasta area.

Yeah, my friend Dennis Cobb. I met him in high school. We went to ROP together, which was another big part of my upbringing. Two periods a day, I went to a fire station — Station 5 here for the City of Redding. I spent a couple of hours there every day for two years. We were both in the program, we both became firefighters, and we did a lot of the same things together. We were rock climbers and mountaineers. Right out of high school, we both got jobs with CAL FIRE — CDF at the time, the California Department of Forestry. So, lifelong friendships for sure. There are a few of us who still hang out and do things together. He was instrumental in getting me out there and engaged in the outdoors.

Did you two make a sort of novice run at the summit of Mount Shasta around the end of high school?

We were always up on Mount Shasta. A lot of times, being on top of a mountain is where you come up with your best worst ideas — that's the best way to put it. We rode our bikes from Monterey to Florida. It was close to 6,000 miles. That's the kind of friendship bond I have with Dennis, and it all started from being active and being outside.

So you came up with this scheme to ride to Florida and back while you were on top of the mountain.

That's where it all started. We weren't even bike riders — we didn't ride bikes at the time. The thought was, "Hey, we have some time off this winter after fire season. Let's go on a big adventure." I think that's what my younger years were. I was always interested in doing adventurous things. Some of my best worst ideas happen on a really long run or on top of a mountain.

How old were you when you decided to ride from Monterey to Florida?

I was 19 or 20. I know I wasn't 21 yet. No cell phones. We got a AAA map from the AAA office in Redding, and that was our map. No navigation, no GPS watches. It was freeing.

I hold a personal view that everyone has a call to adventure. Lots of folks don't answer it or get distracted from it. Life is really noisy — we're all connected in every possible way — so sometimes it's hard to hear that call to see whether you can earn your seat at the table.

That's it. You want to see if you have what it takes. As a young person, I did. I think that's part of why I wanted to be a firefighter. You want to see if you can deal with things other people might not be able to. There's something adventurous about that. And I think it's harder for kids these days to find adventure. I have firefighters coming in who are super smart, but I think phones and technology change the way people get adventure — or fill that gap, whatever that void is.

I notice that when I talk with people of different ages. The younger they are, the more often I hear, "I saw this cool thing." A little older on the age spectrum, it's, "I got to do this cool thing."

I think that's exactly it — knowing about things but not really feeling them, not being there and doing them. I've really enjoyed doing that with my firefighters: taking them on different adventures, into the mountains, getting them into running. For me, they're a captive audience. They have to be there, so they have to be exercising and working toward something. If you asked them, I think some of the best times they've had were struggling up a mountain, the training, the running, being on different mountaintops. It's been huge for them. It's a good feeling to be able to show someone what's available out there.

And to show them they can do it. You can do this challenge.

I think a lot of people just don't think they can do certain things. It's more available to people than they think — they just don't believe they have what it takes to run 10 miles, 15 miles. When most of my firefighters come to work, the furthest they've ever gone is maybe two or three miles. By the end of the season, they're doing big miles. Most of them have run 50Ks and beyond.

When we talked about this on our run, I thought there was something special there, so I want to drill down. You could say it was just the culture of the station, and that's how folks who could run a modest number of miles became folks who could run a significant number. But I think there's more to it. Best estimate — doesn't have to be mathematically precise — of all the people who came to work for you in those starting positions running two or three miles, what percentage went on to run a marathon distance or greater?

All of them except one. And he knows who he is.

We'll leave his name out of it. From a leadership standpoint — football team, corporation, whatever — if you could get something like 99% buy-in to excellence, you'd be the greatest coach of all time. Maybe it was just being that guide. The first time you go deep into the backcountry with no maps and no GPS signal, it helps to have a guide. What was it about your situation that let you show these young people they could do this hard thing — and in a relatively short time, they believed it?

I think the main thing is they had to be with me, so they kind of had to do what I was doing. And the one guy who didn't do it — I'm still working on him. Maybe the Redding Marathon this year. He knows who I'm talking about. I enjoy physical fitness. I enjoy moving up mountains. So they had to be there. And I always start off real easy. I never want to break anyone off right away — that's not my goal at all. The goal is to get them to the point where it's enjoyable for the long haul, where it's sustainable. Running gets a bad rap because it's hard, and what people do is too much, too soon. They don't give their body time to build up to the point where they can do the big miles. So yes, they had to be with me, but most of the time they really enjoyed it. When I look back, those are some of the best times I had at work — with my firefighters.

There's a guy we both know who's on a running team with me. He's away from training right now. Tell me how his interview went.

Derek. He came to me looking for work, right out of high school. Great kid. We talked a bit at the station, and I said, "You know what? Forget the suit and tie. Let's go on a run." So we went out, and around mile five or six I asked him, "What's the furthest you've ever run?" He said, "About three miles." I said, "Well, you're breaking records today, Derek." Great kid. Now he has incredible speed. He's run marathons, and he ran a 100K with me. It's pretty incredible for him to go from where he was to where he is now.

