Bull-ish

It's running of the bulls week in Spain!



The full force of the festivities won't hit until the weekend, when something like 25,000 people will pack the streets of Pamplona to party all night and watch the bull run in the morning, but already the scene there is thrilling -- five people were hurt during Thursday morning's record-worthy run. The race through the city's narrow, windy, cobblestone streets was 30-60 seconds faster than normal, according to reports.

Seven years ago, I was in Pamplona for the festival. We were studying in Gijon, about six hours southwest (by bus) and decided to skip class to see the event made famous by Hemmingway's "The Sun Also Rises."

I fancied myself a good candidate to run, but was strongly encouraged by locals that this was not a good plan, as I was American, a girl and likely still going to be drunk when the gun went off. Of course, all of these things were true. Another Oregon girl, Grace, and I had spent the night drinking in the street, then dancing in a dimly lit night club with some skeezy guys who tried to separate us in a dark alley. When we left them, we found some other men bent on teaching us how to drink red wine from leather canteens -- arcing the alcohol more than a foot from the mouth of the canteen into our own mouths. Our white pants (a requisite for the running of the bulls) were never the same.

These guys also taught us how to roll spliffs. It's fair to say neither lesson stuck.

Regardless, by daybreak Grace and I were ready for bed, not a three-minute stampede to safety. Some nice teenager (probably a drug addict, we decided) kindly help us find the race. Instead of entering, we found perches on a wooden fence that walled-in the race course that promised fantastic views of the action.

However, this was not meant to be. Some police, or at least men in uniforms with weapons, told us to get down. Apparently the fence was not intended as a spectator area, but rather a safety feature so racers in imminent danger of being gored could fling themselves over the wood to safety.

We had no idea.

This left Grace and I in front of a throng of people -- many still drunk like us -- anxious to see the marquee event. The gun went off and the crowd surged. We slammed against the fence. For a brief moment, I thought we would have the second-best vantage point (after losing out on our fence-top seats).

Then the cops came through, wantonly swinging their batons to urge the crowd back. Grace took one in the arm. I got it in the jaw and went down hard. Luckily, there were so many people around me, I never hit the ground, just fell on top of others caught in the trample -- and we weren't even on the bulls' side!

I righted myself as fast as I could (while holding my bloody lip) but the white- and red-clad runners had passed. I snapped off one photo of a white bulls' ass shuffling away from me.

It was one time the book was better than being there in real life.

Since then, I've thought about going back in hopes of having a more positive experience -- people know how to party at week-long Spanish street festivals -- but still think this is one race I would never consider entering.

Doggonit!

So Callie, Marika and I spent a gorgeous Sunday afternoon lounging at Manresa State Beach, south of Santa Cruz. Marika and I were completely content to splash in the waves for a minute, then lay out on the warm sand in bathing suits and read novels. But for Callie -- being that she's a rather-dense, hyperactive dog -- this was not enough. She really wanted to dig stinky things out of the sand and chase the coastal birds.

After awhile, I decided a quick barefoot beach run might calm Callie, count for my daily run and warm me up enough to take one more dip in the water. Plus I was reading accounts of 30-mile overnight runs in "Ultramarathon Man" and felt a little lazy.

Callie and I took off down the beach at a good clip, running in the wet sand right at the tide line. Now my dog loves water but has a crippling fear of waves, so sticking to my right (where she is supposed to run) with waves crashing feet away was not going to work. Early into the run she pulled hard on the leash and darted in front of me.

I should have seen it coming, but I was watching the water and birds or taking in the sunshine or loving the sand underfoot -- something other than paying attention to the dog. I went down hard.

Now this wasn't just a trip. Try splatter. Belly-flop. Face-plant. And right on that hard, packed, wet sand. Did I mention I was THAT GIRL running in my bathing suit and hadn't worn sunscreen all weekend? My sun-burned belly became sand-scraped. Ouch!

