July brings with it what many call the greatest sporting event of the year. There’s the pageantry, the white-clad participants, the obsessive attention to surface conditions. The nation tunes in early, and there’s no shortage of action and entertainment.

Of course, you might think I’m talking about Wimbledon…but I’m not…I’m talking about San Fermín: the running of the bulls in Pamplona, northern Spain.

I’ll admit, when I first learned about this event where thousands of thrill-seekers take to the streets of Pamplona, sprinting in front of 600kg bulls through narrow streets, I was pretty sceptical. It seemed reckless, a bit outdated, even a little brutal. But curiosity got the better of me, and now, I’m a convert. Every morning at 8am sharp I tune in between the 6th and 14th of July. There’s something undeniably captivating about the choreography of chaos, those sharp turns on Estafeta Street, the tension as the herd thunders past, the collective gasp when someone stumbles and the bulls don’t, but continue to charge along the street as runners fall at their feet, covering their heads and trying not to move.

It’s not like any other sport. After the (on average) three-minute stampede is over, the live broadcast immediately cuts to a calm medical team listing the injured, by nationality, type of wound and by body part. (“A 31-year-old Spanish male with a contusion to the left thigh.”) It’s oddly clinical, and fascinating. What other sport so openly acknowledges its risks while they’re still cleaning up the blood?!

San Fermín’s charm lies in its contradictions: it’s ancient yet televised in HD; wild yet ritualised; dangerous but somehow, deeply human. And its cultural weight is heavy. Ernest Hemingway, who famously embedded himself in the bullfighting world, called it “the only art in which the artist is in danger of death.” He described the bullfight not just as sport or spectacle, but as a kind of tragic theatre: “emotional and spiritual in its violence.” You don’t have to love the practice to understand the reverence. Even the newspapers reporting the runs have their own language. It’s ancient and poetic, and really quite beautiful. I’m currently reading two books in the aftermath of San Fermín which I really would recommend if you want to feel the spirit of the sport: The Bulls of Pamplona and Hemingway’s Death in the Afternoon.

And Now, a New Adventure

But this July holds more than sporting tradition for me, because last Friday I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Soraya. She arrived right on time, after my waters breaking the night before in a restaurant (!) and just in time for this blog. Life has already changed in all the ways people say it will, sleepless nights, full hearts, and a surreal sense that time has both stopped and accelerated.

As I take a pause from my SRP duties to begin this new chapter, I’m delighted to say that my friend and colleague Val Atkinson will be stepping in to cover the Director of Engagement role while I’m on maternity leave. Many of you already know Val’s energy, sharp sense of humour, frequent travel mishaps and dubious sense of balance from her tireless work on Outreach Committee, many a year volunteering on the Big Bang Fair stand, and more recently as a Council trustee. She’ll be a brilliant replacement, and I’m grateful to be leaving the role in such capable hands.

Thank you to everyone who’s followed this blog each month. It’s been a joy to write, to share, and to reflect with you. I’ll be back in time, but for now, I’m embracing a different kind of adventure. One with fewer bulls (hopefully), but even more early mornings.

Wishing you all a happy summer,

Sarah