I've only ever known him fast. We have pace charts for our running team, and he's at the top of them — whatever distance, whatever repeats. He's legitimately fast.

The training you guys are doing is really beneficial for him.

I like that he's gone right now, because I'm not getting destroyed on the track. I hope he comes back, though.

He wasn't always like that. It always starts slow. You've got to bring people in slowly. When you're training people to run or getting them into endurance sports, you're kind of like the drug dealer. It's doing it every day or every other day — that's where the success is. It's not the hero workouts or the big feats. It's the daily grind.

Your encouragement clearly worked for him. He's talented, he's a hard worker, he adopted those methods, and he's very successful. So — you went to work for CAL FIRE right out of high school.

I graduated on a Friday, and the next Monday I was working.

What was that first fire season like for you as a young guy?

I was really lucky. I started in Shingletown, working for some of the greatest fire captains in Northern California. That was huge for me. Everyone else there had eight, nine, ten fire seasons as firefighters, and I was this high school kid coming in. So there was a lot of hazing. It was challenging, but I was up for it, and those were some of the best times of my career. I worked in Shingletown four years, then moved on to a helitack crew in Tehama County. Then back to Shasta — I worked in Burney, Big Bend, Hillcrest, here at the airport for a little bit, Weaverville, Hayfork. I worked at Trinity River Conservation Camp running a fire crew. And the last 12 years, I worked in Ono. That's where I finished my career. It goes back to what I said: when someplace feels like home, you hold onto it. I loved working in Ono. I loved the community there. You're surrounded by good, hardworking people — ranchers. That's where I ended my career last year.

At some point, you got it in your mind to go for a really long run. Let me back up even further — did you run a marathon before you ran an ultramarathon?

Yeah. I started running marathons in the 2000s. I ran the Redding Marathon — I think it was the first one, but don't quote me on that. I remember running on the rail grade, and they didn't have the bridges in yet. It was raining, and they'd put down plywood and logs so we could get across the creeks. That was 2000 or 2001, somewhere around there. So I was running quite a bit then, but I didn't run my first official ultramarathon until I was 39. I'd tried several times to run 50 or 100 miles on my own, and it just didn't happen — something always didn't work out. The Redding Marathon has been a huge part of my running background. I've run it off and on since about 2000. Not every year, but my wife and I have run it, my daughter and I have run it, and we volunteer and help out there. As far as ultras, I'd run my birthday age in miles every year since I was 20. So I got up into my thirties, and when I was about to turn 39 — it was winter — I told one of my coworkers, "I need to run a 100-miler. I need to do it." That's when I really started training. It's challenging to work for CAL FIRE and still run enough to build the confidence for a 100-miler.

I want to dig into your psychology a little. What put that bug so firmly in your mind?

I don't know if it was my age — I was about to turn 40. Maybe that was a factor. But I'd known about Western States since my early twenties. I knew it was out there. I just never thought it would be something I'd be able to do. And I thought 100 miles was a good number to see if it was something I could do.

Some listeners might not know what Western States is.

Western States is probably the most well-known 100-mile race in the United States. It's really the one that brought ultrarunning back onto the scene. It was first run in 1974, I think. It was originally a horse race, the Tevis Cup. Gordy Ainsleigh rode horses, and he ended up doing it on foot instead of with his horse. That's when the race started getting popular for running. Now it's so hard to get into. It can take you ten years if you're a normal runner. So many people want in, and there are only about 360 slots. It's really competitive — the best runners in the world go there every year — and then there are maybe 200 runners who get in through the lottery.

You said something interesting — that Western States brought ultrarunning back. Until we talked the other day, I thought 1974 was about the start. But ultra-distance running has a much richer history. You told me about something at Madison Square Garden, or something like that.

In the 1800s — around the 1870s — there were these races called pedestrian races. It started with people walking, seeing how far they could walk indoors, and it drew crowds. It generated a lot of revenue. People gambled on it and watched these athletes go around an indoor track. After a few years of the walking races, people started running, and then it became, "Can we do 100 miles in 24 hours?" People in the 1800s were running 22-hour 100-milers indoors. Then the distances kept getting longer as people competed for this record and that record. It was really popular back then.

Now a big part of a lot of ultra courses is the difficulty of the course itself — the elevation change. The Cocodona 250 has scrambles where you're going up on hands and feet. When did ultrarunning move from that indoor time-and-distance format to the course being part of the equation?

