I’ve dreamt of the encierro in CuĂ©llar, Spain, ever since I’d first seen images of its wild mass of horsemen, bulls and steers cascading down the sloping hillside at the edge of town encompassed in a dust cloud made orange by the morning light. These dreams came and went throughout the years. Often Dyango Valesco, a friend, local CuĂ©llar sculptor and avid runner, fanned the flames with Facebook posts and welcoming words. About two weeks out from this year’s running, I posted something back: “Dyango, I am coming to CuĂ©llar.” (My wife generously allowed me a second trip to Spain this summer—I covered the San Fermin festival, or running of the bulls in Pamplona, for șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű.)

A lone bull on the streets of Cuéllar.

Hillside.

Street.

Heading to CuĂ©llar was nothing short of a pilgrimage, but my arrival was even more shocking to the system. CuĂ©llar is the oldest encierro in the world, with documentation dating back to 1215 AD. It predates Pamplona’s encierro by around 400 years, and this quiet industrial farming town looks today like what a youthful Ernest Hemingway stepped into in Pamplona in 1924.

“The animals in CuĂ©llar are very different than in Pamplona,” Valesco told me as I walked the hilly course the night before the run. “Here you cannot run on the horns for a great distance because when you do the animal locks onto you. It hunts you with its horns. You must pass the animal to the next runner after only a few yards.”

That advice would save my life the next morning when a bull followed me to the fencing. His horns came within centimeters of my back as I leapt and busted my shins on the steel structure. They bled the rest of the morning.

At 6 a.m. on August 26 we stepped into Valesco’s waiting car in the morning dark. He drove us five kilometers away to the holding pens outside town. There they released the animals into a waiting swarm of 400 horsemen. The fierce black bulls rocketed into the mass in deep gallop, throwing their horns. All that was left in their wake was a fading rumble and a thick cloud glowing pink in the sun.

Valesco drove us a quarter-mile to a viewing point where the immense pack was set to gallop past. Thousands of townspeople waited on the hillside. We stood there for a very long time before a little boy—he must have been no older than six—walked up to me with genuine hurt and concern on his brow. “The bulls are lost,” he said.

Moments later a stout, gray haired man in a blue jersey jogged gallantly across the field. I recognized the number 25 on his jersey from Pamplona. It was Josechu Lopez Jimeno, one of the great runners of the era. The 52-year-old from Riaza Sergovia slipped into the dark forest on foot to find the animals. After the race was completed, I was able to ask Jimeno a few questions:

How many years have you run at Cuéllar?
I started to go to CuĂ©llar with my parents when I was only eight years old, and even then I liked it. I’ve run anytime that it has been possible and continuously since 2004, participating in the release, going through the pine forest and the field and later the encierro on the street.

What does the encierro mean to you?
The closure is an escape from normal life. It’s an addiction. It’s something that I am sure of even with all the jitters before the rocket goes off. It’s like playing a sport you love and are passionate about. It is a way of life that makes you meet many people and create great friendships with them. It makes you share some memorable moments, social gatherings, feelings, jokes, laughter, in those empty hours during the day. It’s the way of life of a great family.

What are the components of a good run?
A good run? A nice, sunny day, good company, brave bulls, bullfighters who display will and dedication, bullfights that communicate artistry and finish with the cutting of the ears.

How important is it to you that the passion for the encierro be passed down to the new generation?
It is very important that this passion is transmitted to future generations. It is vital in order to achieve the further development of the encierros the way we like them—especially now, with such a large anti-bullfighting movement. We must promote and instill in young people the values and culture ​​that have endured for centuries so that future generations can enjoy these values ​​and feelings as we do right now.

Can you tell me about the camaraderie on the streets during the encierro?
In the race we are all peers; most people and runners know each other and we have a deep and strong friendship. Each of us set our personal goals in our stretch of the run, and acquaintances respect each other. In the face of danger we react differently but always with a selfless courage we cannot hold back. It is an innate reaction within us, which ignores the danger present at that time and pushes us to perform incredible acts, endangering our own lives, by reflexively thinking of our friends.

Why do you continue to run?
I keep on running because I like it, because I feel qualified, because it is a way of life, because my family is there, my friends. It’s my culture and I am proud of it. I never set a time or a date to stop running. I will run for as long as I can and I feel qualified.

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It wasn’t until the eighth and penultimate day, July 13th, but I finally broke through and had a long, clean run with the bulls of the Juan Pedro Domecq ranch. I held the center of the street early and waited. When the TV cameraman up the street panned with the lead animal, I took that as my queue to take off. The traffic on the street was light even though it was a weekend. I knifed through the few that stood around me and suddenly the street opened up halfway through the Telefonica.

