July 7th 2013 Miguel Alva and I ran with the bulls in Pamplona Spain. After the craziest party on the planet for the opening ceremonies we weren't exactly sure what to expect. Four minutes after it started we were finished and Mikee said it best "Screw those guys that run a 5k and say it's hard, this is the real shit".
We left our hotel to head to the square; the bus was packed with people from 18- 50 getting off to go home from the previous days activities at 5:30am. It was obvious they had been drinking all day and night but the majority were not drunk or visibly intoxicated. The majority of the Spanish drink differently than we (Americans) do. I have to chalk that up to a cultural difference. In the states we treat alcohol as a necessary evil but also as a milestone reward. At 16 you can drive, at 18 you are considered an adult worthy of making life changing decisions such as joining the military or voting on the candidate you think should run our country. BUT, you can't drink alcohol until the magical age of 21. The Spanish, and most European countries, consider wine and drink a part of their culture. Local and regional vineyards are proud of their vintages and children are brought up with that connection to wine from a young age. I think this integration with alcohol as part of their life instead of a glorified taboo puts them in a significantly better position to handle drinking on every scale.
Arriving at the specified corner next to Hemingway's bar where we were to meet Jeff and Richard at 6:00am the realization on how difficult this could be crept in. Plastic bottles, broken glass from dropped 40oz of San Miguel, paper strewn about from food vendors, and worn red scarves dotted the streets of the old town. The streets were covered in trash and wet. The city square and subsequent area was still partying from the previous day. When I first viewed the course online I thought an 825 meter run wasn't going to pose a challenge. Playing competitive soccer 3 nights a week and having some decent sprinting speed I was more worried about the people in front and around me falling. Having been in a few riots here and there your biggest challenge in avoiding injury is someone falling in front of you and dragging you down. With the mixture of ages, sobriety levels, and experience I knew this was the x factor I was most concerned about. The morning of the run we were presented with another challenge. In addition to the to the uphill uneven terrain the street was soaked. To clean the route Pamplona uses mini zamboni like street cleaners that push all of the trash to the side and spray water to wash away the spilled beer, sangria, and urine. We looked at the route from the top with standing puddles of water now in our path. Make sure that another spectator didn't take us out or we didn't slip ourselves was now added to the equation. The morning had been long due to some other complications, checking out of our hotel and the lack of sleep was mixed in with all of this while Mikee and I talked pre-run strategy.
Mikee and I started up a conversation with 2 Englishman and an Irishman who were standing near us. Jeff and Rodger aren't here and we can't seem to find them. As the police came they started blocking off the side streets while the expectation grew. This made the event real. No matter what happened from then on out I would be able to say that I ran with the bulls in Pamplona Spain.
While the police were blocking off the side sections they were also tossing people off the course that were too drunk or had cameras out taking pictures. Camera's are not allowed during the run and I found out why later. Regardless, my camera was in my pocket and I had planned to snap a few during the run. The police then started blocking off the the course section by section to clean it while pushing us towards the finish point. As this was happening we eventually were forced out of the course. A moment of panic set in- we had to find a way back into the course to run. No way in hell was I going to plan the trip, get there, be so close, and then miss out at the last second. There was a huge train of people as our group ran down the streets to left and hit each blockade of police trying to sneak in. Run to blockade, 10 or 15 would squeeze through then the police would block it, run to the next one and the same thing. Finally, right after dead man's curve, we found an opening and snuck in. Relief
They packed everyone in a very tight area so the TV crew could get some good shots of us. Nut to butt, we heard "make a hole" (or the Spanish equivalent) and a priest with the mayor of pamplona passed through us as the police pushed us against each other, making an already crowded area unbearable. Hot, sweating, frustrated, and angry for being packed so tight for so long an Aussie guy pulls out a rocket he had hidden. The crowd moves away frightened as he threatens to light the wick. He does this for 5 or 10 seconds. Everyone is freaking out- this drunk guy has a 1 foot tall by 4" diameter rocket that he's going to light in a crowd of packed people who can't get away from it. He lights the fuse; it makes a small pop and confetti goes everywhere. Up until that moment the tension of being packed and the fear of being trampled was showing on everyone's face. I doubt he knew it at the time but that Aussie calmed the collective, in the instant the rocket bust with confetti the tension was gone and people looked around at each smiling and laughing in unison.
