Now I’ve had a good time or two in my life, but I have never seen a bigger celebration than I did in Pamplona. People were literally drinking, dancing, and singing in the streets. The number of people having a good time per square meter was staggering. The whole city seemed to be one giant jubilant crowd. There was barely room to walk. The bars and stores were packed. The streets seemed packed. The corks of champagne bottles made loud pops as they were released from their duties and sent sailing through the air to rain down upon the smiling faces of strangers in the crowd. My shoes stuck to the street with each step, as the entire city had been coated with a thin layer of sangria.

An important thing to note is the atmosphere of this celebration. Even though there was certainly an overarching theme of intoxication and lack of inhibition, a feeling of unity and respect was equally present. It felt safe, even neighborly. About 95% of the seemingly endless crowd was dressed in traditional garb; white shirt, white pants; red handkerchief around the neck, red sash around waist. Countless men and women, children and elders were gathered in the same place, wearing the same garments, celebrating the same thing.

It was overwhelming no doubt. At first I could barely speak and was almost anxious. Then the hair on the back of my neck stood up and I felt a powerful thirst and an overwhelming desire to launch myself into a matching frenzy that would let me be a part of this happy madness. We bought a couple beverages and followed the crowd. We did some light celebrating of our own and watched the locals. I slowly sipped sangria in amazement and was completely without worry, concern, or anxiety (a rarity in my life).

As the night grew older we decided to walk the track that we would run tomorrow and build a basic plan. Still relaxed happy I walked down the crowded narrow streets. I admired a lot about the city. When we were almost at the end of the track, we came to a small bar on our right. Since we had began our walk at the end of the track and walked followed it from end to beginning. Now we were looking at the very beginning stretch of the track; a 100 yard path no more than 20 feet wide, lined with concrete walls 20 feet tall on either side. Something about these walls had creating an ominous feeling. They truly accentuated the narrowness of the path. This was the exact opposite type of setting I would choose to have when I’m hanging out with thousands of strangers who are willing to trample each other to a jelly-like substance in order to escape the deadly bulls running at top speed trying to skewer them without slowing down or taking notice. You can’t escape to the sides because of the walls. You can’t escape to the back because of the bulls. This leaves the front; where everyone will be pushing to get to. We went over to the bar for a moment where they had pictures of running of the bulls in past years.

Now I’m only writing this to capture the truth, so I’ll just tell it like it was. The true to God fact is that I was not scared or nervous in the least way. When you think of the situation from a standpoint of statistics and probability, I would be just fine. No chance I would be the slowest or dumbest guy there. The chances of something seriously bad happening to me barely existed. So I honestly had no fear about the whole thing. Then I saw the pictures. All of a sudden I decided I needed to think of a way out this mess. I think that maybe running with these beasts maybe overrated. Perhaps I should spend the day looking at architecture that Spain has to offer. Fear and anxiety had set in folks. I was now sober as a judge and silent as stone.

It’s not that the pictures were gruesome or graphic in nature. The gravity of the whole thing just hit me suddenly for some reason. We were running with bulls. Bulls that were very large, extremely fast, unhappy, and equipped to take human lives. Those horns they have aren’t good for much else. People died doing what we were doing tomorrow. This was not a joke. I no longer found it funny, or even fun for that matter. I was playing Russian roulette here. Though the odds were strongly in my favor, but my number might come up. I might never see the faces of my family again. That was a tough pill to swallow. I headed back to the hotel to the makeshift bed I had created on the concrete floor of the hotel balcony. I laid down in the cool night air, lit up a cigarette, and said a silent prayer. And slept.

I woke less than five hours later, after having dreams of the race. I survived in my dream so maybe I had a chance in reality. No one else was awake yet, so I slipped into the bathroom and put on the traditional race uniform I had purchased the night before. Now at least I looked the part. I asked God a second time for the safety of my crew and myself. Then we headed into town. When we arrived it was clear that the celebration had continued without a break for some. The park was littered with the tired bodies of those sleeping away headaches. We entered the track and I began to feel adrenaline slowly creeping though me in anticipation of the experience to come. Fight or flight as it’s called. I was ready to do both. I figured the best method would to be fight people out of my path and ‘flight’ away from the bulls as fast as possible. Anticipation and adrenaline would be my companions for the majority of the morning. We were locked in the track at 6:00 am and the bulls were scheduled to be set loose at 8:00 am. This left 2 hours of standing on a cobblestone street with thousands of others. Thinking. Waiting.  Planning. But mostly just thinking. At first your blood pressure is JACKED. If you have ever had that electric feeling slowly grow within you before a fistfight, a big game, interview or something, then you might be somewhat familiar with the sensation. About 1 ½ hours and countless cigarettes later, I was feeling like I had been up for days and my nerves were starting to feel shot. Somewhere along the line I leveled out and began to feel like myself again. I was tired of the hurry up and wait game. I began to feel really at peace with the whole experience. Run fast. Remember your strategy. The rest isn’t really in your control so let it roll. What else is there to do?