I don't know exactly when, but I'm sure Western States had something to do with it. Then races started springing up all over. Now there's a race every weekend, they're selling out, and it's hard to get into them. Most ultras are run in the mountains. There are other formats — 24-hour runs, 72-hour runs around a track — it just keeps getting bigger. But the ones I like are in the mountains. It's incredible. It just doesn't seem possible. And it's available to a lot more people than you'd think. One of the coolest things you can do is go to the end of a 100-mile mountain race and watch the last finishers come in.

Why is that?

These people have been out there so long, and they don't have much left. It's super emotional — for the runner and for the people watching. I'd recommend it to anyone, even if you don't like running. Go to the end of a 100-mile race, watch the last hour, and watch those people come through. It'll change your mind about what's possible for you. It might not be good for you, though, because then you might want to run a 100-miler. You never know. Don't give me that look.

You gave me that look on Thursday when we ran together. After my first and only marathon, I told my wife, "I'm never doing that again." She's not a real emotional person — not quick to tears — but she gave me this hug. I smelled horrible. It was a December race, but in California, so it was actually really warm. She had tears in her eyes and said, "Hey, we did it. You did a good job." She'd done several marathons by then. But you got this idea in my head. I've always done a birthday challenge, so yesterday I looked up the Grandmaster, which you suggested, and I have a milestone birthday coming in 2028. I sent the dates to my wife — maybe we should do it.

It's like a rite of passage. My friend Clyde Acker — he's a famous ultrarunner who lives in Yreka — told me about five years ago, "You need to do this race, Dennis. You need to do the Grandmaster when you turn 50." At 50, you're the freshman class. There are some other 50-year-olds, but everyone else is much older than you. It's such a fun race and such a good format, especially for your first ultra or first 100-miler. You can't beat it. They really cater to you, and they make it possible.

I like that there's not a ton of elevation change on the course.

Some ultra courses have 30,000 feet of elevation change. That course doesn't have a lot, but it's deceiving. There are a lot of ups and downs. It's real rocky, it's exposed, there's no shade — but it's in the winter. This last year was the hottest they've had on record for the event, pushing 85 degrees, which is pretty hot for that part of Arizona in the winter. That added a little extra challenge. But so much fun.

It looked great in terms of runner support. But I want to go back to what you said about watching the finishers. The Cocodona 250 is the first ultra I know of that made national news because of a course record. The first-place overall finisher crushed the old record — and she was a woman. She destroyed the field. She made national news for that incredible achievement, but the last-place finisher made national news too. She's made the rounds on podcasts, and so has he. People would have given anything to help him on those last few steps.

That's the thing about ultras. The people finishing last are celebrated way more than the people winning.

My running coach, Dusty, has a great saying: if you go for a run with a group, it doesn't matter who finishes first. Everybody had the same experience, because everyone was working at their own level. I run with Derek, and he's much faster than me on the track, but he put in the same level of work I did. I think that's true of what you're describing. That last-place guy gave every bit of himself to finish, and people couldn't cheer loud enough for him.

It's so worth it. If you're not a runner, it doesn't matter. Just show up. It'll blow your mind.

Let's go back to 39. Forty is approaching. How did that conversation go with your wife — "I think I'm going to run a 100-mile race"?

My wife has been really supportive of me. I'm really lucky — she's amazing. I'm not sure she liked the idea, just because it's the unknown. Are you going to get injured? Is something going to happen? We had two young daughters. But she supported me a hundred percent. Honestly, I think running a 100-miler is easier than being the crew. My wife is my crew, and she had two young kids to take care of. That's the harder job. If it weren't for her support, I wouldn't be able to do this stuff.

What was the first 100-miler?

Pine to Palm. It's a pretty hard 100-miler in Oregon. It starts in Williams and you run to Ashland, over some big mountains. The first 11 miles or so you're going up Grayback Mountain, and it doesn't stop. For a first 100-miler, it's not really smart. That year was a busy fire season for me, so I didn't get a lot of run training. But I got a lot of hiking up hills — pushing hose up hills, walking in front of a dozer on some ridgetop. That helped. I'm not sure I was prepared, though. When it was over, I swore I'd never do it again. It was so hard. The first 30 miles were okay. Around 50, things started unraveling, and then you're just moving through the night. I remember being at about mile 80, standing there looking at the ground with a big mountain to climb in front of me. This woman comes up behind me — she was probably 30 years older than me — and asks what I'm doing. I said, "I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not sure I can go anymore." She just looked at me, smiled, and said, "You're not going to get there any faster looking at the ground. You should probably get going." And she took off. I watched her go, and it didn't seem like much effort for her at all. I didn't quit. That right there is what kept me from quitting, because I was pretty close. I think that conversation happens a lot in 100-milers. I don't care who you are — front, middle, or back of the pack — there's going to come a point where you want to talk yourself into quitting, and you've got to talk yourself out of it somehow.

Now that you've done so many ultras, do you have a strategy for talking yourself out of it — or do you even have that conversation anymore?

