When our friend Adam told us he was participating in the infamous Running with Bulls ceremony during our group trip to Spain, Jason politely said, “Have fun. It was nice knowing ya.” And he thought that was that. But I wasn’t about to let my adorable hubby miss out on a once in a lifetime adventure. I knew that he would never be content watching Adam run for his life while he sipped coffee from a safe distance on a cozy balcony. So, I did what any good wife would do. I talked him into running too with full intent of watching while I sipped my coffee from a safe distance on a cozy balcony.

Little did I know, I just signed my husband up for a real life thrill. I was sure that the danger associated with bull runs was imaginary. In my mind, I compared it to sky diving or bungee jumping. A little dangerous but mostly safe. I was wrong.

I started to notice how wrong I was shortly after we arrived in Pamplona. Everyone we met had something to say about the festival and nothing led us to believe it was safe and sound. Every TV in sight had clips from that mornings run showing people getting trampled and carried off in stretchers. Suddenly, my heart sunk. Would I be leaving Spain a widow?

The morning of the run we woke before the sun rose, dressed in all white with splashes of red, and headed to the streets. The ladies and Little E had booked a lovely balcony promising the best views of the run the city had to offer. Everyone’s nerves were on high. But we were quickly distracted once we hit Town Center. The previous night’s festivities were still going strong. Ok, strong is not quite the right word. The streets were packed with rowdy, stumbling, not so great smelling, patrons celebrating the previous morning’s bull run. That day’s run was about to start in 2 hours! How would they every clean these streets in time?

Somehow they managed to clear out the rats and clean up the streets. And clean, fresh, but very anxious patrons started to pack the streets. The air was full of anticipation. Jill, Ethan, and I were comfortable in our cozy apartment above the streets. But our hands were shaking as we were starting to think this was the dumbest thing we have ever let our husbands do. My mama brain started to wonder, What kind of mother lets her toddler witness this carnage?

When we heard the first rocket sound, we knew there was no stopping those bulls now. We anxiously watched from our balcony, and within minutes, we saw the hoard coming our way. Everything happened in a flash. We couldn’t pick out our men. We watched as random men got trampled and prayed that our hubbies didn’t have the same fate. Once the run was complete, we watched the entire thing on the TV. We watched as one guy got trampled enough to put him on a stretcher and another got gored in the side by black bull horn. Time seemed to take forever while we waited to get those phone calls from our husbands saying they were all right.

But alas they were. Adam arrived first with a few tears in his cloths and a bloody knee. Jason soon followed with nothing more than dirt on his pants. Both had epic stories to tell. Both were running high on adrenaline. We celebrated with some breakfast tapas and beer. Then when the streets cleared, we started our exploration of the city. The charm of the city captivated me quickly. I’ve never met a cobble stoned street I didn’t love. And something about donning the traditional all white and red with everyone else added to the experience in a special way. We filled the rest of day with celebratory chocolate milk and cognac (a run tradition), delicious food, and of course a lot of sangria.

All in all, the experience was something we will never forget. Did the boys get a little to close to the edge this time? Did our rush for adventure take us a little too far? Maybe. But to quote Ernest Hemingway, “Only those who are prepared to go too far can possible know how far they can go.”

Until next time,