The police opened the gates ahead of us for the crowd to move along to their spot in the course to start the run. Mikee and I had been separated in the group earlier and I was next to a large group of black guys from Houston that were Aggies, proudly wearing Texas A&M bandana's. It was strange and beautiful that of all the people I could be walking next to it was a group of Texans. We passed a balcony that had a Texas flag hung where a family was set up to watch the run. In true Texas fashion the father had a camo hat on while one of the kids wore a Tyler's sporting good shirt. Our groups cheered and waived to each other as the mother yelled with a large smile "Good luck boys, and God Bless" while the father echoed her statement with another smile as he raised his glass of beer to us. The kids cheered and yelled "Go TEXAS!"
Mikee and I found each other and he decided he would move farther up in the course closer to the stadium. I have a weird thing with superstitions and intuitions. I'm a believer that your mind and body tells you things sometimes and you need to listen. I had a feeling I should stay right where I was by dead man's corner. I also know this feeling could have been complete bullshit, brought on my an adrenaline rush of preparing to run from bulls and 4 hours of sleep. Either way I stayed put. A guy in his mid 20's was standing next to me from England and we talked a little as we waited. The anticipation in situations like that is hard to explain. You have to balance the adrenaline, excitement, and uncertainty while focusing on the objective. Door knockers, base jumpers, and the like understand this. The rocket goes off and we wait. A group of runners comes towards us and he asks "You ready?"
"Not yet, they aren't running from the bulls"
"What do you mean?"
"Look at their faces, they are smiling and happy" he nods and understands.
We wait as they pass by us. There aren't any bulls behind them. The next group of guys comes running towards us. Their faces scream terror, this group of guys is running for their lives.
"Here we go" I say to the Englishman and we join this group and run.
The bulls are behind us, close enough to hear their hooves on the cobblestones at a frenetic pace. The clapping hooves against the cobblestone gets louder and I feel people behind me peel off to the left or right to become paper thin against the metal gates of the buildings. An older guy that had been elbowing other runners in the ribs to get to "his" spot is backhanded directly in the face by the motion of another runner who turns sprinting uphill. It might have been an accident or karma; the forty year old is on his back nursing a bloody nose. Franticly crawling to the side not to get trampled by the approaching madness he's in tears. I can almost feel the bulls breathing behind me as I peel off the group just ahead of the old man. They pass 6 inches from me as I'm sucking in my chest flat as a board pushing backwards against a metal shop gate. At this instant a guy about 15 feet in front of me on the opposite side snaps a picture. Either the flash combined with his movement or dumb luck triggers a reaction by the bulls, they turn right and take out the guy and the group he was with. I had the same plan as that guy. His mistake was a great lesson I was able to learn by observation instead of application.
The first group of bulls passes and we start running behind them. The younger bulls are trailing them. Not near as fast but equally as dangerous. You try to sprint, it's difficult though. Without good traction on the wet uneven street you don't have the leverage to push off with all of your force. You run like a woman who has never sprinted but is trying to learn it, not fully extending your legs and awkward, faster than a comfortable jog but you keep slipping if you go to fast. Fear or excitement isn't really a factor at this point. You just kind of run as fast as you are able, focus on what the people in front and next to you are doing and attempt to anticipate them falling while keeping aware of how close the bulls are in relation to the distance of the closest wall to press against.
I see Mikee and yell his name. He joins me and we continue to run uphill towards our goal. We see people fall, a few people get trampled, I see a guy fall and the bull steps on his ankle with 1,000 pounds of force. Each time this occurs the person screams out while the bull hardly notices and keeps the same pace, barely missing a step.
The younger bulls pass us and we think the run is over so we start jogging. Then 3 more bulls with handlers running behind wiping them appear. we let them pass and start walking and talking, completely forgetting about running into the stadium. As we approach the stadium it hits us and we pick up the pace but it's too late and they have closed the doors.