So a woman walking toward me stared at the entire ungraceful episode, but said nothing. She would be the first of several inconsiderate (perhaps drunk on sunshine?) people Callie and I would encounter on our 30-minute beach run. But -- interestingly enough -- as we made our way up and down the sand, everyone who made our jaunt difficult were other dog owners.

There was cell phone guy with a Labradoodle that loped happily toward Callie, her loose leash dragging through the sand. Callie tugged mercilessly toward the free dog (but was luckily deterred by the incoming waves). Dude never bothered to get off the phone and get control of his dog.

We picked out turnaround point based on a trio of off-leash, rather unsupervised dogs because I knew full well Callie would pull like hell to join them, then the lackadaisical dog owners would freak out a little bit at her size and energy level and I would be left apologizing (even though they were the ones breaking the leash-your-dog beach rule).

But the most ridiculous encounter came at the very end as we neared the beach entrance. Several families with little kids were congregated there, the children wading in the water or digging in the sand. A seemingly unclaimed black and brown Australian shepherd wandered among the kids. Just as Callie and I got to the crowd, a small boy (maybe 3?) grabbed the shepherd's leash. Of course the dog walked toward us and Callie turned to jump (read: play). No parents moved toward the boy -- who probably weighed less than the dog at the other end of the rope he held) or yelled at him to move away. Callie and I stopped, she sat down and we calmly waited it out. Never did the mom (who wandered nearby) come over to corral her dog or check on the welfare of her child. Luckily, the moment passed without any teeth-barring or other calamities.

I love taking Callie to the beach for a nice romp and run. We chase birds and get wet and it's a grand time. But other dog owners, with their off-leash beasts, can really ruin our beach experience. I understand that everyone's dog is the best pet ever and wonderfully well-behaved. Sure. Except that's at home or in some other controlled environment the animal is comfortable with. The beach -- with water, people, creatures, smells, kids and all -- is not the same and that is one of the reasons why dogs are supposed to be leashed at most of these sandy sanctuaries. Otherwise they run after other dogs or skimboarders, ignore you while they chase birds a half-mile down the beach and alarm folks who aren't dog lovers like yourselves. It's not just your beach.

But if you really do feel comfortable letting your dog off-leash where it's not allowed, at least have the courtesy to grab ahold of its collar while my dog and I pass by. I really hate that dirty look you give me when my leashed dog charges playfully at your uncontrolled animal.

When it's not in your head

Routinely, I'm reminded that even though I run alone quite a bit, I'm usually not alone.

I got out of work around 5:30 yesterday -- which constitutes early at my job -- so I jetted home to leash up Callie the dog and go for a nice dusk run through the neighborhood. Callie, of course, was stoked. Just the sight of her leash in my hands makes her jump in circles (I'm not lying about this). We loped through the neighborhood, cruising down some different streets to make the run longer because the evening, after a day of rain, had cleared nicely and the air smelled great. There was even still a little pink left in the corner of the sky, illuminating those receding rain clouds like cotton candy.

Along the way I chatted Callie about my day and, admittedly, was rather oblivious to the people around us. This happens a lot when I run. I forget that I'm talking aloud to myself or Callie, forget that other people are around ...

Last night, I got a couple of funny looks and one woman, who snuck up on us because of the darkness, declared "Oh, how cute!" I'd like to think me telling Callie about a guy I have a crush on was the cute part, but it might have just been Callie's furry 90 pounds thundering down the pavement.

It could have been worse, I suppose. Once, running out of Nisene Marks after tumbling down a hill, twisting my ankle and getting road (trail?) rash down one lower leg, I sang the chorus of Tim McGraw's "It's Just the Cowboy in Me" and cried to get through the pain of running 3.5 miles on two bum, bleeding legs. In the fall, when Rich and I ran that 50K in mountains here, I gave myself a four-miles-to-go pep talk that went something like this:

"You can run four miles Squires. You've run four miles before. You've run four miles backwards. You've run four miles in your sleep. You've run four miles drunk. You've run four miles naked. You've run four miles drunk, naked, backwards and in your sleep. It's just four miles"

There were young families walking baby strollers nearby. I think I scared them.

... At least Callie understands me.