Glancing back, I saw a black bull way out ahead of the pack. He was slowly gaining on me. A Spanish runner who wears a blue and white shirt sprinted beside me. I knew we would run its horns together and I began to focus on the crowded street ahead. The path was clear. When the bull swept up behind us, we each ran a horn and slowly descended into the Callejon.

An aggressive runner attempted to cut in on the Spaniard in blue beside me and caused him to teeter. The memory of Juan Pedro catching my arm when I slipped earlier in the week flashed in my mind. I reached out and tried to catch his arm to help him hold position. He regained his balance and we dashed another 30 yards, leading the bull into the tunnel.

At the tunnel the bull swung right and was directly behind me. My plan to run him straight across the ring and hand him off to the Dobledores was squashed when another runner stomped on my foot. As we came to the mouth of the tunnel I knew I was going down. I stepped on the sand and twisted to see the animal surging behind me. He strode steady and heavy. His jet black fur glistened in the light pouring into the arena. I dove with my last bit of traction and floated to the sand. I smashed hard on my stomach then face planted. The sand was soft and warm on my forehead as it burst off of me. The animal flowed over me without caushing any damage as I crawled away. Then a few runners came and pulled me out of the way of the herd that followed the lead.

This run was the perfect way to wrap up my fiesta this year. I’d fallen nearly every day after good runs. The legendary Mozo Julen Madina said: “I’m glad I’m not running anymore. It is so crowded it would be very difficult to run today.”

In my opinion there’s always hope at the center of the street, but I do agree with Madina: The crowds this year have been particularly difficult. The run ended in 2 minutes, 20 seconds. Nobody was gored, but five runners were taken to the hospital.

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Clancey has also had a terrific year as a runner in the Encierro. He’s been on or in the presence of a bull’s horns each day of fiesta and captured probably the best run of any American this year at The Curve. I sat down with a tired Clancey this afternoon for a quick chat about creating his film Chasing Red.

What do you want to accomplish with this documentary?
I want to give people a window into my own experience at Fiesta, especially the Encierro, the event that most resonates with me.

What inspired you to start this documentary?
I knew other people who had come to Pamplona and I wasn’t satisfied with their been there, done that stories. I believed there was a deep and moving experience to be had here and I wanted to see what that would look like.

What is the structure of the doc?
It’s a character-driven documentary following eight runners. They each have their own goals and aspirations and we follow them in their pursuits of those dreams.

What is the Encierro to you?
Running the Encierro these past six years has been an opportunity to test the discipline of my emotions. In my time here I most enjoyed teaching people to run and stay safe. If I’m going to teach I want to be a strong example for my students.

How difficult is it to film a documentary in the heart of one of the world’s wildest parties?
In the process we realized in a lot of ways there’s a more dramatic story in the filming of the doc rather than just the characters. You’re constantly torn between an event like the Encierro that takes a lot of focus and the demands of capturing a documentary. There’s just too little time in the day. I just sleep three hours a night. It’s my opportunity to experience two of my passions: running and creating a documentary film.

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The Fuente Umbro ran clean this morning. The run sent only two people to the hospital and ended in 3 minutes, 12 seconds.

I ran the horns of the lead bull, then tripped on a fallen runner and fell into the barricades. After stabilizing, I looked back as two black bulls swept by. A rare off-white bull called a Jabonero trailed them. I scrambled to catch up with the animal and then positioned myself on the Jabonero’s horns. I strode for several yards before tripping, once again, on a fallen runner. This time I slapped the stones. Red Cross medic Jesus Muniain yanked me under the barricades as the last of the herd ambled past. I was fine, but Muniain treated some of my earlier wounds and a few new gashes. Then we started to chat.

Muniain has volunteered as a Red Cross medic at the Encierro at San Fermin for 30 years. “My main job is to stabilize the injured,” he said. “If a bull gores a runner, I put pressure on the wound and put him on the stretcher. There are four doctors in this section. They assess the victim then we put them in the ambulance.”

I wondered if the job was stressful. “It’s not stressful because it lasts just 10 minutes and it’s over,” he assured me. But Muniain has experienced several terrible moments over the years. “I remember the pile-up in 2004 and the death of Daniel Jimeno,” he said.

Muniain’s worst memory was made in 2009 when Ermitanio of the Miura ranch nearly killed a runner at the opening of the tunnel. “It was so hard because I was very close and watching it but I couldn’t do anything,” he said.

