Pamplona: Running with the Bulls (Part 3)
The Encierro — July 7
I sat in the passenger seat of Richard’s cramped Renault and counted every minute from 4:00AM onward. I debated taking a walk but the rain was still pouring on the ground above the parking garage. I thought that if I closed my eyes for just a few more minutes, sleep would eventually come.
Five o’clock arrived and Hannah shifted in the back of the car. Richard groaned and adjusted his seat to compensate. I checked my fresh set of white clothing once again — it was bad form to run an encierro in dirty clothes. I laced and re-laced my running shoes.
I had my doubts about what the day would have in store but I couldn’t back out now. I’d traveled half the world for this — for something.
My mind flashed to the haunting vision I’d seen hours before — of the Torrestrellas in the corral, standing motionless in the rain and staring at the gate. Waiting for eight o’clock; waiting for that gate to open.
Waiting for me?
Photos I’d seen of Castellano, a massive Torrestrella bull, impaling Matthew Tassio, the last man to die in an encierro, flashed through my head.
Six o’clock came and I was fully awake. An alarm rang inside Ian’s car in the parking spot beside us. The six of us slowly climbed out of…
