My mom called me shortly after the explosions at the Boston Marathon. In her caring manner, she offered me motherly advice. She said, “You are not running any more of those marathons!” She continued, why don’t you just run in the park with Griffin away from people?” Of course most of you know that Griffin is my training partner and happens to resemble a Weimaraner dog. The reason that I make such a statement is because he thinks that he is human. As any good son would, I agreed with my mom and took her words under advisement.
Yesterday, I was going to run on the treadmill. However, I decided to take mom’s advice. Griffin and I went to the Park to run. We would stay away from people as mom had instructed. I decided to wear my Boston Marathon shirt from 2012.
As we were running, I started reflecting upon the 14 Marathons that I had run. I kept seeing the faces
of all the beautiful children who cheered for me over the years. I remember all the children. The ones waving the small American Flags in the Washington, DC Marathon less than six months after the 9/11/01 attacks. The young child in the wheelchair cheering for me in last year’s Boston Marathon. He inspired me to keep going despite severe stomach cramps in the 90 degree heat. I should have been cheering for him. The young children giving me high fives in San Diego. The poor children in Wilkes- Barre/Scranton handing me water at their expense while they were telling me that I could “do it.” The cold children in Philadelphia cheering their little hearts out for me. The kids in Richmond, VA wearing the Virginia Tech shirts handing us fresh fruit not long after that school’s tragedy. The little girl in Central Park, New York who asked if I needed help after my hamstrings locked up. The effect of all these angelic children kept me going over the years despite the pain.
As Griffin and I were running on the trails yesterday, I encountered a strange event. I saw the face of Eight-year-old Martin Richard of Dorchester, Mass., in the faces of all those children over the years. He was there with me. Suddenly with less than half a mile to go in our run, I stopped. It was difficult to continue.
I started weeping. As stated, I had taken mom’s advice; no one was around. We were away from people, but not Martin. He was there with us. Griffin looked at me with a puzzled look. He just came over and gave me kiss.
Martin is not part of my genetic family. However, I realized he is part of my running family. I may have cried 5 times as an adult. We were told as young men growing up in the inner city that we should not cry. It was even indicated by our elders that it was a sign of weakness. Today, I cried for Eight-year-old Martin Richard of Dorchester, MA. You are part of my family and I love you. I am proud that I cried for you, Martin. Sorry mom. I am going to continue running those marathons until my body says that I cannot continue. At that point, I will be standing next to one of those children cheering for the rest of my family.
Sincerely,
Michael G. Bullinger
(6 votes, average: 4.83 out of 5)
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Michael,
Thank you for your insight, strength and inspiration. As a fellow runner I can attest that cowards who act the way the Boston bomber(s) did will only make me run with more conviction.
A suggested correction of something you said, though: Martin IS part of your genetic family as we are all kissing cousins if we go back far enough. You’d think we’d act more compassionately toward each other if we kept that in mind, right?!
“Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars… Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr
Thanks! Gary Keil