Yesterday: A nice, hilly, 1 hour run at Elysian Park.
Today: I hit Griffith Park. Part of the trails around the golf course are open (none of the hiking trails are as of yet), but I got some amazing views of the burned out areas. Holy shyte! The hills are BARREN in some spots. Truly beautiful, in such a strange way.
I also nearly had my ass handed to me: As I was tying my shoe at the start of my run, a 20-something woman ran past me at a pretty good clip, so I decided I'd have to chase and pass her. Turning the corner after 50 feet, I saw that she'd met up with another, young woman running, and they were both pushing their pace, so I had to floor it. I managed to pass them and slide ahead (running about a sub-7 mn mile) when I heard them talking:
"How did you do?"
"I ran a 17:08...I was happy."
"Great! Last year, I did it in 17:38."
This is when it dawns on me: They're talking about their 5k times. To put it in perspective, my 5k PR is 20:12 or so. So now I'm ahead of track stars. And I'm not about to let them pass.
I keep my pace and tell myself this is now a tempo run and I'll flip around at 23:30 to do a 45 mn speed run. BUT THEY'RE STILL RIGHT ON MY ASS, about 50 yards behind me...and they're still capable of having a conversation.
I scramble. I push. My legs are burning and my breath is coming in gulps, but I keep up the pace and flip around at the designated time. I pass by them within 20 seconds, turning my legs over even faster, trying to look relaxed as my heart is about to pop out from my ribcage.
I finished the run in 45:33, figuring I ran about 6.5 miles total.
I can't move.