We walk back to meet to the girls, both of us are covered in sweat. Smiles a million miles long with heart pumping adrenaline we talk about the run.
We both saw so many different things. The square isn't as full as it was yesterday it's easy to tell those that ran versus the spectators. We meet Felicia and Maily at the bus station and as we wait we see some of the injured; One guy, maybe 19 or 20, is flanked with friends on each side unable to walk by himself. His sock off, unable to put any pressure on a ankle swollen larger than a softball. It's broken, he just doesn't know it yet. Others holding ribs from being crushed against a wall, nursing ankles or quads hit that aren't as bad as the first kid.
Four minutes. From the rocket fires to our finish only 4 minutes have passed. After seeing the run first hand I now realize how dangerous it is. So many things can come into play that are beyond your control. On the way to Barcelona I know I would definitely do it again. If I lived in Europe I would make this an annual event, sadly though, the cost of getting there and the vacation time used in the process mean I have to chose other destinations that are still on my list before going back to Spain. Looking back, I still plan on doing it again. If I ever get married maybe I could convince my wife to honeymoon in Spain and then, it would just happen to fall during San Fermin and I could run again. Otherwise I just have to plan the trip and find someone else as nutty as me.
We left our hotel to head to the square; the bus was packed with people from 18- 50 getting off to go home from the previous days activities at 5:30am. It was obvious they had been drinking all day and night but the majority were not drunk or visibly intoxicated. The majority of the Spanish drink differently than we (Americans) do. I have to chalk that up to a cultural difference. In the states we treat alcohol as a necessary evil but also as a milestone reward. At 16 you can drive, at 18 you are considered an adult worthy of making life changing decisions such as joining the military or voting on the candidate you think should run our country. BUT, you can't drink alcohol until the magical age of 21. The Spanish, and most European countries, consider wine and drink a part of their culture. Local and regional vineyards are proud of their vintages and children are brought up with that connection to wine from a young age. I think this integration with alcohol as part of their life instead of a glorified taboo puts them in a significantly better position to handle drinking on every scale.
Arriving at the specified corner next to Hemingway's bar where we were to meet Jeff and Richard at 6:00am the realization on how difficult this could be crept in. Plastic bottles, broken glass from dropped 40oz of San Miguel, paper strewn about from food vendors, and worn red scarves dotted the streets of the old town. The streets were covered in trash and wet. The city square and subsequent area was still partying from the previous day. When I first viewed the course online I thought an 825 meter run wasn't going to pose a challenge. Playing competitive soccer 3 nights a week and having some decent sprinting speed I was more worried about the people in front and around me falling. Having been in a few riots here and there your biggest challenge in avoiding injury is someone falling in front of you and dragging you down. With the mixture of ages, sobriety levels, and experience I knew this was the x factor I was most concerned about. The morning of the run we were presented with another challenge. In addition to the to the uphill uneven terrain the street was soaked. To clean the route Pamplona uses mini zamboni like street cleaners that push all of the trash to the side and spray water to wash away the spilled beer, sangria, and urine. We looked at the route from the top with standing puddles of water now in our path. Make sure that another spectator didn't take us out or we didn't slip ourselves was now added to the equation. The morning had been long due to some other complications, checking out of our hotel and the lack of sleep was mixed in with all of this while Mikee and I talked pre-run strategy.
Mikee and I started up a conversation with 2 Englishman and an Irishman who were standing near us. Jeff and Rodger aren't here and we can't seem to find them. As the police came they started blocking off the side streets while the expectation grew. This made the event real. No matter what happened from then on out I would be able to say that I ran with the bulls in Pamplona Spain.
 |
| Dead man's curve & the TV Cameras |
The police opened the gates ahead of us for the crowd to move along to their spot in the course to start the run. Mikee and I had been separated in the group earlier and I was next to a large group of black guys from Houston that were Aggies, proudly wearing Texas A&M bandana's. It was strange and beautiful that of all the people I could be walking next to it was a group of Texans. We passed a balcony that had a Texas flag hung where a family was set up to watch the run. In true Texas fashion the father had a camo hat on while one of the kids wore a Tyler's sporting good shirt. Our groups cheered and waived to each other as the mother yelled with a large smile "Good luck boys, and God Bless" while the father echoed her statement with another smile as he raised his glass of beer to us. The kids cheered and yelled "Go TEXAS!"
