The Morning Before the Encierro

It's 6 a.m., and Pamplona's streets are filled with people. Most of them have been up longer than 24 hours, the all-day, all-night party keeping the alcohol flowing through their vanes. Some didn't quite make it and sleep sitting in doorways or leaning against buildings. They'll have to move soon. Pamplona's sanitation department sweeps the streets every day during the Fiesta de San Fermin, clearing the way for the centerpiece of the festival: the running of the bulls.

I'm up earlier than most people in my hostel. The few that are awake with me are pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago, making the 700-kilometer trek from France to the Cathedral of Saint James near Spain's western coast. These pilgrims are eating breakfast and packing their bags to begin the 25-kilometre hike to the next town. They're dressed in shorts, performance pullovers, and hiking boots. Me? I'm wearing white pants, a red sweatshirt, red sash around my waste, and red handkerchief around my neck. I'm not heading out for the Camino.

Jack running in front of the bulls during the encierro in Pamplona, Spain. Source: Diario de Navarra

It is my morning ritual during the fiesta: awake early, drink a double espresso around the corner from the hostel, and read the morning paper. I'm specifically reading the section related to the bulls and bullfights for the day. The Diario de Navarra publishes the pictures, ranches, and weights of the six bulls that will run through the streets in less than two hours. For the amateur corredor, these things don't mean much, but to experienced runners, these details give clues to how the run will go.

It's the last day of the fiesta, which means bulls from the Miura ranch. All but one weight more than 600 kilograms. They're big, and the ranch has a historical reputation for being especially cunning and fierce in the bullring. Fortunately, I'm not in the bullring, and their large size, while intimidating, means they will take longer to get up to speed. Good news for me, as I run at the beginning of the route with the serious runners. Even so, staring down the 600-kilogram bulls and their guiding steers as they barrel towards me will take special courage and personal fortitude.

It's 7 a.m., time to make my way to the starting area. The international tourists are a combination of scared, excited, and drunk, and the police do their best to sort out the latter from the crowd. I say hello to a few and provide some tips for the first time runners. I don't know if my advice calms them down, but they all thank me for it. There's no way to know how they will react when they see the bulls. The first time is different for everyone. Some of them will bail out, some of them will freeze, but all of them will experience the adrenaline rush of a lifetime. I know I will, and I've run with the bulls for three years now.

It's 7:45 a.m., and the mayor has just finished his inspection of the route. He has certified that it is clean, free of trip hazards, and suitable for the encierro. News crews from all over the world walk up and down the Calle de Santo Domingo interviewing runners, and the police continue to scan the crowd for drunkards. That's not really a concern where I'm at. Those of us at the very front of the route are serious runners, not guiris. The police know us by sight and wish us luck. I wish them the same, as they will stand between us and the bulls until the last second as they charge up the street from their pens.

It's 7:59 a.m., and those of us at the front of the route have just prayed to San Fermin for the final time before the bulls are released. The tension is palpable, and many jump up and down to work out some of the nervous energy. I'm one of them. It doesn't matter than I've done this more than 20 times before, every day is a new day with news bulls and new tourists to run through.

It's 8:00 a.m., and the rocket has just exploded overhead. The bulls are on their way.