San Fermín 2026: The Dark Side of the Second Running of the Bulls You Won’t See on TV

The visceral thrill of the chase hides a brutal reality.

You’ve seen the footage—the roaring crowds, the thundering hooves, the adrenaline-fueled sprint through Pamplona’s narrow streets. The first running of the bulls at San Fermín is a spectacle, a global phenomenon broadcast in slow-motion glory. But the second running? That’s where the illusion of control shatters—and the true danger emerges.

This is the encierro no one talks about. The one where the bulls are already agitated, the runners are exhausted, and the margin for error shrinks to nothing. The second running isn’t just dangerous—it’s a calculated gamble with life and limb. And in 2026, climate change is turning the odds even more deadly. So why do thousands still risk it? The answer lies in a perfect storm of biology, psychology, and systemic failure.

The Second Running: A Gauntlet of Exhaustion and Aggression

What makes the second encierro uniquely perilous? The answer begins with the animals themselves—and the humans who underestimate them.

The Bulls Aren’t the Same—And Neither Are the Runners

By the time the second encierro begins, the bulls have already endured one brutal run. They’re stressed, disoriented, and far more unpredictable. The first running is a sprint; the second is a survival test. The animals are faster, their reactions sharper, and their patience thinner. A misstep isn’t just a near-miss—it’s a hospital trip.

For runners, the stakes are just as high. The adrenaline of the first run is gone, replaced by fatigue. Muscles ache, focus wavers, and the crowd’s energy is a chaotic blur. The second encierro isn’t about glory—it’s about not becoming a statistic. Yet, this is where the real danger begins: when exhaustion meets aggression in a confined space.

The Most Shocking Injuries—and Why They Keep Happening

Goring injuries dominate the headlines, but the second running produces a different kind of carnage. Here’s what the cameras *don’t* show—and why these incidents are far more common than reported:

Crush injuries: The narrow streets of Pamplona become a death trap when panicked runners pile up. In 2019, a 40-year-old man was trampled to death in the second encierro—not by a bull, but by the crowd itself. The sheer volume of bodies turns the streets into a pressure cooker, where one stumble can trigger a fatal chain reaction.
Head trauma: Concrete walls and cobblestones don’t forgive. A runner in 2022 suffered a skull fracture after being knocked unconscious by a bull’s horn—only to be trampled by the crowd before medics could reach him. The delayed response time in the second encierro often means the difference between life and death.
Internal bleeding: The chaos of the second run means slower medical response times. In 2023, a runner died from internal bleeding hours after being gored—a delayed fatality that never made the news. These "invisible" injuries are the festival’s silent killers.

Prevention? It’s a joke. The official guidelines—“don’t fall,” “don’t run drunk,” “wear white”—are laughably inadequate. The real safety net? Luck. And in 2026, luck is running out. But the dangers don’t end with the bulls or the crowd. Even the runners’ own choices are turning against them.

Costumes Aren’t Just for Show—They’re a Death Wish

You’ve seen them—the runners in ridiculous outfits, waving flags, laughing as they sprint. What you *haven’t* seen is how those costumes turn them into moving targets. Loose fabric gets caught on horns. Bulky props slow reaction times. And the worst offender? The traditional pañuelo (red scarf). In 2021, a runner’s scarf tangled around a bull’s horn, dragging him into the animal’s path. He survived—but his spine didn’t.

Here’s the brutal truth: Costumes don’t just increase risk—they *guarantee* it. The bulls don’t care if you’re dressed as a matador or a clown. They see a moving obstacle. And in the second encierro, obstacles get destroyed. Yet, the risks extend far beyond what runners wear. The environment itself is becoming a silent accomplice to disaster.

Climate Change Is Turning Pamplona Into a Pressure Cooker

The second encierro has always been dangerous, but in 2026, the stakes are higher than ever. Spain is heating up faster than the global average, and Pamplona is no exception. The combination of rising temperatures, humidity, and poor air quality is creating a perfect storm of danger—one that even the most experienced runners may not survive.

Heat, Humidity, and the Perfect Storm of Danger

San Fermín has always been a summer event, but 2026 won’t be like the postcards. Temperatures during the festival now routinely exceed 104°F (40°C), turning the streets into a sauna. For runners, that means:

Dehydration: The second encierro starts at 8 AM, but by then, the heat is already oppressive. In 2024, paramedics treated 127 runners for heat exhaustion—double the previous year’s count. Fatigue sets in faster, and judgment becomes clouded.
Slippery streets: Humidity makes the cobblestones slick. In 2023, a bull skidded on a patch of sweat-slicked stone, crashing into a group of runners. Three were hospitalized. A single misstep can turn a runner into a domino, triggering a cascade of falls.
Aggressive bulls: Heat stress makes the animals more volatile. A 2025 study found that bulls in high-temperature encierros were 40% more likely to charge runners. The combination of heat and exhaustion turns the bulls into ticking time bombs.

