Hey, What Happened to You?

Last week I was jogging with my friend Madge—a weekly habit we’ve built called “Movement Minutes” to, well, get moving.

That day, we were heading to a more nature-y spot in Inwood, NYC. It actually smelled like Christmas trees running through the park—I swear.

As we ended our run, we sauntered out of the shady, pine- and morning-dew-smelling woods and back onto the pavement, with the sun hitting our sweaty bodies.

 Seconds later, we saw this lady standing in the middle of the road.

She called out to us, very matter-of-factly, “Hey, I can’t run like you guys anymore. I’ve got three screws in my hip—otherwise I would be.” 

“That sounds tough. It seems like you’re enjoying the walk for now,” I casually replied, thinking that would be the end of the conversation.

Then, she took what seemed like a gigantic step in our direction, so she was now only a foot from our faces. “Oh, what’s that on your neck?” she asked quizzically, cocking her head to one side. 

“It’s a scar. I was burned in a cooking accident. I’m okay now, though. Gotta always wear an apron when you’re cooking, ya know?” I tried out one of my rehearsed elevator speeches for these situations. I hoped it would cut through the awkwardness of being called out without any hesitation. 

Her arms stretched wide open, and everything seemed to slow down.

Madge reached her arm out between me and this unnamed lady, almost like a football player protecting the ball as they run and block tacklers. 

I decided, albeit hesitantly, that this lady meant no harm, and I leaned in to accept her hug.

I touched her soft blue, reminiscent of a Juicy Couture sweater. I tried to “feel the love,” but I couldn’t help thinking of germs in this post-COVID era.

I broke off the embrace, and the lady told me, “At least you're still alive.” 

“Thanks,” I nodded agreeably, though in my mind I thought, that’s not the most helpful statement.

 I added, “I’m glad we’re all alive,” because in my mind, we all have shitty things happen to us—like the screws in this woman's hip. 

The lady attempted to keep talking to me, but Madge stepped in again and said, “Have a great day!” 

This time I followed Madge’s lead and said, “Yeah, have a great walk—and nice to meet you!”

An ordinary response, yet one that holds weight for me. 

I want to connect and see the good in people, even if it means hugging a stranger for five seconds.

 But sometimes I question, am I sacrificing my peace to please somebody else's curiosity?

A few days later, I had another test of that question. 

It was an absurdly humid spring Friday, and I was trying to cool down outside an indoor soccer gym with my friend Sarah. 

Side note on burn survivors: the areas we’re burned, for me about 30% of my body, may not sweat properly—or at all. So I overheat easily. 

So yeah, I was tired, sweaty and not in the mood when a man holding an empty vodka nip stumbled over. 

“How you doing?” he mumbled. 

“Good, just trying to cool off. How are you doing?I replied, body slightly angled away. 

He said something I couldn’t make out—“blessings… blessings,” I think. I nodded and said, “Thanks, you too.” 

Then he looked at my scars and touched his neck. “What happened to you?" he questioned me.

This time, I tried something new. “I don’t really want to talk about it right now—I’m sure you understand.” 

Sarah rolled her eyes, visibly annoyed. We turned and walked back toward the gym. 

“You should try aloe!” he called out. 

I didn’t respond. 

Inside, we debriefed briefly. “Why are men always giving unsolicited advice?” we groaned. 

“Yeah, like aloe is gonna fix this,” I shook my head half laughing, dismissing the thoughts and knowing that my scars don't need "fixing." 

“I’m sorry you have to experience that,” Sarah said, looking at me empathetically.

“It’s all good,” I replied instinctively.

 But I still carried that tense, scream-quietly-inside feeling. 

I don’t know what feels better—engaging or disengaging with people’s comments about my body.

Either way, I reminded myself: the choice is mine. 

Minutes later, I was back on the field. Running, shifting, passing the ball, defending my team. 

No questions, stares, or comments. 

Just movement, joy and getting to be me.