The injuries, though, bring more sadness than stress. “The injuries are hard because they’re in such a contrast to this great party,” Muniain said. “When people get hurt it saddens me.”

There are some bright spots in the mornings—“The people who run with crazy costumes really make me laugh!” he said—but the best part of the morning for Muniain is the end. “I just enjoy the days when everything is over and everyone is safe,” he said. Well, today was one of those days and Muniain was a very happy medic.

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On July 10, 2009, a bull named Cappuccino from the Jandilla ranch gored Daniel Jimeno Romero to death. As Jimeno attempted to pull himself under a barricade, Cappuccino, a suelto, slammed full speed into him. The bull’s horn penetrated Jimeno’s thorax and severed his aorta; he bled to death within minutes.

I ran that morning and entered the arena near the horns of a bull. They played the live video of the run on large screens in the arena. After noticing Cappuccino wreaking havoc at Telefonica, I ran back out to the street to help bring him in. Slowly, I worked my way next to him. He swept past me at one point and looked me right in the eye. My entire body froze. Someone distracted the bull and I snapped out of it, running around to help others turn Cappuccino. Then I tripped on someone’s feet and dove for the barricades as the bull rumbled close. At that very moment a cop and a paramedic grabbed my outstretched hands and pulled me under and up to my feet.

It wasn’t until later that I found out about Jimeno’s death. Then I noticed in photos I had been running shoulder to shoulder with him just a few days earlier. Even though we’d never spoken to each other we’d run together and that simple bond, especially for those of us that return to Pamplona year after year, is an incredibly strong one. It was a strange feeling. I assume it was, in part, survivor’s guilt. Both of us took to the street that morning and had a close interaction with this fierce bull. Now he was gone and I was preparing for the next run.

Jimeno was a veteran runner who lived in Madrid. His family ran for several generations and he was making them proud on the street each day of Fiesta. His father created a special monument of flowers for his son this morning to mark the third anniversary of his death.

The El Pilar ranch ran a fairly clean run this morning. There were no gorings, but five people were taken to the hospital. The run lasted 2 minutes, 22 seconds.

I fell in the tunnel yesterday. I had a vague memory that there was a bull close behind me when I went down. Then Peter Milligan told me I had an amazing run. I was confused, then found these photos. The bull’s horn was a few inches from goring me in the face.

Also in the pack: Aryeh Deutsch. Against orders from his doctors due to the fact that he was gored yesterday, Deutsch ran with the bulls this morning.

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It was a bad morning in Pamplona for two brothers. Peter Milligan of Philadelphia and his brother Aryeh Deutsch of Cherry Hill, New Jersey, have been running with the bulls since 2004. Each has exactly 53 runs under his belt, because they always run together. And in case they get separated during the run, they have a special meeting place. This morning, Aryeh didn’t show up. Peter had a fairly calm look on his face as he paced the Plaza de Castillo, though it masked the unease that was building beneath. “If Aryeh isn’t in the hospital right now, I’m going to kick his butt when I see him,” Peter told me.

Peter was worried, but he thought it possible his shorter brother might be having some trouble climbing out of the arena. “Some of us are more challenged with height and need a boost because they don’t let you out and you have to climb over the wall,” Peter said.

When Peter went back to his hotel he received a message from the hospital that a bull had gored his brother. “I rushed to the hospital, then they take me to a room with a guy who has an IV in and was about to have emergency surgery started on him,” Peter said. “I couldn’t see his face, but then I realized that he was a tall guy and I was relieved because he couldn’t possibly be my brother.”

The horn of a black suelto penetrated Aryeh’s right calf in the Callejon section of the run. “I was running when the first pack of bulls passed me and the next thing I know I see this black suelto coming toward the fence,” Aryeh said. “I’m running from him then I trip over some people. The next thing I know I’m on the ground. When I hit the ground I was trying to scoot under the barricades. Then I look up and the bull was basically on top of me and I just tucked under and got out of the way.”

The bloody wound surprised Aryeh. “I didn’t know he gored me,” Aryeh said. “In fact, I thought that he stepped on me.”

It was a shallow puncture with plenty of flesh hanging out of it. When asked how bad it hurt, Aryeh laughed and said, “It didn’t hurt until the doctor stuck his finger in it.”

The wound hasn’t stopped his urge to run. “The first thing I did is ask if I could run tomorrow,” Aryeh said. “They said no, of course not.”