Sometimes I have the conversation, but it doesn't last very long. I think it happens to everyone. Even the elite runners pushing hard at the front are battling that sometimes — "I don't know if I can do this anymore." It usually gets better.

Is there a system, a strategy, some self-talk you've distilled over a decade-plus of ultras to get you through those moments?

Eat. Slow down. Be good to yourself. You can only feel sorry for yourself for so long — you've got to snap out of it. The way to do that is to be good to yourself. Stop and look around; you're usually in an awesome place. Usually you need to eat, drink water, get electrolytes. Take care of yourself, and keep moving. For me, that feeling doesn't last very long. Most of the time I'm just having fun. It is so fun. Even that part is a little fun.

There must have been a transition, though. You finish your first 100-miler and swear you'll never do it again.

I knew I wasn't going to do it again. My wife asked me, "Well, did you get it out of your system?" I said, "Jackie, I will never do that again. I'm so sorry." I was a wreck. I couldn't walk for weeks, I had to go back to work, it was a mess. But my friend Clyde — you always listen to Clyde; if Clyde tells you something, you listen — says a good ultrarunner has a bad memory.

I like Clyde.

He started running in his forties. He started small — he couldn't even run a mile. Then in his fifties and sixties he was running the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning and all this crazy stuff people weren't doing as often back then. So yeah, I have a bad memory.

So now I'm more interested in the second conversation with your wife. "I'm thinking about doing this again." How did that go?

That one didn't go too well.

Maybe she's got a bad memory too.

Western States was in my mind. I think it took me about a month, and I was looking for another race. Now I'm all in. A 100K or a 100-miler counts as a qualifier, so the next year I did a 100K, and then I did the Tahoe 100. I've done that one for the last nine years. It's so fun, and it's such a great course. If there's one big run you want to do, that's another one: the Tahoe 100.

Is that because of the beauty of the course?

It's beautiful. It's amazing. It's so hard, but it's incredible. You're motivated the whole time. Good aid stations, and the trail is amazing. You're looking at the lake a lot of the time. It's steep, with a lot of climbing. Going to Tahoe has become one of the things I look forward to every year.

So this year will be your tenth?

If I do it next year, it'll be ten. I'd have been there already, but they didn't hold it for two years. There was the COVID year, and then last year they didn't have the permit for the 100-miler because of work being done on the course around Marlette Lake. They did hold a 50K, which I ran, and that was really fun too.

So it's fair to say that if you told your bride you were done with ultrarunning, she might not take you at face value. She might sleep on that for a few weeks.

It's not going to happen. I'm going to keep doing it.

And you recently completed your first official 200-miler. Tell me about that race.

I knew I wanted to do a 200-miler at some point, but not while I was working for CAL FIRE. I think the recovery would have been way too difficult. I did apply for the last four years. The second year, I got in late off the waitlist, but I deferred because I'd gotten into Western States, and they're a week apart. That would have been really hard. The Tahoe 200 is close to home, my family loves Lake Tahoe, and I know a lot of the 100-mile course, which is part of the 200-mile course. So it was a good fit. Going in, I didn't have any real expectations. I just wanted to enjoy myself. I wasn't going to run hard like I would if I were trying to run fast in a 100-miler. When they started, the front runners really took off. For a 200-miler, it was insane — they had to be pushing something like a six-minute pace for the first couple of miles. That wasn't possible for me, so I got into a groove and enjoyed the afternoon. My body was working pretty well. I didn't have any real injuries going in, and that was huge. The temperature was amazing. It was hot for some people, but we live in Redding, right? You're heat-acclimated. Living in Redding really helps you perform at elevation and in other places, because it usually doesn't get that hot there. The first day went really well. The first night was pretty challenging. We went through an old burn scar from 2021, and that part of the course had been closed since then. In the years before, the race was an out-and-back. This year was the first time since the Caldor Fire in 2021 that it went all the way around the lake. That section was so challenging — it was like being at work. You're bushwhacking for something like 50 miles.

How do you even know where the course is?

They lay out course markers — a safety pin with reflective tape and a ribbon — and clip them to bushes and trees. Generally they don't put out too many. On this section, they had to put them everywhere, and people were still getting lost. I got lost a few times. It was challenging, and it was fun, but it made the night go by pretty quick.

What's your strategy when you're lost on an ultra course? Go back to your last known spot, or try to find the course again?

You need to go back and figure out where the last flagging was. I also have a GPS watch I started using last year. It beeps and vibrates if you're off course — it's like a shock collar. That was helpful. That night, I was running with a woman who's a really good runner, and we worked together through the night. I'd go ahead and find the next ribbon, she'd come up to me, then we'd leapfrog and she'd find the next one. That sped up the process for both of us.

Did you get any sleep in the first 24 hours?

