This is my sister-in-law’s blog. She’s phenomenal!
My son, Rex and I reported to Pamplona’s Plaza Consistorial, joining the other couple thousand runners (encierros) before 7am. Some were praying. Some were rereretying Nike laces. Some were doing nifty 1960’s-style warm up moves/stretches. They were male. They were young. They were eyeing me with a “What the f are you doing here?” look. One came right up into my face and pointed urgently to his eyes and then to me. I translated this as “watch out, stupid old woman!” Of the exceedingly few females, I tried unsuccessfully to spy one anywhere near my age. That familiar adrenaline pulsed through my once weary veins.
Bring on the bulls!
My father has spoken about the Running of the Bulls (Festival of San Fermin) since I was a young calf, so I’ve been vaguely familiar with the 500+-year-old tradition my entire life. Not EVER something I considered doing. I watched highlights on Wide World of Sports or…
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