But the doctor’s orders may be quickly forgotten. “The only way I won’t run tomorrow is if they decide to amputate,” Aryeh said. “Running of the bulls is a thrill. I hate roller coasters but I love the running of the bulls.”

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I walk out today ready and committed to hold the center of the street. I wait it out more than usual, only starting to move as the sweep approaches. Then Juan Pedro is behind me. We dash onto the horns. I stumble and Juan hooks my elbow to preserve my balance, and together we run the horns for a distance. Then I peel off to run the later set.

They come along the right barricades, a steer and a bull side-by-side, slightly ahead of the others. Cutting through the crowd, I position myself to run the bull. As I cut in front of the steer, I know I’ll run the horns. Then a hard push into my upper back. I lean into it and brace. A searing bellow erupts behind me. The push extends as the steer’s forehead bursts upward and through me. I accelerate and fly into the air, slam into the cobblestones, and land perfectly flat. My face, knees, and elbows all hit in a simultaneous instant. A millisecond later my testicles smack the stones. I’ve never felt pain like that. The steer and bull sweep over me as I crawl to the barricades, moaning. A Red Cross medic grabs my arms and pulls me the rest of the way under. He helps me to my feet and asks if I’m okay and where I am from. I moan and nearly weep, clutching my stomach. The medic is worried I have a brain trauma when I finally tell him “Estados Unidos, Chicago.” As the medics treat the various bloody gashes that cover my body, I begin to lighten up and think, Hey, I wanted to interview one of these guys anyway.

I start to tell the medica in my broken Spanish that I am a journalist and want to speak with them about the festival. They look at me, now sure I have a brain trama, and continue to ask me things like, Where are you from, and What day is it, and Where are you now? I give up and walk to Txcoco. I make fun of myself and everyone laughs. Later, at a runner’s breakfast, the Basque and Spanish runners chide me. They ask if I saw the steer: “You know steer’s are very large, no?” Then they wanted to examine my exotic kicks.

An șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű article inspired me to try Vibram Five Fingers. I slowly transitioned from regular shoes to the barefoot running shoe. I have flat feet and the Vibram shoes instantly helped the condition. My calves have always been bulky and unformed. The Vibrams instantly gave shape to my calves and things only got better from there. This year at fiesta I planned to wear both regular shoes and the Vibrams in order to compare and contrast them here. A few weeks out, I decided that the Vibrams were so far superior to regular running kicks that I didn’t bring any tennis shoes. So far they’ve held up beautifully.

There had been a lot of commotion surrounding the Miura ranch leading into their appearance at fiesta. One bull killed its brother in the holding pens at the edge of town a few days before. Two others were also deemed unable to run due to the fighting. They were replaced by another three from the Miura ranch, their younger brothers.

Later in the day I watched the TV footage of the run. It was wild. A bull got way out in front of the pack. The animal nearly gored American Dennis Clancey who deftly dodged him at the last possible moment on Mercaderes. The lead bull smashed into the curve and scraped the busy wall, knocking several runners over. Miraculously the bull’s horns didn’t penetrate anyone. The run lasted 2 minutes and 27 seconds. There were no gorings, but paramedics took one runner to the hospital.

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The packed streets of Pamplona kept me awake until 6:30 this morning. I finally fell sleep only to wake 30 minutes later in a cold sweat. Panicked that I’d slept through the run, I jumped up and looked out my balcony. People crowded the street below as the city workers finished standing the barricades.

I hurried to the apartment on Estafeta where we enter the run, and managed to catch a bit of sleep as my group waited for the appropriate entrance time. I woke groggy and tried to find coffee or tea, but failed. We joined the crowd on the street at 10 to eight, walking to our starting position at the top of Estafeta. I was in a hazy fog—not afraid, not nervous, not over-excited. It wasn’t until I crossed the street and shook a Basque runner’s hand that I snapped out of my stupor. Adrenaline sparked and popped in my back and shoulders and the excitement finally returned.

The streets were packed, and in my haze I didn’t hear the first rocket. John Hemingway told me that the rocket had gone off. We waited, and sure enough, a minute and a half later the herd approached. I slipped into the center of the street and began to jog with the other runners. They were slow, so I ran slowly with them.

As the herd approached, I looked back and drifted to the left side of Estafeta. Of course, the bulls swooped in along the right side and I was way out of position. I cut through the crowd of runners and reached the final bull in a set of three. I could have run beside that bull all the way through the arena but decided to stop and wait for the rest. I halted in the center of the street.