I didn't. I could have — my plan was to sleep at the 100K mark. But when I got there, the woman I was running with had big plans. She's a pretty famous ultrarunner, and she wasn't going to stop. So my plan changed right there, and we worked together until morning, when she took off. After that, I just couldn't sleep. My thought was 15 minutes here, 15 minutes there, but I couldn't. In 58 hours, I probably slept a couple of minutes total. That race has really good accommodations for sleeping — six sleep stations with tents and cots. A lot of people take dirt naps, too, just sleeping out on the trail. I think that really helps. But when I'd lie down — and I tried four or five times — I just couldn't. So you get up and go. The only sleep I think I got was at one aid station that had air mattresses about ten feet from the lake. I went swimming, lay down on an air mattress, and I think I fell asleep for maybe a couple of minutes.

So in the middle of the race, you took a dip in the lake.

Oh yeah. I do it quite a bit. If there's a creek or any body of water in a 100-miler, I jump in.

Is that to wake up, to refresh, or just your routine?

For me, it just makes my legs feel better, so it's easier to run. It really changes things. At Western States, when it gets hot and you're down in one of those drainages, you jump in the water and it's like you're reborn.

Do you go in with your shoes on, or take them off so you're not running in wet shoes?

I don't care about getting my shoes wet. You need to learn how to just run in wet shoes. It's not so bad.

Part of your advice earlier was to take care of yourself — give yourself a minute to eat, walk while you eat. What's your favorite ultra snack? Some people love Cup Noodles. My wife loves pizza and nachos. I don't know how she does it with heavy food like that. What's yours?

It always changes. I go into an aid station trying to figure out what I want to eat. I do really well on gels — not a lot of people can do that — and I could do gels for most of a race. But the things that make me feel better are rice balls, instant mashed potatoes, potato wedges dipped in salt, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I can eat all that and I'm okay. I do know that when I eat whole foods instead of gels, I feel so much better over the long haul. What I've been doing lately is different. My friend Ricky Ray and I did the Bigfoot Adventure Challenge this past winter and spring. We drove to all the different runs and did them all nonstop. That's where I started eating only sourdough bread and olive oil, and it was a game changer for me. I did that at the Tahoe 200 too. My energy levels were pretty good for most of that race. In my drop bags, I put sourdough bread, and I carried a bottle of olive oil. I'm not saying anyone should do this, but for me, it really helped. It made the long game more possible, and I had more energy.

At some point, those folks who took off in front of you — since I know where you finished, you must have started catching them.

Something happens around the 100K mark where I start to do a little better. For how my body works, I think I'm geared more toward the longer races than the shorter ones — the 50K, 50-miler, 100K. As the distance goes up, I feel like I'm able to keep running a little more than some people. I don't know what it is. There are a lot of better runners out there — way faster, better trained, who know more about it. But beyond 100K, my body seems to work better. I don't know if it's from working for CAL FIRE so long. All summer you're up for 24, 48, 72 hours just grinding. You don't sleep very often. I think my body got used to that in a way some people haven't experienced. I don't know if it's good for you.

For my 48th birthday, I did a birthday challenge: four miles every four hours for 48 hours, so 48 miles in 48 hours. So much of the difficulty was staying awake, even with long rest periods where I could nap. On one of the runs, in an area I knew really, really well, I fell asleep running. I didn't fall down, but I ended up a hundred yards down the road with no memory of how I got there. For me, the hard part was staying awake — the sleep deprivation. You just happen to have 30 years of on-the-job training in sleep deprivation.

That's what I think helped me. But I've dozed off while moving for sure. I don't know if it's solid sleep, but I know what it's like to not remember what happened while I was running. Probably what you experienced.

Right — not happily asleep with my head on a pillow, but a loss of normal consciousness for a short time. So talk to me about finishing the Tahoe 200. Were you ahead of your expectations? Did you think you'd finish on the podium?

No, I didn't think that at all. That wasn't part of the program. Some of the faster guys and gals got injured, got sick, or didn't show up. I've raced against some of those people before. But I felt really good in the later parts of the race. And sometimes even a blind pig finds an acorn.

Pace-wise, you had to be at something like 14 minutes a mile for 58 hours. That's always moving.

Something like that. I was pretty much moving the whole time. There were a couple of aid stations where I hung out and tried to sleep but didn't. You just have to keep moving. Near the end of the race, I caught back up with the woman I'd run with that first night. She was very sick. I think she had pneumonia by the end — she was coughing up blood. She came into the race with something like a cold, and it built into what sounded like pneumonia to me. But she is so tough. She's running the Bigfoot 200 right now. She has the world record for the fastest 100 miles on a treadmill. She won Badwater outright last year and was six minutes off the course record. She ran Badwater again this year, then the Tahoe 200, and now Bigfoot. She's got something else. Anyway, at the end of the race, she was on the side of the trail, not looking good, so I stayed with her a little. She had a pacer — I didn't have a pacer or anything — and we went back and forth for a while. If she hadn't been sick like that, she definitely would have finished ahead of me.