"Not yet, they aren't running from the bulls"
"What do you mean?"
"Look at their faces, they are smiling and happy" he nods and understands.
We wait as they pass by us. There aren't any bulls behind them. The next group of guys comes running towards us. Their faces scream terror, this group of guys is running for their lives.
"Here we go" I say to the Englishman and we join this group and run.
The bulls are behind us, close enough to hear their hooves on the cobblestones at a frenetic pace. The clapping hooves against the cobblestone gets louder and I feel people behind me peel off to the left or right to become paper thin against the metal gates of the buildings. An older guy that had been elbowing other runners in the ribs to get to "his" spot is backhanded directly in the face by the motion of another runner who turns sprinting uphill. It might have been an accident or karma; the forty year old is on his back nursing a bloody nose. Franticly crawling to the side not to get trampled by the approaching madness he's in tears. I can almost feel the bulls breathing behind me as I peel off the group just ahead of the old man. They pass 6 inches from me as I'm sucking in my chest flat as a board pushing backwards against a metal shop gate. At this instant a guy about 15 feet in front of me on the opposite side snaps a picture. Either the flash combined with his movement or dumb luck triggers a reaction by the bulls, they turn right and take out the guy and the group he was with. I had the same plan as that guy. His mistake was a great lesson I was able to learn by observation instead of application.
The first group of bulls passes and we start running behind them. The younger bulls are trailing them. Not near as fast but equally as dangerous. You try to sprint, it's difficult though. Without good traction on the wet uneven street you don't have the leverage to push off with all of your force. You run like a woman who has never sprinted but is trying to learn it, not fully extending your legs and awkward, faster than a comfortable jog but you keep slipping if you go to fast. Fear or excitement isn't really a factor at this point. You just kind of run as fast as you are able, focus on what the people in front and next to you are doing and attempt to anticipate them falling while keeping aware of how close the bulls are in relation to the distance of the closest wall to press against.
I see Mikee and yell his name. He joins me and we continue to run uphill towards our goal. We see people fall, a few people get trampled, I see a guy fall and the bull steps on his ankle with 1,000 pounds of force. Each time this occurs the person screams out while the bull hardly notices and keeps the same pace, barely missing a step.
The younger bulls pass us and we think the run is over so we start jogging. Then 3 more bulls with handlers running behind wiping them appear. we let them pass and start walking and talking, completely forgetting about running into the stadium. As we approach the stadium it hits us and we pick up the pace but it's too late and they have closed the doors.
We walk back to meet to the girls, both of us are covered in sweat. Smiles a million miles long with heart pumping adrenaline we talk about the run.
We both saw so many different things. The square isn't as full as it was yesterday it's easy to tell those that ran versus the spectators. We meet Felicia and Maily at the bus station and as we wait we see some of the injured; One guy, maybe 19 or 20, is flanked with friends on each side unable to walk by himself. His sock off, unable to put any pressure on a ankle swollen larger than a softball. It's broken, he just doesn't know it yet. Others holding ribs from being crushed against a wall, nursing ankles or quads hit that aren't as bad as the first kid.Four minutes. From the rocket fires to our finish only 4 minutes have passed. After seeing the run first hand I now realize how dangerous it is. So many things can come into play that are beyond your control. On the way to Barcelona I know I would definitely do it again. If I lived in Europe I would make this an annual event, sadly though, the cost of getting there and the vacation time used in the process mean I have to chose other destinations that are still on my list before going back to Spain. Looking back, I still plan on doing it again. If I ever get married maybe I could convince my wife to honeymoon in Spain and then, it would just happen to fall during San Fermin and I could run again. Otherwise I just have to plan the trip and find someone else as nutty as me.
Great story! Thanks for writing it up so we can experience too (WITHOUT having to be there!)
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