It was a long time before they came. A tan colored bull led the pack, and I positioned to run its horns. Several Spaniards ran in a string along the side of the animal but no one was on the front—I had to go for it. I slipped in front of the animal and ran its horns for 15 yards. As we approached the tunnel, several runners fell, two on the left and three on the right. I maneuvered past them and lost position on the horns. As I stepped onto the sand, two runners fell in front of me and I toppled over them and fell to my hands and knees. Swiftly, I crawled out of the path of the tunnel and climbed out over the ring wall. One bull refused to enter the tunnel and ran a wide circle in the ring before entering the corrals.

I climbed up on a one of the press boxes that lined the outside of the ring. Up on the JumboTron in the arena the replay loop kicked on. At Santo Domingo a bull gored a 73-year-old Pamplona native in the leg and tossed him to the cobblestones. As the herd approached La Curva, Angus “Gus” Ritchie, in his yellow Partick Thistle shirt, looked as though he’d miss the entire herd. But as the first set of bulls passed him an opening appeared in front of the second set. Gus cut in front of that second pack and ran on the horns of the same tan bull I’d run with. Gus, however, ran for an incredible distance on the horns all the way up lower Estafeta. He ran so fast that at one point he opened a 10-yard gap between him and the lead animal. He looked back and slowed to hold a near perfect position on the horns. He nearly made it to the first intersection before he got out to the left. “It’s taken a lot of study of runners like Brucie Sinclair to get that run,” Gus said outside Bar Txoco later that day.

A few seconds later, on upper Estafeta, David Ubeda of Phoenix by way of Madrid appeared on the horns of the lead steers. He looked back and maneuvered around to let them pass, and then ran on the horns of the lead bull. Ubeda took that animal a long distance up Estafeta in perfect position.

“It was a very nice morning. As the bull came I started to run the center of the street.” Ubeda said. “I found a line and I thought, I can do this!. I can run this line! First, I had the steers but I saw I could maneuver around them. I sort of backed into position and was with that bull for a long time. He was very rhythmic and steady. It was nice to run with this animal.”

Ubeda broke a bone in his arm on July 10 last year while running with the Miura Bulls in Pamplona. He was unable to run the rest of fiesta. Tomorrow, he’ll try to run with the Miura again.

At the entrance to the tunnel a bull slung its horn through a man’s Penuelo (red neckerchief) and dragged him 30 yards. Miraculously, the man wasn’t seriously injured. He did, though, raise awareness of a very important thing all bull runners should do: tie their Penuelo in a slip knot.

Final stats on the day’s run: one goring, and five hospitalized with injuries due to falling. It took just 2 minutes, 53 seconds for the herd to reach the corrals.

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San Fermin 2012 exploded to life this morning at the Chupinazo, the festival’s opening ceremony. Michael Hemingway, Ernest’s great-grandson was on a balcony above the raucous crowd and took these stills:

Bull-racing veteran “El Padre” Graeme Galloway.

The Chupinazo is not for the light of heart or body. Several lighter-weight people passed out and were crowdsurfed to the edge of the mob where Red Cross medics waited. We decided to have a chat with one man who has survived three decades’ worth of Chupinazo’s: “El Padre” Graeme Galloway.

What is Chupinazo like for you? And why do you return each year?
Chupinazo is like a giant rugby-scrum. There’s so much pressure you can hardly breathe. People of slight build can’t make it. About 10 minutes before 12 noon and the mayor’s blessing I think to myself, Why did I do this? But the euphoria of the blessing … it’s worth it. Chupinazo is like Everest; I go back every year because it’s there.

What happened in 1980 the day one bull killed two people?
The bull that killed both the runners nearly gored me in the Telefonica section. I sort of sucked up against the fence. Then I ran into the arena and watched the bull kill the other runner in the ring. I didn’t know he was dead when I saw it, but it looked bad.

What’s it like when you wake up in the morning and you know you’re going to run with the bulls?
I piss myself. I sit up on the couch and I think happy thoughts. I think of bunny rabbits and pink ponys. I think of everything I can that will keep my mind off those bulls I’ll be running with.

What is Fiesta to you?
Fiesta is the greatest party on earth.

How have you become so well-connected in the City of Pamplona?
Over 30 years you get to know people. They call me the Scottish Mayor Daley of Pamplona but I don’t think it’s to that extreme. I’ve just made a few friends.

What is the Pamplona Posse?
It’s a business, but it’s not. Being part of the Posse is like getting the keys to the city. You’re right in the heart of the action. A lot of tour groups need to take busses to get to Chupinazo and the run. When you’re with the Posse you just step right out the front door.

