We got there early that morning to secure our spot. Despite saying sober last night, the couple days of drinking that preceded were still taking their toll on me. A Spanish police officer points at the ground and holds up a hand as if to say _stay here._

The quaint city of Pamplona felt different this morning. The simplistic beauty I observed a few days ago was like stepping back in time to a simpler place. Today, however, felt like a war conscription. Row upon row of young men, packed shoulder to shoulder. All nervous with anticipation of what was to come. Some silent, some praying. There was genuine tension and fear in the air.

There was also the stench of stale piss. One thing about stepping back in time is that there isn’t a surplus of lavatories, so during the opening festival of San Fermin, people would just go on the walls when nature called. You could see the locals hosing down building but it was just moving it from one spot to another. I guess not dissimilar to more advanced sanitary systems, except they normally had some end location away from ground zero.

I looked ahead at the course, makeshift wooden barriers on one side, old worn down buildings on the other. Metal roller shutters for every buukding in the path. This was the most advanced thing I had seen in the few days here, and my financial mind briefly turns to consider the killing the person made selling to a whole town.

During my silent musings more people have joined the lengthy queue, mostly men but a spattering of femininity here and there. Locals getting ushered to the front by the police. It’s quite the sight, so many crisp white outfits with red belts and scarves throughout.

The police return and start cutting off people a few rows behind me. Maybe in the years gone by they would let everyone run, but I’m grateful that it will be slightly less crowded, as they firmly turn people away. We barely made the cut, I’m filled with a mix of emotions - relief but also envy, it would be easier to go home and say the police wouldn’t let us run.

Without any fanfare or prior warning, the sound of a firework snaps me away from my musings. The bulls have been released. I remember the night the words of the tour guide from the night before, “You want to hope the two fireworks are as close together as possible, they set them off when the first and last bull leave the pen and you don’t want them scattered. Also, whatever you do, try to make sure you are past **_here _**when the bulls get to you.” Pointing at a brick wall.

“It’s called Dead Man’s Corner for a reason. There hasn’t been a death for years but when they do happen it’s usually here. The bulls are running downhill and with such a crowd don’t know to turn. You don’t want to be caught between a rock and hard place, and by hard place I mean a bull horn through your torso.”

As I am reflecting on his words, I’ve been shuffling forward the whole time. Urgency on everyone’s faces and backed up by their feet. I get to the corner and start to slow, the guide had also mentioned that if you beat the bulls into the arena it’s considered dishonorable. You have to let them pass you on the course. The gates also closed after the oxen come through, which are released a few minutes after the bulls to round up stragglers. A scream behind me brings me back to the moment again.

I turn and white mountains form on both sides as the crowd parts, jumping over one another and onto the makeshift fencing to escape the unrelenting six bulls running down the middle of the road.

I turn to check the path in front of me, a young girl is moving slowly in front of me. Survival instincts kick in and I push her out of my way, this is Darwinism. I don’t know if she keeps her feet, I don’t look back to find out. I keep moving until I’m closer to the side, then turn again to locate the bulls. They’re closing in.

I slow down so I can be agile if needed. As they near my position, locals are going up and touching them. Part of their rite of passage. For a split second I consider doing the same but no, the run is enough for me. I watch as they go past, mere feet from me. They’re larger up close. All of them just fixated on moving forward. After a few seconds that feel like eternity, all six have passed down the middle of the path, uneventfully.

I know I don’t have long before the gates close so I sprint forward, trying to keep pace with the four legged beasts but naturally failing. The doors are still open when I close in and opens up to a large arena, a refreshing change from the narrow paths that led here. I feel like a gladiator.

Less than a minute later I notice the door I entered through is closed. Relief floods my body, I can’t believe I did it. Then suddenly I find myself flying through the air. I flip and crash to the ground. My leg throbs in pain and my ribs ache from the impact of the ground. I look up and see a bull turning and getting ready to attack again.

I hear laughing from the stands, how can they be so inhumane. I’m fighting for my life here and to them it’s just a spectacle. I scramble to my feet, the bull pawing the ground aggressively. I try to run but it’s futile, it’s faster than me. This is it, this is how I die. For some stupid reason the thought crosses my head that my family won’t even get some insurance proceeds as this was an excluded activity.

The bull closes in, matching any turn I make, I brace for impact as I jump in the air. It collects me cleanly with its horn. I flip in the air again like a ragdoll and land with a thud. I grab my stomach to see just how much blood I’m losing and to my shock I see there isn’t any. I look up and some locals have come and distracted the bull. I don’t even think to thank them, I rush to the nearest fence and jump over.

I sit there battered and confused before one of my travel companions comes rushing over. “Oh man, this is gonna go viral!” He laughs with his phone in hand. He gives me a pat on the back in greeting, I wince in response. “Oops sorry my man. Guess those corked horns still do some damage!”

I stare at him, my mouth agape. Corked horns. I look out at the arena and sure enough, the bulls horns are taped up. Still terrifying, but far less lethal. “Want to see the footage?” he asks me, without any attempt to hide the grin spreading across his face.

Red fills my cheeks, taking away much needed blood from my injured areas. “Go on then.” I reply with resignation in my voice. Knowing there’s no point fighting it. Everyone I’ve ever known is going to have a good laugh at this over the next few weeks. But what is life if we can’t laugh at ourself a little too.