Something's happening in ultrarunning — maybe it's been happening a while and I'm just new to paying attention. Women aren't just winning the women's division. They're winning, period. Some of the times they're putting up are amazing. The woman who won the Cocodona 250 covered it at under an 11-minute pace, including the scrambles and brutal elevation change. What is it, in your observation? Toughness? Is it that childbirth is the most painful thing that happens to a human, so these women can just suffer?

It's just awesome. They're good. It's so awesome.

And the average age of ultramarathoners seems to be coming down. One of the people who finished the Tahoe 200 with you was 19. But generally, ultramarathoners are a little older than the average road-race runner, right?

Just recently, younger people are getting into it, and I think it's because it's on social media, it's livestreamed. A lot more people know about it now. In the past, it was mostly older people — unless you were an elite athlete. There have always been young elites running 100-milers. But now it's so popular. There are so many races, they're all selling out, and there's one every week somewhere. It's booming.

It really is. There are ultra-specific shoes, and whole shoe companies built around that niche. So it sounds like a month after your first 100-miler, you set your sights on Western States. How many times have you done it now?

I was able to do it twice, which is crazy. It's hard to do that race once in your lifetime, and I got to do it in back-to-back years, which is unusual for a normal person. It took me nine years of qualifying at different races to get in the first time, and I got in through the lottery. Every December, I'd go down to Auburn and sit in the high school gymnasium for the drawing. They'd do the normal drawing for people from all over the world, and then they'd pick three people sitting in the crowd. I went for nine years trying to get in and never got picked from the crowd. But that last year, they called my name — I was maybe the 30th or 40th person called. It was an incredible experience for someone trying so hard to get into that race.

What's been your favorite course?

The Tahoe 100, for sure.

Is it the beauty that makes it your favorite?

It feels like home to me. There's something about it. The race director is such a great guy, and I see the same volunteers every year. It's like a homecoming. I recommend that one for sure.

And the most difficult of the ultras you've done?

Pine to Palm, because I really didn't know what to do. I just ran, and I did all the wrong things. Over time you learn little things that make it easier.

If you made a list of the wrong things you did at Pine to Palm, what would be on it?

I didn't eat right. You need to eat early and often. It's more of an eating competition than a running competition. You really need to dial in your nutrition, and the only way to do that is by practicing. And in the beginning, if you feel like you're going too slow, you need to slow down even more. That first hour needs to be pretty chill — unless you're looking to win. If you're trying to win, it's different; you've had the training and your body responds well to running fast early. But at Pine to Palm, I was a mile from the start line when the race started. I could hear people starting in the distance, and I still had a mile to go. So I had to run a mile just to get to the start, and I was behind everyone. Instead of slowly catching up to the field, I ran so hard. That almost ended it for me. Looking back, running that fast at the beginning is the reason I felt so bad for a month afterward.

So: fuel as you go, and if you think you're starting slow, you probably need to slow down. Now flip it. After more than a decade of ultrarunning with considerable success — third-place male at the Tahoe 200 most recently — what are two or three things you'd tell a new ultrarunner to do?

Have patience. You don't need to be fast — you want to finish. A lot of younger guys just want to run hard, and there are only so many people out there who can run that hard and that fast past 18 miles or a marathon. So slow down, and you'll be amazed how much faster you run that 100-miler, 100K, or 50-miler. Have patience, and don't try to do all the races right away. Think of it as something you want to do for the rest of your life — something you're getting into for the long haul. Don't worry about winning. Do it because you find enjoyment in it, because it's an adventure, to see what you can do. Don't worry too much about being the greatest.

We've talked about food. What about water? Are there stations where you can replenish?

In an ultra, every hour or two you're going to be at an aid station, and generally they have everything you need. If there's something you like that they might not have at that race, you can usually put out a drop bag — a little bag about the size of a lunch bag. You put whatever you want in it, and it's there waiting for you. And if you want to be faster or more efficient, don't stay at the aid stations. A lot of people mingle there, and if there are 15 or 20-some aid stations, that eats up a lot of time.

Right. Five or ten minutes at each aid station and you've cost yourself hours.

And if you're mid- or back-of-the-pack, that could mean you don't finish. Most of these races have cutoffs. If you hang out too long at any point, you might miss a cutoff and get pulled. So moving through the aid stations makes you faster. Beyond that: practice long runs. Not necessarily the mileage, but the hours on your feet. Build yourself up to where you can move for three or four hours, and practice eating different things to see how your body reacts. Make sure you drink water and electrolytes, and learn what your body needs to move efficiently for three or four hours at a go. Train in the mountains or on hills. Most ultras have a lot of climbing, so a lot of my runs include a ridgeline or a climb. Making climbing part of your program has helped me a bunch.