After 30-plus Fiesta’s what brings you back each year?
It’s the friends, the mates. The run, the party, the bullfights—they’re a lot of fun, but it’s people you meet, the friends you make. They can last a lifetime.

This year the City of Pamplona banned jumping from the fountain.

Lisa from Sydney, Australia, (above) was the first to jump from the fountain anyway.

“I didn’t know it was outlawed,” she said with a wild grin. “I saw photos of a guy jumping from it last year and I said, I’ve got to do that!”

The first fountain jumping injury of San Fermin 2012 was a possible broken big toe (above).

Galloway joined the crew that was catching jumpers when a bald man in a red shirt unzipped Galloway’s pants-pocket and tried to snatch his cash. Galloway gave him a shove and chased him through the cobblestone streets. The man blended into the thick crowd and disappeared. Moral of the story: When at Fiesta, keep an eye out for pick-pockets.

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For eight consecutive mornings six half-ton Spanish Fighting Bulls and several bell-oxen . Whether you’re planning to attend this year—for the first time or the tenth—or just dreaming of participating one day in the ultimate red-blooded adventure, you’ll want to know what you’re doing and how to get the most out of the experience. With that in mind, we’ve put together the ultimate step-by-step guide on how to run right, breaking down our top 10 tips so that they’ll work for you, whether you’re a beginner, intermediate or expert.

The duty of all Mozos (bull-runners) in the Encierro (bull-run, enclosure) is to help transition the herd from the pens at the edge of town to the corrals inside the arena in the swiftest and safest way possible. Runners are meant to lead the herd with their bodies, much like herding dogs with a flock of sheep. The experts do this by running on the horns (running just inches in front of a bull’s horns), but we don’t recommend that if this is your first time out.

The absolute worst thing a bull-runner can do is to interfere with the herd and cause an animal to separate from the pack. As we’ve seen in the past, interference often leads to the severe injury or death of a runner. The Spanish do hold a grudge, even after they’ve beaten you bloody. That word of warning out of the way, know that, done right, running with the bulls can be a whole lot of fun.

Before the Run

Prepare For the Run of Your Life

The hour before the run is a tense time for any runner. The run starts at 8 a.m. sharp. The first stick-rocket signifies the corral gates are open. The second rocket signals the last bull has left the pen.

Beginners: Be at Town Hall by 7 a.m. If you are standing anywhere between the police line on Mercederes and the arena, a line of officers will push you off the course. Trust me, it’s real. They did it to me my first Fiesta.

Intermediates: Grab a newspaper at Carmelo’s Bookshop (36 Estafeta Street) and look for photos of your friends and yourself from the run the morning before. Don’t be a sardine at Town Hall. Go down to Santo Domingo to sing the blessing to San Fermin and hang back in the less-crowded stretches of Santo Domingo until the police line breaks at about 10-‘til.

Experts: You’ve been around long enough to know people. Find an apartment with a door that opens onto the run. Relax on a couch. Take a nap. Watch the previous day’s run on TV. Then at 10 minutes to 8 a.m. and the beginning of the run, walk down and enter the mass of soon-to-be runners on the street. If you are a true elite they’ll invite you to the runners mass.

Santo Domingo

Run Like You've Never Run Before

At the beginning of the course the terrain is a fairly steep, which can be dangerous. You probably run slower when moving uphill, but the bulls run faster. Plus, they’re fresh.

Beginners: Position yourself an arm’s length away from either wall. After the second stick-rocket explodes run like you’ve never run before. The herd will likely be tight and out in the center of the street. Stay to the side but keep your head on a swivel. In 1971 a bull scraping the wall here nearly disemboweled Pulitzer Prize-winning author . Sometimes bulls just decide to break from the herd. If that happens, hit the deck.

Intermediates: The most popular chunk in this section is the Suicide Run. Get a front row position on the police line. Then, as the bulls approach, start pushing (really, how often can you get away with pushing a cop?). As the herd gallops forward at speeds approaching 35 mph, run directly at it (it’s a sick game of Chicken that you will lose). At the last second, dive off to one of the sides as the herd barrels on.

Experts: In the old days the Butcher’s Guild would gather here in their white cloaks. Like our suicidal intermediates, run downhill at the herd. Yet at the last possible moment, stop, turn around and sprint up the street just before the tips of the lead bull’s horns. Legend has it the Butcher’s did this to ferret out the most aggressive animals to make their job of selecting which bulls they’d cut that evening a little easier.

