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 Photo courtesy of Merek Wigness |
The early morning of July 10, 1998, was calm and peaceful in Pamplona, Spain. I was standing in a group of several hundred people in the Plaza St. Domingo, waiting for the rockets to explode to start the world famous event known as the Running of the Bulls.
As a participant, I had to wait in the square for roughly 45 minutes before the event. The minutes went by very slowly as I thought about why I was running with the bulls, how I could easily leave the plaza and watch the spectacle from the sidelines and what could happen if I met the wrong end of those long and sharp horns.
Two rockets, fired within minutes of each other, started my blood pounding. The first rocket instructed us to move out of the plaza and into the section of the 800m route where we wanted to be as the bulls went by. Bulls run twice as fast as a man, making it impossible to run the entire route with them, so we had to plan ahead for which section of the run to position ourselves at.
My Canadian and South African friends had decided to run to the stadium at the end of the route. After the bulls run through the stadium and into holding pens, the gates are closed and year-old, female fighting cows are released into the stadium. The young cows are aggressive and charge the runners who are on the floor of the stadium. The runners get to try their hand at being a matador, and if a cow hits them (which usually happens) the results are some bruises and a funny story.
Even though it is early in the morning, there are many people in the stadium watching the antics of the runners getting knocked on their butts. My friends thought that sounded fabulous, so that's where they were headed.
I had heard stories that the gate entering the stadium was a dangerous spot on the route. The gate was a bottleneck where, if a runner fell or was pushed down, a domino effect would start and quickly there would be a pile of runners in the gate. The stories said that the bulls then stampede over the pile of runners to get into the stadium. Not a good situation.
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I told my friends that I would run the route by myself and catch up to them later. My plan was to run up the short stretch, take the right hand turn into a barricaded, narrow cobblestone street and be somewhere on the straightaway leading up to the stadium when the bulls went by.
After the eternity that was 45 minutes standing in the square, the first rocket went off and everyone started running. I had several minutes to run about 400m, so I took off at a fast jog, keeping a watchful eye on my fellow runners.
Generally, the way to get hurt is to have another frightened runner push you in an attempt to get away, causing you to lose your footing on the slippery cobblestone streets and fall into the path of the bulls. So I tried to keep some distance between me and the other nervous men in the very narrow street.
The second rocket told us that the bulls had been released. We were committed and wide-eyed, alive in every fiber of our being.
Everything seemed to go quite well, at first. We ran along the edge of the street waving our rolled up newspapers. Traditional dress to run with the bulls is white pants and shirt with a red sash around the waist and red necktie. Everyone carries a rolled up newspaper.
Then a group of bulls rushed by us, almost close enough to touch. No problem. I was pretty exhilarated and ready for more, when I heard the sound of women screaming. The old, three-story buildings along the narrow street had balconies on the upper floors; that day, balconies crowded with local people.
When I heard the women above me screaming, a shiver went up my spine. I looked back to see a lone bull in the middle of the street. An isolated bull that doesn't know where the rest of the bulls are presents an extremely dangerous situation. A bull's instinct, like all herd animals, is to stay in a group and run when they are threatened. However, when a bull finds itself alone and threatened, its instincts are to fight.
When making the right turn in the route, the bull must have slipped on the cobblestones. It likely took a second to get up and didn't see where the other bulls went, causing a serious situation. The women on the balconies were screaming a warning to the runners below them.
The bull walked up the centre of the street with its head lowered, staring intensely at us. We all squeezed our backs up against the walls, hoping that the bull would go up the open street. About five metre from me, the bull started to use its horns to systematically hook and toss people from the opposite wall. The first man was tossed into the street like a rag doll.
Although I knew I couldn't outrun the bull, I bolted. Without a doubt, it was the fastest I will ever run in my life. I ran about 75m to the first safe spot, a barricaded intersection on the street, and dived head first through the gap under the heavy timbers. I was safe! I don't even remember the bull going by seconds later; adrenalin does strange things to a person.
I will never again run with the bulls, but I am very happy to have experienced it. I can appreciate the value of this traditional Spanish rite of passage. I was left with a feeling of euphoria and invincibility that lasted for days. I can feel it still.