On top of the world: a brush with running bulls, rockets and death

“I don’t have the space or the time here to write exactly how I felt before the run, after the… “I don’t have the space or the time here to write exactly how I felt before the run, after the first rocket. Or when I looked over my shoulder and saw the first bull pass me. All I can say is that it was easily the most intense experience of my life … I still can’t believe the experience and know that, even if I’m unable to write it well, the feeling is firmly imprinted in my memory forever.”

That is what I wrote July 10. But the story really begins in Florence, Italy, a week before.

I sat in the hostel courtyard with Adam. We traveled together with a collection of others we had just met. We drank and talked for hours, and somewhere in it all I heard someone mention that the “running of the bulls” was going on next week.

Well, I had to go. It was as simple as that.

Robert and I exchanged e-mails so we could meet in Pamplona, Spain, but it never happened. The rest of the night I tried to shuffle my itinerary around to make it possible. I wouldn’t get everywhere I wanted, but I was going to run with the bulls!

A few days later, I left Adam in Rome and headed to Pamplona. It took five train stations, three countries, and 34 hours of travel in all. I felt beaten.

My first good luck came at the train station when a Spanish couple approached me and offered a room for 30 euros a night. I knew most travelers slept in the park, and most were robbed there. The thought of staying in a real apartment brought comfort. I felt a little weird getting into a van with these two strangers to take me to their place, but I was too tired to think of an alternative.

It turned out well. About 20 others like me slept there also. It rained that night and I got my sleep. The next day, I would run with bulls.

During the San Fermin, Pamplona is wild. Every morning the bulls run and every evening is a bullfight. The drinking starts before noon and the streets are full of people, all dressed in white with a red bandanna about their necks.

The next day, I jumped out of bed at 7:15 a.m. The run was at 8 a.m. I reaffirmed my decision to run and went into the streets. I ran following the wave of people gathering to watch. Along the way I stopped to buy my whites and bandanna.

Before a run, the street is crowded with people. Some stumble about, fresh out of the bars and are pulled away by the police. Some pace back and forth. Some stretch. The Spaniards mostly just lean against the wall and read the daily newspaper, full of horrific details from the previous days run. I paced about and stared questionably at how calm the Spaniards were.

The run went something like this.

I paced nervously, not knowing when the bulls would come. Then the first rocket sounded, meaning the bulls had been released. Something inside of me dropped and I sprinted as fast as I could for a few steps. Then I realized the Spaniards around me weren’t running. I stopped and looked about confused.

The second rocket sounded – the bulls had entered the run. Down the street, I saw them coming. A frightened mob of white and red came running from a pack of angry bulls.

I never realized how big or fast bulls truly are until that morning. The run is about half a mile and the faster bulls do it in two to three minutes.

I ran as fast as I could with so many people around. The walls grew thick with people trying to hide, everyone panicked. I was pushed and tugged from all directions. It was all I could do to survive the mob of people.

Then the bulls came. They came and passed about 5 feet from me. I thought I would die. I tried to jump out of the road but a cop pushed me back in. Apparently you’re not allowed to do that.

When the third rocket sounded, I felt mild relief. The first bull had entered the ring. A few minutes later the last rocket sounded and it was over.

I felt like I touched death. I was on top of the world. From there I met some friends, we drank and the rest of the day and into the night. It was almost as wild. It was the best day of my life.

Will Winton is a columnist for The Pitt News. He can be reached at wminton@pittnews.com.