HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FEEL?

Yesterday, I did some writing and then hustled over to Piedmont Park to get in a last minute run before dark. There is a great track there that encircles a series of fields where multiple teams can play soccer, baseball and/or kickball. There are also a couple of volleyball courts, which were busy with players battling it out. For my first lap, I walked to warm up and then did some stretching (which I normally rush through). This day, I took my time with the stretching, and then I started my run. I was happy because I often struggle during the first lap, but this time I caught my stride early on.

As I came around for my second 0.7-mile lap, I noticed a man on my right hand side, at the bottom of an embankment. He was beside a gazebo, in an area where people barbecue. At first glance, I thought he was leaning over to drink from a fountain. As I jogged closer, I could see that he wasn’t drinking at all. He was stooped over as if bending down to drink, but there was no fountain. Instead, he was vomiting.

To my horror, he stuck two fingers down his throat and more vomit spewed forth as if from a geyser. I couldn’t believe my eyes. How had I ever thought there was a drinking fountain there? Perhaps I had only seen what I wanted to see.

I quickly looked away, but not before I realized who it was. Nearly every time I visit Piedmont Park, I see a homeless man. He looks to be about 5’10, African-American, thirty-ish, average build, but that was the only thing average about him. All things considered, his clothes weren’t that dirty, but he was not in good shape. His hair is roughly three to four inches long where he has hair. Most of it has fallen out, either from malnourishment, or nervousness. Even though I see him pretty much every time I visit the park, I have never witnessed him begging, nor have I seen him bothering anyone for that matter. From what I’ve noticed, he actually seems quite mild mannered, if that can be determined from very limited observation.

Still, I was horrified to have witnessed the whole vomiting affair. When I saw this, my gut instinct was to cross over to him and check that everything was okay. But then I questioned why he was on the streets. Was he mentally ill, or had he just fallen on a series of bad luck episodes? Would he be coherent if I spoke with him?

The possibility that he was mentally ill unnerved me. If I questioned him, would he vomit on me? I also realized that I was already queasy just from watching him from a distance. There was a possibility I would lose my own lunch had I approached him in that state. So, I made a quick decision. I would keep jogging and do nothing. But this left me feeling a little uncomfortable as well. Had I rejected some of my humanity to turn my back on someone in this predicament? As I turned into the bend of the track, I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel? Was I supposed to block it out as I had chosen to do? Is that the appropriate response? I am unsure who else witnessed this episode, but the other joggers did as I and continued jogging.

Probably I write because I wasn’t entirely comfortable with my decision to keep jogging. When we see someone in distress, we should offer assistance, correct? The truth of the matter is sometimes the right thing is neither the easy nor the comfortable thing. So, again, I ask the question, “How am I supposed to feel?”