After reading Hemingway's account of the Running of the Bulls I took off for Barcelona. I found a bus station that for 20 dollars would take me to Pamplona leaving at midnight. After a 6 hour trip into central Spain, I got off, tired and stiff, and found the church where the run began. There paramedics were lined up and down the fenced area ready for work. I climbed under the fence and stood in front of a church dedicated to Saint Fermin. Years before he was dragged through the streets by bulls for his faith and became a martyr. Like some great Catholic remembrances with noble origins, the festival is remembered not from a communion cup but a community keg. The sober people around me were anxious and talking nervously. The drunks seemed oblivious.. At around 8 am the announcer comes over the loud speaker.... "Welcome to the Running of the Bulls...this event can cause serious bodily injury or even death...if you are intoxicated, you should not run..." I looked around and thought, "half these people should not be running..."

After around 10 minutes the crowd starts moving around you. I wasn't going to start running until the bulls were pressing behind me. I waited while people around me started running, until there was a moment. A moment of panic where instinctively I started running as fast as I could. At that moment a 1700 pound bull came rushing by me. (See photo)

I ran all the way into the Bull ring which lasted 3 minutes. This is where the runners become spectators for the crowds in the Colosseum . The Ring is filled with perhaps 10,000 people all cheering and ready to see the spectacle of ordinary men trying to survive against extraordinary creatures. The bulls, 7 of them, are enormous and not only do they have swords attached to their heads, they are quick. I saw what was going on. The bulls were tossing people like rag dolls in the ring and I wanted out.

I ran over to the side of the ring and noticed the fence to get out of the ring was surrounded by the Spanish Army. I went over and told an unshaven man that looked like he was in charge, "I am American and need to get out." He said, " You can't get out, this is part of the run." I tried to climb over the fence and to my utter shock and pain got whipped with a long bullwhip in his hand.

At this point I was for the first time that day really frightened for my life. Everything up until this point had been pure testosterone. I went to the other side of the ring as guys pretending to be matadors were being tossed like chess players in an NHL hockey game.

I found a post on the other side of the bullring that was attached to the entry gate. I climbed it until I reached the top and fell into the crowds. I looked down and saw pure chaos and the roar of the Colosseum was intoxicating.

Later that day, the bulls that ran into the Colosseum were killed in bull fights. They had exacted as much payment as possible before their sacrifice.  Some men spent their night in a hospital. I was fortunate and found a great tapas restaurant that night. I woke up early the next morning and walked over to the church to do it all over again...