That's changed my wife. She never liked hill climbs. On a road course with hills, that was her weak spot. Now she's running hill repeats and doing lots of hill training as she preps for her ultra, and she doesn't sound like the same person. She says, "I love hills."

It makes you so much stronger, and it's so fun. And usually when you finish, you have a great view. It's so important to put hills into your program for any kind of trail running. Normal people can do hard things. People just don't think they have what it takes, but most people can. It just takes a lot of work and a lot of time on your feet. Then things start to get really fun, they get easier, and they become more enjoyable.

There's a little price of admission, but once you're past it, it's a different thing. I've found that to be true. So what's next? I know you just did Tahoe, but I know there's something coming up for Dennis.

This year has been pretty demanding race-wise — the Grandmaster, the Tahoe 200, the Tahoe 100. I don't have any real organized events planned. I might do Rio Del Lago; I've done it the last few years. I might run it with my friend Clyde from Yreka.

He's 74, right? I was going to ask.

He's 74. He hadn't run in a few years, but he's been training again, and we've been communicating some. So that might be on my radar. I also have a permit for the John Muir Trail in September. We'll see.

That'll be a beautiful time. On this idea of age — "age is just a number" has been around forever, but my sister said it recently in a way I appreciated. She's been on a fitness journey for several years and gotten in great shape. She loves her dog, and she's going to do her first canicross, which is cross-country running with your dog. She said, "The more you do, the more you can do." She's pushed through a lot of hurt getting in shape, and now she's out on the trails all the time. I hate that I'm going to say this dog's name on a podcast: she named him Dodger. She's a diehard Dodgers fan; I'm a Giants fan. It's been a rough run for us Giants fans. Anyway — there's Clyde at 74. One of the guys I run with, Vern, is almost to his 69th birthday, and he just crushed his PR in the half marathon. He's running races what seems like every weekend.

Clyde would sign up for every race. That's what he said: "Just sign up for every race you can afford and go. That's your training." I'm not sure that's good advice, but that's what he says. There's another guy, Bob Becker. Have you heard of him?

The name rings a bell.

He started running when he was 50, and he finished Badwater last year at 80. And then there's Wally. He's 82, I think — I could be wrong — and he ran Tunnel Hill last year and set some kind of record.

Amazing. Some people listening won't have any idea what Badwater is. Tell us.

They call it the world's toughest foot race. One of our friends from Redding Sweat, Nick Affleck, got in this year and ran it. It is so hard. You start in Badwater, the lowest point in the continental U.S., and run to Whitney Portal. Mount Whitney is the highest mountain in the continental U.S. In the old days, they used to run all the way to the top, but it's in a wilderness area, so you can't hold an event there. Now they finish at Whitney Portal. It's 135 miles, at the end of July every year, so it's 115 degrees-plus. And you're on the road — it's more of a road event. Mike Sears, a well-known ultrarunner from Redding — you really need to have him on — was crewing for Nick along with a couple of others. I watched Nick finish. It was incredible. So hot. You start at something like 500 feet below sea level and finish around 8,000 feet. My plan was to hike Mount Whitney with them when they were done, but they changed their minds — reasonably so. So I thought it was over, and I ran up Mount Whitney myself, came back, and drove home to Redding. Well, the next morning at eight o'clock, they got up and made it to the top of Mount Whitney after that 135-mile race. And the whole crew made it too — three people. Crewing Badwater is super difficult. You're not sleeping, you're up for three or four days, it's hot for you too, everyone's piled into a van, and you're following your runner, pacing them, handing them things.

My wife recently read an extended essay by a woman who'd run Badwater, and she spent a lot of time on her crew. I didn't realize how brutal that is.

You need a crew. They won't let you do it without one, and your crew will make or break you there.

And our local guy finished?

He did, under all the cutoffs. He's such an incredible runner. He lives in Chico, but he's here with us a lot — we volunteer with Redding Sweat, the local running club. Last year, Nick did the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning.

What is that?

You run four of the most famous 100-milers in the United States, spaced about a month apart — Old Dominion, Western States, Angeles Crest, and the Wasatch 100 in Utah. You don't get much of a break in between. He did that last year, and then he got into Badwater this year, which is pretty cool.

Badwater is super tough to get into.

It really is. It's about a hundred runners, and a lot of people want in. You have to write essays, do videos, all of that.

After your career with CAL FIRE, you've done something pretty cool — you're wearing it on your hat. Run Around Redding. Tell us about it.