Town Hall

Timing Is Everything

Town Hall is a technical section but tends to be fairly quiet. That said, a bull gored Mathew Peter Tasio to death here in 1995 after he fell and stood up in the path of the herd. The bull gored him in the heart and threw him 20 yards. He bled to death within seconds.

Beginners: Start before Town Hall. Stick to the left side of the street and stay an arms length from the barricades. Wait until the cameramen on the balconies above start to take photos and pan, following the herd. The ground will begin to rumble with the tremendous weight of the stampede. Then run. Keep your head on a swivel and if you fall down, stay down (that rule goes for anywhere on the course).

Intermediates: Running either side is fine, though sometimes the herd swings wide-right and hits the barricades. When the herd is close, the street opens up. Stay away from the beginners on the left as they will suck you into the barricades and ruin your run. When it opens-up, go for it.

Experts: Wait it out. Your entry can be from either side but needs to be timed perfectly. This is a fast section. A 30-yard run on the horns here is an accomplishment.

La Curva

The Run Takes a Turn For the Worse

The Curve, Hamburger Wall, Dead Man’s Corner—it has a lot of nicknames because, after so many years of accidents and mishaps, danger is almost guaranteed on this section of the course. The herd flies into this hard-banking turn at full go. They crash and fall and chaos ensues.

Beginners: Don’t even think about it. If you are a beginner and you run La Curva most veterans would say that you deserve whatever horrific wound the bulls give you. Beware, you may attempt to run Town Hall, but if you leave that section early guess where you’ll end up? Pancaked under a half-dozen fallen bulls.

Intermediates: There is an old technique popularized by American that the Spanish have been using for an eternity. Stand in a doorway on the left side entering The Curve. After the herd hits the wall, break into a sprint. Catch up with the pack as they rise to their hooves. Run them up the street as far as you can. But beware; there may be a straggler or two.

Experts: Scotsman Brucie Sinclair created a modified version of Distler’s run. He started halfway up Mercederes in a doorway on the left. After the herd passes, sprint right up to their backs. When the bulls hit the wall, swing out around them and onto the horns. Take them up the street. Another Scott, Angus Ritchie, had a hell of a Fiesta last year doing just about the same.

Note: Deaf and mute Spaniard Jose Antonio has spent decades at The Curve doing the impossible. He stands nearly in the center of the curve. As the herd passes, he picks up any straggler bulls, quiets them and leads them up Estafeta. But you probably don’t want to try this: Jose’s super-human sensory-perception and insane courage are the only things that keep him alive year after year.

Sueltos

One Is the Most Dangerous Number

A suelto is a lone bull that has separated from the herd. The bull loses his herding instinct. It looks around and sees all runners as predators. Just like a Cape Buffalo attacking a pack of lions in Africa, the bull goes in to kill.

Beginners: This one is simple. If you see a lone bull on the street, run. Not further down the course, but to immediate safety. Run as fast as you can to a barricade and dive under the bottom rung. If you try to climb over you will be a slow and easy target for the suelto.

Intermediates: You know how dangerous it is but this is one of the places where you can gain incredible experience. Wade in slowly. Keep your distance. Be sure not to trip anyone up. Aim your shoulder at the animal and keep your hand feeling for runners behind you. This is a team action. Wade as close as you dare but know if you get too close it might be the last thing you do.

Experts: Attract the animal with your newspaper or hand. Remember that the bull sees better broadside. If he is facing you, make your motions low where his vision is OK. If a suelto is goring a fallen runner, dash up behind the animal and grab hold of his tail. Do not yank but apply a steady, heavy pressure. The animal should stop. Try to turn him with low or peripheral motion. Then lead him toward the arena.

Estafeta

Please Note the Nearest Emergency Exit

This is a long straightaway. James Michener said that if you’re in Paris and someone is trying to tell you how to run bulls in Pamplona, tell them you always run Estafeta and the conversation with end.

Beginners: There are four exits on Estafeta—at the two intersections. Use them if you need to, but note that you are probably safest on the street while running toward the arena. Start about halfway up Estafeta. Get an arm’s length away from the wall. It is vital that you wait until after the second rocket. It will take over a minute for the herd to reach you. A series of waves of panicked runners will flood past. Don’t run with them. Wait until the cameras on the balconies start to flash and pan with the herd. Then run.

Intermediates: The stones on Estafeta are very smooth and slippery. It’s like sprinting on a slip-and-slide. You can’t accelerate quickly or cut side to side. Start running early and fight for the center of the street. Do whatever you must to stay on your feet.

