Dennis has this same ability, but his outlook on the run itself couldn't be more divergent. In his years of preparing for and creating Chasing Red, he dove right into the deep end of the bull-running culture, while Andy -- since he's only been here four days -- still sits on the side of the pool with a Mai Tai and his feet in barely the water. All told, Dennis has spent months of his life in Pamplona, and visited the ranches that raise the bulls, and is close with many mozos who have participated in runs in the countryside towns where hundreds of other, much smaller encierros occur over the course of the year. (He estimates that if you time it right and your body/Peugeot doesn't break down, on right right days you can run in four or five different encierros in different towns.
Before the first rocket is fired, Clancey (black shirt) gives some last-second words of advice to our terrified writer, who totally ran with the bulls much worse than anyone else in this story.
When achingly but straightforwardly recounting the details of a top runner who got gored non-fatally a few years ago, Dennis stops himself mid-sentence: "One of the best runners on Estafeta, one of the bes... I'm sorry. A very fine runner, a very brave and noble runner..." This remarkably talented and accomplished man can't be the best runner, because to Dennis and David and many other Spaniards, there is no best runner. The runners don't compete with one another. They don't attempt to best one another, or even best the bulls, the noble and somewhat godlike animal Spanish runners are just respectfully overjoyed to be in the presence of. Dennis doesn't want to be the best because he doesn't believe anyone can be. Andy firmly believes he was the best, and considering he couldn't rely on experience and time-ingrained knowledge, if he didn't believe that, he might be dead right now. They're two extremely different outlooks, and they both worked wonderfully