Abdul Mannan Dulal left his family in Bangladesh for his children’s better future, but found himself worn down by distance, illness, and isolation – until running began to pull him back to life.

EMON

“If I get depressed with work life, I run. If I fall into problems, I put on my shoes and run. If I need to express myself, I run. Running is my language now.”- Abdul Mannan Dulal.

Dulal was sitting on his bed in his rented room in Clonsilla on January 3, 2025, battling with his thoughts about whether he had made the right decision in leaving his family: his wife, a son, and a daughter. He’d been in Ireland three weeks. He was drowning in blankets and loneliness.

“At first, I was happy. I came on a work permit as an assistant chef- I love making food and eating it. After arriving here, finding a job was not a problem. I found work quickly, but not as a chef. Instead, I was waitering 12 hours a day.”

As Dulal Puts it, he did not disrespect the work, but he missed cooking. His wife, son and daughter were 7,500 kilometres away in Bangladesh, living in a different time zone- six hours ahead. That meant, by the time Dulal finished his 12-hour shift slinging curry and cheerful greetings at an Indian restaurant, It was too late to call home without waking them.

The phone stayed silent, and the room stayed cold. He would collapse into bed, often skipping dinner and forgetting his medication. The weight and exhaustion held him back.

“I would always stare out the window with a subtle face, and most of the time I would notice people- young, old, out in the cold, wearing shorts and light jackets running, they were not too fast. Back home, I’d rarely see that. In Bangladesh, I’d take a rickshaw (three-wheeler) instead of walking a single kilometer. But here I had no choice but to walk. If I needed to buy groceries, I had to walk 2 km to Blanchardstown.”

In mid-January, he got a 10-day holiday break. Instead of enjoying the time off, his ongoing depression let him into a paradox. He did not properly speak to his family during that time.

“I had no friends, And English wasn’t my first language”, he says.

He remembers, “Then, one day, without planning, I put on my shoes and stepped outside.”

The weather was harsh. To battle it, he put on 2-3 heavy layers. But that solution became another problem for flexibility. He felt shy, worrying about what others might think of him.

“No looking back,” he muttered to himself in Bengali, and gradually focused ahead and began to run. In his mind, he had aimed 5km, but not even a single km passed by, his lungs screamed betrayal. He bent over on the Millenium Park footpath, grasping his last amount of breath.

That’s when a hand landed on his shoulder, extending a water bottle as unexpected kindness.

“You need to get rid of these heavy clothes,” said the man. This was Philip, a 67-year-old IBM engineer whom Dulal had watched a few times from his window.

Philip didn’t ask questions. He acted as a beginner coach for Dulal to improve his strength and running form. At that very moment, he just walked him over to the Clonsilla Running Club members, introducing Dulal as one of their new members. Dulal was happy but at the same time paranoic.

That night he suffered extreme pain, mostly in his knees; he could barely sleep. But For Dulal, that night was the turning point, because that night he had to decide whether to continue this or leave it.

Dulal stayed, driven by a strong will; he wanted to see himself become a professional runner.

“That decision I made was not easy. I had diabetes, I was too worried about damaging my legs, and I could not afford running shoes, protein powders or supplements” He expressed.

The next morning, his phone lit up. The WhatsApp group filled with his name misspelled and followed by “See you soon!”.

Dulal couldn’t speak much English, but the running club members- Philip, AJ, Natalia, Jordan and Naomi learned Bengali from him. They’d shout “Arekta!” which means ‘One More’ when he finishes a lap, crouching and dragging his two feet.

By February, Dulal was running 5km, holding a 6 minutes 30 seconds pace per km. By May, Dulal’s daily routine consisted of a 12-hour shift from noon to midnight, commuted 2 hours on the bus back home, and barely slept 6-7hrs, followed by running 10 km with the club.

By June, he had stopped taking diabetic meds completely. His weight dropped to 75 kg, and his pace was 4 minutes 30 seconds per kilometer. He ran his first official race: the Clondalkin 5K.

By August, he was running the Remembrance run, The Bear Races, and Running Gives organized by Lululemon.

On 4 October 2025, Dulal crossed the finish line of the Fastlane Half Marathon with a Lifestyle Sports medal around his neck.

With an expressive face, he said, “I still remember the day, the moment when I crossed the line. I could not believe I did that. But I did. I am so proud of that moment.”

Back home, everyone, friends and family demanded an answer to how he had done it.

He did not know what to say and was unsure how to convince. So, he humorously replied, “Irish Weather.”

Speaking with his wife down the phone line from Bangladesh had a mix of both worry and proud voice. “I thought he would catch cold from running. He is a diabetic person, and he was on high medications. I was paranoid; nobody was there to take care of him.”

She paused and said, “Now, he does not take any medication. He is like his son’s age.”

She jokingly said, “Honestly, he has won more awards than his son”

For Dulal, it wasn’t the weather. It was Philip’s hand on his shoulder that first frozen morning. It was the WhatsApp group that refused to let him disappear. It was showing up every morning, even though his calves felt like someone had taken a cricket bat to them.

Dulal’s current weight is 70 kg; now, thanks to the sponsor, he has 4 different Nike-branded running shoes, and his jawline can cut veggies. He can now run 22 km, maintaining a 4.5 min/km pace.

Talking about the mental strength part, he remembers his running club friends who pushed him to achieve this.

“When I was battling with doubts, they actually helped me. That’s actual mental support. They just did not show me the way; they ran with me. Philip even gifted me a pair of running shoe.”

“After running, I felt young,” Dulal says, drinking black coffee with no sugar.

Running became his language when English failed him. It became his medication when pills couldn’t save him. It became his community when isolation nearly grasped him.

It is running that kept Dulal rewriting his bucket lists. He is now preparing for the next Dublin Marathon. While strapping a knee pad and putting on the Nike Zooms, he smiled, and he began running, slowly and then disappearing into a mist.

 

 

 

This short feature was written as part of my academic assignment for Laoise Neylon. Thank you for the reading.