Experts: The legendary David Rodriguez dominates this section. He does it with iron will and courage. That said, even he still falls from time to time. Start running early and hold the center of the street. As the herd gets close to you, the crowd will thin. There is a bubble of space before the herd. Sprint full speed inside that small bubble. They’re fast here, so you better move quickly or they’ll use you for traction.

Pastores

Don't Even Think About Touching That Bull

These guys are like the bull’s little, green-shirted ninja bodyguards. They carry long, elastic willow canes that draw blood in bright, explosive patterns.

Beginners: If you think it will be a lot of fun to run up, grab a steer’s tail and pull on it for no reason, then you are asking for trouble. A pastor ran up beside someone who tried this last year, swung with all his might and broke his cane across the man’s nose. A huge gash ripped across it and gushed blood onto the stones. If you so much as touch an animal during the run (that includes swatting it with a newspaper) the pastor will react promptly and without mercy.

Intermediates: Don’t touch and don’t break the pastores line if they’re halting runners due to a suelto or you’ll end up another notch on their willow cane.

Experts: The pastor's job with a suelto is to keep the crowd in the street back. It’s your duty to help lure the suelto to the corrals.

Telefonica

Beginners Not Welcome

At Telefonica the street widens and it becomes more difficult for all of the participants to keep the herd of bulls together. Sueltos are a problem here and controlling them is made more difficult by the fact that lots of intermediate runners pack the street in this section. Cappuccino of the Jandilla ranch killed Daniel Jimeno Romero at Telefonica in 2009.

Beginners: Though its width seems inviting, its location at the end of the run makes it hazardous. If there is a suelto on the loose he will likely cause the most havoc here due to exhaustion and frustration. You don’t belong at Telefonica. If you leave Estafeta early and end up here with bulls in the street, dive under the barricades and take cover.

Intermediates: Telefonica is a great place to push your boundaries. You can make a lot of mistakes here and still pull off a decent run. Fight for the center of the street but keep your head on a swivel. will fly through here, clearing a path for the herd while also leading it forward. Stay clear of him. He is the top dog at Telefonica. Try to fit in where you can and roll all the way into the arena with the bulls.

Experts: The stones are drier here and your maneuverability is better. Run the center of the street. Watch for fallen runners and maneuver around them. The herd will find you. If you spend a lot of time looking back, you’ll drift to the sides of the street where other runners will trip and tangle you up. When the herd finds you, accelerate into the open pocket. Say hi to Juan.

Callejon

Beware of Pile-Ups

Callejon is known for the deadly montons (pile-ups) that occur here. One runner falls, the next falls on top of them until there is a stack of bodies five high and the width of the tunnel. The herd arrives at full speed. They buck, gore and stomp their way through the pile-up. The injured fill the local hospital beds to capacity.

Beginners: You don’t belong here. This section is even more hazardous than La Curva. If you are approaching the tunnel with the herd still in the street, dive under the barricades.

Intermediates: If you’re in good position ride through the tunnel with the pack and get out to either side. If you fall in the tunnel don’t forget about the small openings at the floor. Crawl in as quickly as you can to avoid causing a pile-up.

Experts: Roll through the Callejon—into the tunnel and through to the bright, explosive pandemonium of the packed 20,000-seat arena. Sprint straight into the center of the white-sand bullring and hand the animals off to the Dobledores with their pink luring capes. They’ll get them into the corral at the back to the arena.

After the Run

You Survived! Now What?

This is a time of unparalleled euphoria. Hemingway said that the most exhilarating feeling a man could experience was being shot at and missed. That is the joy of running with the bulls.

Beginners: The herd has passed you by. Go for it! Run toward the arena. Beware, there may be a suelto; but if there is, you now know what to do. Run into the arena and get out over the bullring wall. Once the final rocket goes off and the arena starts singing, climb back in. They release vaca (wild Spanish fighting cows) into the ring after the run. Hemingway used to pass vaca with a cape here. Go to the corral gate and kneel with the other maniacs. The vaca will leap over you—hopefully. Then run around like a lunatic. Don’t pull the vaca’s tail or the Spaniards will lump you up.

Intermediates: Get over to Bar Txoco and figure out if your friends have all made it out safely. Talk about what happened and try to contemplate how to get better. Ask the experts questions—most accept drinks as payment. Have a beer or two. You earned it.

Experts: Stroll to Bar Txoco and spread the wealth of your knowledge and experience. Don’t be cocky. It’s bad karma and will mess up your next morning’s run. If you’re lucky and someone invites you, go to the Runners Breakfast. It’s one hell of an honor.

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