Note: Any reference to “safety” is given with the qualification that running with the bulls is an inherently dangerous activity that has resulted in deaths. Each day of the festival there are many seriously harmed. “Safe” and “safety” are relative terms meant to show that something is the best option out of many bad options. I am not recommending or encouraging that anyone run with the bulls. It is probably for the best that you do not. If you do, please have an experienced runner show you how to do it. Francisco Gloria of Pamplona Fiesta showed me what to do, and as I write below, it was a huge help.1 There is a non-zero chance of finding out in the worst way possible.
I was waiting for the first rocket to be lit and explode at 8 am. Until then, I stood on a specific brick on the ground in front of the Pamplona City Hall at 7:59 in the morning and waited to see the bulls’ horns. When I saw the horns I was to run to a poster on the distant wall and then take a sharp left turn down the sloped street towards La Curva.
A minute went by and the rocket fired into the air. The pen holding the bulls had been opened. The bulls were running up the hill. The sound of people yelling grew louder and closer. I stood my ground waiting until the horns peaked above the crowd. It was like sitting on a surfboard in the Pacific, waiting to paddle until the perfect wave began to crest on the horizon. When the wave crests a surfer paddles and stands up the same way a runner begins running and takes a path in front of the bulls.
Preparation
A couple days before my first run I met with Francisco Glaria of Pamplona Fiesta to teach me how to run. Francisco is an experienced runner and a Rick Steves tour guide in the Basque region of Spain. He lives and grew up in Pamplona so has ran many times. I trusted him with my life to get through the run safely because of his experience and knowledge running.
When I met with Francisco to walk the course, he told me the dangers inherent to the run and I acknowledged I understood. He explained the technical aspects of the four different stretches of the 850 meters from the pen to the bullring. I learned which areas were “safe” and which areas were most dangerous, which stretches required the most agility and speed and which stretches were more straightforward. I was very thankful for his input because my ideas based on watching past runnings were, in fact, terrible ideas that would have significantly increased the risk of an unfortunate meeting of the horns. Francisco’s advice would make a difference as to whether I walked out of the running or was carried out.
Pre-Run
I decided to start my run in the shadow of Town Hall after talking with Francisco about my speed and quickness (high) and risk tolerance (higher than what my family and friends would like). As Francisco directed, I found the spot on the ground Francisco told me to stand on and waited until I saw horns. Some people left the street at the last moment. I was terrified. I thought my heart would burst through my chest, the gears in my brain were running into each other and breaking. After seeing enough videos of tramplings, people gored, being lifted off the ground and knocked unconscious, I knew how bad things could go. On top of the potential for physical harm, it would also be very embarrassing to be seriously hurt or die from something so dangerous that I voluntarily chose to do. The rocket went off at 8 am and everything went into focus.
Monks wish for this feeling of mindfulness.
The second of two rockets was fired, signifying that the last bull had left the pen and passed a white line on the road on the first uphill stretch of the run. The yelling became louder and closer. I held my ground on the square, waiting for what seemed like whole minutes pass in what was really a matter of seconds. I was waiting for the bulls’ horns to crest over the crowd.
The moment I saw them, I ran.
The Run
I pointed myself to the very specific part of a wall in front of me as Francisco had told me to do. I turned left when I was a specific distance from a poster on the wall and balanced myself in a way to deal with the sloping, cobblestone road that leads to La Curva.
Francisco had told me the bulls take a common path down the road (watching years of the run would confirm this) and running this stretch a specific way would allow me to run in front of the bulls and then get off the horns. I could hear the crowd and thundering of the bulls behind me. There were many would-be runners on each side of the street, either with the intention of hugging the walls, had plans of running with the bulls and made a late choice not to, or decided to let the bulls pass and then run behind. The roads had seemed small when I walked the course with Francisco two days prior, and they were now even smaller. The people on the street was an extra element that Francisco warned me about but even with taking his advice very seriously, I seriously underestimated how much I had to worry about people (A memoir).2
I glanced behind and saw the bulls. They were three across the street. A normal bull will give meaning to the word massive, but these bulls were raised for fighting. Their horns long, sharp, and pointed up. The bulls were huge and muscular and fast. Very fast. It is easy to understand the concept that bulls can run the half mile course in just over 2 minutes in principle. That understanding reaches a different level when you are within feet of bulls moving at top speed.
Any time spent in front of the bulls is measured in seconds, the same way a surfer gets up on their board and drop into a wave and leave the barrel shortly after. This felt like the videos of surfers riding huge waves off the coast of Portugal. I looked ahead and saw that there was no one between me and La Curva (I am the runner on the far left, with my left foot on the first white line, moments after seeing that no one was in front of me). It was time for the exit strategy Francisco shared with me, taking the right angle at La Curva to get out of the most imminent of dangers.
I looked behind me to judge the distance and speed of the bull. There was not just one, but two bulls behind me. My focus was on the closer of the two – the one that posed a more immediate threat. I turned my head to see how close I was to La Curva, preparing to make my escape from a bull trailing me by a quarter second.
Then, I ran into someone. The collision was strong. I felt my soul leave my body and was nearly knocked off my feet. I fell back towards the middle of the road. I thought about how my sister was the designated person to come to Spain if I was seriously injured but we agreed that she should just use it as a vacation. I thought of the puns and memes I had told friends to share if something happened. I thought that at least I would not have to go to work on Monday.
The two bulls brushed my shirt. After getting my footing and regained my balance after a few had passed (I am directly above the second bull at the top of the screen, after the collision, and after feeling both bulls brush up against me). I had been in front of the bulls for a few seconds and then the bulls were gone. The last bulls were now adjacent on the opposite side street. A video recorded by a news station got footage of me barreling down the street, colliding with the person who decided to run from one side of the street to the other. The video, and a later photograph, showed that I came within inches of a horn.
I made it past La Curva on the long straightaway to the ring. I noticed the barricade at La Curva had not been closed. A bull had gotten separated. I was jogging to the ring, not sure if another bull was to come. It did come, surprised many people, but was gone just as fast as the others had.
Post-Race
At the bull ring the ban against filming was either no longer in effect or no longer enforced. Instead of bulls, steers were let out among the celebrating runners. The steers horns’ were softened so no one would be gored. That did not stop the steers from lifting people off their feet or knocking them out onto the ground. It may seem a good idea to stand on the wall and let the steers stay in the middle of the ring. But the steers will find their way to the edges and it is a helpless feeling to be squished amongst tens of people, unable to move as a steer runs at you.
I was within a steer a few times in the center of the ring. I did not have the ability or the desire to try and jump over the steers as some others did.
Once I decided I was not having any more fun I hopped over the wall, helped down by security, and was directed out of the ring.
Walking out of the bullring was like an immediate emotional hangover. The feeling of danger and adrenaline was a sharp contrast to leaving the ring, feeling my body hurt everywhere after the collision, and returning to some form of emotional normalcy. I met a friend who ran ahead of me on a different stretch. I was very glad that I had Francisco show me how to run. While no one died or was gored, a couple friends spectating told me of a few very serious collisions. It was a rush that I suspect is pretty difficult to find anywhere else in the world. If it was not so dangerous I would recommend that everyone do it.
- Photo is from Pamplona Fiesta at pamplonafiesta.com. ↩︎
- This and the following images were sent to me in 2023 by friends and family who saw the clips online. After a diligent search I have not been able to find the original sources of the images. If you believe you are the copyright holder, please message me so I can properly attribute the images or remove them if you do not grant permission to post them. ↩︎