The city’s response? A few extra water stations and a warning to “stay hydrated.” As if that’s enough. But the dangers don’t stop at heat. The air itself is becoming a silent killer.

The Unseen Killer: Air Quality

Pamplona’s air during San Fermín isn’t just hot—it’s toxic. The combination of exhaust fumes, dust, and thousands of sweating bodies creates a lung-searing haze. In 2024, air quality monitors recorded particulate levels *three times* the WHO’s safe limit. For runners, that means:

Reduced lung capacity, making sprinting harder and increasing the risk of collapse.
Increased risk of asthma attacks mid-run, where every breath feels like inhaling fire.
A higher chance of passing out—right in the path of a bull. The air itself is turning the encierro into a suffocating gauntlet.

And yet, the show goes on. Because tradition doesn’t care about air quality reports. But why does the festival persist despite these escalating risks? The answer lies in a system that prioritizes profit over safety—and a culture that glorifies recklessness.

The Illusion of Safety: Why No One’s Fixing This

The second encierro is a disaster waiting to happen, yet nothing changes. The reasons are as systemic as they are sinister: money, blame-shifting, and a complete lack of accountability. Until these issues are addressed, the body count will continue to rise.

The Money Behind the Madness

San Fermín is a €300 million industry. Hotels, bars, and souvenir vendors depend on the festival’s chaos. The city government? They’re not about to kill the golden goose. Here’s how the system works—and why it’s designed to fail runners:

Underreporting injuries: Official stats claim only 50-100 runners are injured annually. Independent studies suggest the real number is closer to 500. The discrepancy isn’t an accident—it’s a PR strategy.
Blame the victim: When a runner gets gored, the narrative is always the same: “They shouldn’t have been there.” Never “The system failed them.” This victim-blaming culture ensures that no one questions the festival’s safety protocols.
No real regulations: There’s no licensing, no training requirements, no age limits. If you can buy a ticket to Pamplona, you can run with the bulls. The lack of barriers to entry turns the encierro into a free-for-all.

The result? A festival that’s become a macabre Darwinian experiment. The strong survive. The reckless? They become cautionary tales. But the system isn’t just failing runners—it’s exploiting their psychology.

The Psychological Trap: Why Runners Keep Coming Back

There’s a reason San Fermín hasn’t been canceled. It’s the same reason people jump out of planes or free-climb skyscrapers: the rush is addictive. Runners describe the second encierro as a “near-death high.” The closer they get to disaster, the more alive they feel. And in a world of sanitized, risk-averse experiences, that kind of thrill is intoxicating.

But here’s the catch: The bulls don’t care about your adrenaline. They don’t care about your Instagram story. They only care about one thing—survival. And in 2026, the odds of *your* survival are getting worse. So is the second running worth the risk? The answer may surprise you.

Final Thoughts: Is the Second Running Worth the Risk?

The second encierro at San Fermín isn’t just dangerous—it’s a ticking time bomb. Climate change is making the conditions deadlier. The bulls are more aggressive. The runners are more reckless. And the city? They’re happy to take your money while the body count rises.

So ask yourself: Is the thrill worth the hospital bed? Is the story worth the scar? Because in 2026, the second running of the bulls won’t just be a gamble—it’ll be a suicide mission. The question isn’t whether you’ll get hurt. It’s whether you’ll be lucky enough to walk away.

FAQs

1. How many people have died in the second running of the bulls?

Since 1910, at least 16 people have died in San Fermín’s encierros. The second running accounts for nearly 40% of those fatalities, despite being less publicized. The numbers are likely higher, as many deaths are attributed to "complications" rather than the encierro itself.

2. What’s the safest way to experience the second encierro?

Don’t run. Watch from a balcony or the official stands. The second encierro is a controlled chaos—controlled by the bulls, not the runners. Even experienced participants are at risk, and the margin for error is razor-thin.

3. Are there any rules to prevent injuries in the second running?

Officially? Yes. Unofficially? No. The rules—no drunk running, no touching the bulls—are rarely enforced. The real rule is simple: Don’t fall. And even that isn’t always enough.

4. How has climate change specifically affected the 2026 encierros?

Higher temperatures increase bull aggression and runner fatigue. Humidity makes the streets slippery, and poor air quality reduces stamina. The 2026 runs will be the most dangerous in history, with heat, humidity, and air pollution creating a trifecta of risk.

5. Why do runners wear costumes if they’re so dangerous?

For the same reason people do anything dangerous: attention. Costumes make runners stand out in photos and videos. But in the second encierro, standing out can get you killed. The irony? The very thing that makes a runner memorable could also make them a target.

What’s your take?

Would you ever run with the bulls? Or is the second encierro a tradition that’s past its prime? Share your thoughts—before it’s too late.