I've tried my share of manly pursuits, new endeavours, adventures, life-risking activities - I will never understand how running with the bulls is supposed to prove anything other than you're fast and have poor judgment. I mean, of course it's a dick thing; bulls are huge fuckers with big horns on their heads and massive genitals, so little people fuck with them to prove they have big balls, too. Matadors screw with and generally enrage a bull so they can amuse a crowd and then kill the bull; these idiots in Pamplona don't kill anything to wave their dicks around, they just fill the streets with running fools once a year, essentially proving that they don't have the goddamn good sense to avoid a pack of bulls in the first place, so they escape on foot instead. In front of people. The one positive thing that always comes out of this is a series of goring photos to which I always look forward, and sit grimly rooting for the bulls as I page through. The example of this exhibited above is excellent, and somewhat non-typical, as many of these tend to be ass-goring photos. Nothing's more macho than a gushing back wound, eh?
People do this in large part because of Ernest Hemingway, who also painted, fished, wrote stuff and fought in wars, eventually blowing his own head off with a shotgun after spiraling into depression, madness, and electroshock treatments. People might want to examine their motives on this one a little better.