This morning at 8am I ran with the bulls.  Well, it’s more like I waited in a huge crowd of white and red and stewed in anticipation and tired nerves.  To add to the obvious tension one feels while waiting to run with wild, horned animals, I had been advised by my Spanish friend that today the bulls were from a ranch (ganadería) known for it’s especially high-strung and fast bulls.  I tried not to think of these “toros bravos” as I waited in the chattering, testosterone-charged, slightly intoxicated crowd.  Despite all this, I actually felt calm.  I tried to make small talk with my friend, Ian Usher.  I think I thought I could be an island of cool-headed resolve, an agile runner ready to spring into instinctual action as I joined the bulls after their slow-down at the famous curve… until I heard the bang of the rocket which signalled the fact that the toros were now set loose down at the beginning of the course.  This was no longer an event only in my imagination.  It had begun.

Fear started to light up people’s eyes and I was carried with the wave of panicking runners.  Soon the cowbells of the steers could be heard approaching amidst shouts, screams,  and cheers; the bulls came careening around the Curve of Mercaderes and entered Estafeta where I was starting to run.  The boy in front of me tripped.  So did the guy next to him.  I stumbled over him too.  As I stood up the guy behind me grabbed my pants to help himself up.  The bulls flew by in a flurry of shiny black hair, wide pointed horns and big, brown steers.  The green-shirted “pastores” sprinted after them with long sticks, hitting people who tried to touch the bulls.

I ran with the crowd, not knowing if there was a straggling bull still running up behind us.  The sudden sprints and bursts of yells from the crowd created a very intense atmosphere of uncertainty.  But the bulls had passed in tight group and I found myself at the end of the course, known as Telefonica.  After running into the bullfighting stadium, full of cheering spectators, I think for an instant I recalled my past life as a Roman gladiator.

A minute later the last three steers came charging into the arena and ran straight to the corral.  The last rocket gave a bang, signalling the end of the encierro.

I thought that was it, but then I realized that all the entrances and exits to the ring were being closed off.  Soon a young bullock with padded horns was running madly around the sandy stadium floor, harassed by hundreds of (mostly non-Spanish) young men (and a couple of blond young women).  Occasionally the disoriented young bull would catch somebody, tossing ‘em in the air and charging toward the next group of hecklers.  Several times the crowd parted and the animal was suddenly running straight toward me.  Maybe I was too tired, because I didn’t quite catch the bug of enthusiasm to tease the creature.  I stood around, saw some people I recognized and congratulated them in having non-horn-punctured innards and then I climbed up in to the bleachers.  I found an exit and jogged back to the Plaza del Castillo, through the night’s trash littering the sidewalks and the morning trucks spraying down the streets.  I met my friend for churros and hot chocolate.

Despite the bruised knees and tired body (from sleeping just a few hours the past couple nights), I think I’ll run again tomorrow – but this time at the beginning where the bulls are fast and free and the experienced runners start at the Cuesta of Santo Domingo. It’s the bulls I fear as much as the people.  Thanks to the guy who dragged himself up from my pants as the bulls came charging by.

And now, here in the BullRunning.com office, I am recounting my experience just hours later.  For more info, see today’s summary of the second encierro of San Fermin 2009.