I knew I needed to do something physical when I retired. When I was younger in Redwood City, I'd go to San Francisco and see the bicycle messengers, and I thought that was the coolest job. I rode bikes a lot back then. Three or four years ago, I saw someone driving a pedicab in San Francisco and thought, "That looks fun." You stay in shape, you're riding a bike. I started talking about it to different people, and they thought it was nonsense. Then my family and I went to Denver for my wife's birthday, and they had pedicabs there. I said, "Jackie, I need to try this. This is perfect for me." You get your exercise, you're outside, you're providing a service, and people are so happy.

Really?

People really enjoy it. I don't know how to explain it, except that as soon as someone gets in and we go, they're having the best time of their lives. I'm usually around Market Street, the Sundial Bridge, the river trail — the short loop from the Sundial Bridge to the Diestelhorst Bridge and into town. I haven't been doing it much lately because of all the running, but I did the car show, the rodeo, and the Fourth of July. I think it's really beneficial to Redding at those events, because parking is far away for a lot of people, and some people have mobility issues. I've given thousands of rides in a relatively short time. At first, people don't know what to think — they see this guy with a beard on a bicycle. But by the end of the night, they're fighting to get on your bike. The people who were a hard no at the beginning want a ride back to their car. It's been so fun. And you get to meet and talk with all kinds of people.

So right now it's mostly during special events?

That's it right now. I'd be willing to take people on tours of Redding. I can legally go almost anywhere a car can, except certain roads. But the river trail and downtown Redding are where I think it's most beneficial.

How do people connect with you for the pedicab?

My wife and kids made me an Instagram — it's Run Around Redding. You can message me there. If I'm in town, you can see where I am on the map and shoot me a message: "Hey, pick me up." I'm not interested in long hauls, but short hauls around downtown and the Sundial Bridge area, sure.

So you get to meet people, and by the end of the night you're the most popular kid in school.

It's so fun. I don't know what my ex-coworkers think, but I can't describe it any other way. I feel like I'm 10 years old. Right now I'm just working for tips. If you can't afford it, or if you didn't like the ride, you don't have to pay — it's free. I tell people that all the time: "It's free. Just get on. Let's go." I'd say about 80% of people tip, which is nice, because the whole thing was pretty expensive to get into. In California, there are quite a few rules for pedicabs. You can't build your own; you have to buy one from a professional outfit with a serial number. You have to be inspected, have training, have different permits, have insurance. There's a lot to it. I'm sure some people skip it, but if you want to do it legally, there are a lot of hoops to jump through.

Shocking. A lot of hoops in California.

But right now it's really worth it. It's bridging the gap for me. I wanted to take this year off from firefighting. Because we retire early, most people come back to firefighting for at least a little while. But I wanted to take this year to be with my family. I've missed 31 summers with them, because you're stuck at work all summer. So I'm taking a year off to see what happens. I can tell you this, though: when I see my fire engine drive by, it's challenging. It feels like watching someone else drive across town with your girlfriend. That's been hard. I miss the firefighters, and I miss that part of it.

Is it the camaraderie?

I think so. And you're able to help people all the time. Sometimes that's challenging — sometimes it's overwhelming, because you're always around hardship. But you're in a role where you're helping people every day. So now I'm helping people on the pedicab, I guess.

You're scratching a lot of itches there — the outdoors, exercise, being in the community, helping folks.

And I'm willing to take people out on the trails. I've been guiding people around Redding for a long time. If someone's interested in learning about ultrarunning, or just isn't sure how to go about hiking a trail — you'd be amazed. To me it's a no-brainer, something I grew up doing, but a lot of people are scared or unsure about using some of the trails. In Redding, we have over 200 miles of trail within a 10- or 15-mile radius, rideable and runnable. The opportunity is out there. I'm out there quite a bit, and I don't see many people. It's the same people you always see.

That was my wife's comment about Kanaka Peak. Often she'll pass one other runner. Maybe two.

On Kanaka Peak, you're lucky to see anyone. It's cool. It feels really remote — it's not too remote, but it has that feel. It's a little overgrown. It feels like a wilderness trail. I love Kanaka Peak.

It's a gorgeous area we live in. Dennis, you've been so generous with your time. I have to tell this story as we close. My wife is well down the road on running and now ultrarunning, and we were coming back from a trip. She holds her phone up in front of me and says, "Look, this guy is from Redding and he just got third in the Tahoe 200." She was super pumped. And I'm a beard snob — I grow a big beard in the fall for hunting season — and you've got a great beard. So I immediately judged you a cool guy based on your beard. Then I saw you outside my office and literally ran out and called you by name, because I'd read it in the news and on social media. You stopped and chatted with me, and we connected over this podcast. I know it's not your thing to be in front of a camera and a microphone. But when we went for a run together and talked, I really appreciated your openness and your willingness to share your story. I really hope people take away the encouragement: you can do this. It's just a matter of getting started. Thank you very much for being a guest on the All Redding podcast.

Thank you. Thank you so much.