The crew talked over our plan once again as the time approached. A rocket will be sent up to signal that the pen has been opened and the bulls are now free. People will begin to push and run at this point. We will not. We will stay in our place. Then a second rocket will sound, signaling that the final bull has left the pen and trouble is officially on it’s way. People will really start to freak out and sprint. We will not. We will hold our position. We will begin to run only when we can see the first bull with our own eyes. Sprint. Head for the sides. Never get caught directly in front of a bull or be caught alone. For God’s sake never hit the ground. No matter what don’t fall. After the six fighting bulls run by, take a breath. Don’t forget that a second batch of bulls are released after the killers. These will be far more docile and much less of a threat but don’t meddle with the second batch of bulls either. Above all, if you only can remember one thing, stay out of Dead Man’s Curve when the bulls take the sharp corner. From what I’ve heard, and this could be fable, that is the most dangerous area of the run. It’s a place where the track  curves sharply to the right. The curve and the cobblestones often cause the bulls to lose their footing and fall. This is pretty much the worst-case scenario. There’s a decent chance the slipping and sliding bull will collide with or fall on someone. There’s an even better chance that the bull will become turned-around, cornered or separated from the herd. This is when a bull flips out and charges at whatever it has to. A bull tends to follow the herd of bulls running in front of it. It’s a fatal irony that a group of bulls is less dangerous than a lone bull. Go figure.
Bang. The first rocket explodes in the air with a shattering crack that brings you to reality. That would be where things start to get extraordinary. Deliberate choice of words there, extra ordinary. I never heard the second rocket. I don’t remember hearing the yelling voices that I’m sure surrounded me. I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t feel afraid. I didn’t feel bold. I didn’t feel much at all really. But I did feel alive.
I pointed my feet up the track and looked over my shoulder. Hold tight. People were sprinting and pushing all around me but I barely noticed. Hold. I know for a fact that there are 6 deadly bulls headed my way but I can’t see them yet. Hold.  Run too early and you’ll be at Dead Man’s at the same time they are, run to late and you’ll be on a stretcher. Hold. At this point I see the terrible creatures. Impressive and horrifying. Built out of brick and muscle, barreling like a freight train right down the alley. I underestimated everything about them. Their size and build was indescribable. Their speed was mind blowing. I wondered if the horns they brandished were given over by the devil himself, added as a finishing touch after creating these creatures of mass destruction.

Because of their great speed, and my great beer gut, I was only running ahead of them for under 10 seconds. I then ran to the side as planned. What I didn’t plan on was that everyone else would be running to the side as well. The bulls acted like Moses parting the Red Sea. This resulted in me being on the outside of the pile, hence furthest from the edge and closest to the bulls as came charging though. I was far too close for comfort as they passed. I had my back to the crowd/wall and was pushing backwards with all my might to no avail. The bulls came forward with dangerous proximity. A slight adjustment in the way their horns were pointing would have shut the lights out for good. It’s difficult to gauge, but I’m going to say I was three feet away from having a sit down chat with the Great Creator. I’ve never felt closer to God than I did in that split second that seemed to last forever. Call it luck or chance or God or whatever you want. I have my own perceptions, but I know that my life could have ended in a pretty violent way if the chips had fallen slightly differently. It was close enough of a call to make me think a tad differently. And just like that they were gone. As fleeting as the breeze they left to my face as they rushed by, they were gone. The stench hung in the air for a minute as I check myself for the wounds I knew I wouldn’t find.

Still alive. There is no way I have the skill to describe how the next moments felt. I really don’t know what to relate it to. Maybe waking up and realizing a nightmare wasn’t real and you are really in the amazingly normal world you knew before drifting off to sleep.  I really don’t know, sorry to fail you all there. I hope it sufficient say that I was relieved and ecstatic. I felt more alive than I have in a long long time. If you aren’t pumped on your own life, you might want to think about all the ramifications of not having it. You might be surprised at all the random things there is to grin about. This feeling of pure thrill had me running further up the track. I knew I could never catch up with the bulls but I didn’t want this experience to end. This is about the time I realized I had no idea where my friends were, or if they were okay, but I just kept running. With a big stupid Rossi smile on my face. As I ran forward the crowd became thicker and eventually I couldn’t move. Then I looked up. Hmmm…Dead Man’s Curve.  I thought ‘Did I ever see that second batch of bulls go by?’ No. I did not. Luckily for me the second batch were dramatically less aggressive and much slower. I pushed my way to the side and pulled myself up on the wooden fence. After this point I felt safe and the celebration could begin. I met my crew, who were just pumped. We swapped stories and I went directly to the nearest store that would sell me a big old juice box of sangria. It tasted better than it did yesterday. The air seemed sweeter too. Funny how things work.

-Rossi

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