Crisp Morning Jogs

[Devinder Singh]

It was starting to get cold. Winter was aiming to move in, shoving autumn off to the side in favour of frosty mornings. Before it got too icy and cold, Devinder was taking advantage of the fresh morning air to jog. Eventually, he'd move his activities indoors and make use of a treadmill when the ice became a hazard and the cold air would hurt his lungs. The Academy had special gym equipment for the students and staff. A regular treadmill wouldn't be able to keep up with Devinder when he started really putting in an effort, but for now, a jog would be enough to warm up his muscles and get him ready to face the day.

It was just after 6:00 am, and he had been jogging for an hour already. He had to double the time of the jog to make it worth the effort, since he had the gift of superhuman speed. But, outside of the Academy, he didn't like using his speed around average people. Although it was early, there were like-minded people out for their morning walks, either solo, with a partner, or even a few dog walkers. Devinder would jog for another hour, and start making his way home for 7:30 am, so he could shower, eat a big breakfast, and tie his turban before heading to the Academy to teach.

As he kept moving, a sudden sharp pain shot up his leg, starting from his knee. He hissed a quiet expletive in Punjabi before slowing to a walk, and then to a stop. It felt like fire was scorching his knee joint and needles were jabbing into his thigh and calf muscles. He swore again. The cold messed with his joints. For a moment, he sorely missed the heat of India. His knees, which he had injured badly almost 15 years ago, almost never bothered him in the heat. He took a tentative step forward and immediately yelped. Shit. He was not going to be able to limp home on time. And of course he had left his cellphone on his kitchen counter when he left earlier that morning, so he couldn't even call a cab.

He looked around, hoping he could flag someone down to ask for help-- at least to borrow their phone to call for a ride.

[Asli Tilki]

It was the Punjabi that caught Asli's attention. She'd been taking some solace in the relative quiet of the park. It seemed to combine her delight in people watching with her enjoyment of being at least somewhat distant from people. Thus she'd been absently people watching while studying and attempting to enjoy the cooling weather. The jogger would have simply been one more passerby, had it not been for that language that hit the air.

The book went down, and Asli went up, taking a few steps closer to the man. She studied him, taking note of his frame and immediately locking onto his emotions. Frustration, anger, and something akin to panic. "Massage the muscle," Asli said in crisp Punjabi, gesturing toward his leg while she knelt beside him. She was already moving her hands toward the limb, obviously not asking for permission. "Is this a cramp, or a more lasting condition?" Because one would require more help than the other.

Asli frowned: she'd come here by bus, so she didn't exactly have a vehicle to help him get where he needed to go. Perhaps she could at least get him off the limb...

[Devinder Singh]

Devinder's head snapped up at the Punjabi words, eyes widening. He hadn't heard Punjabi from someone else in so long. He immediately felt lost and disoriented. She wasn't Indian, although that didn't mean anything necessarily. Anyone could learn a language. It was surprising, but delightful. A strange thing to feel in the midst of the pain he was experiencing. His English was impeccable, but sometimes switching back to Punjabi was so much easier. It took him a few seconds to gather himself enough to respond.

"An old injury," he replied in Punjabi, "The cold makes it worse. I didn't expect it." Her hands were on his leg without invitation, but as she massaged the muscle, it helped the needle sharp feeling begin to go down, even if the flaring pain in his joints didn't. 

He shifted his body a little, but then hissed again as the pain sharpened. Fuck. Bhenchod. That was painful. He bit back the expletives, uncomfortable swearing in front of someone he didn't know, no matter how much it hurt.

[Asli Tilki]

Old injury? Yet he was still running? Asli had to quirk a brow at that, but she supposed that some athletes simply couldn't get their activity out of their system. He clearly hadn't expected this sort of thing to happen, after all. "The cold here catches us by surprise," she offered, finding saying the words in a language that would've been more comfortable at her old location rather entertaining, certainly enough to make her lips twitch slightly.

not that she was about to start smiling while she had someone suffering in front of her. Part of her did want to just abandon him, particularly as it became clear that he was in a lot of pain. She'd already begun shifting, working her fingers into the muscle, digging at it with almost violence. One didn't treat a pain like this tenderly: he had enough suffering, a little more would almost distract.

No, she was helping because he reminded her of home, and hearing any other language besides English made her feel better.

"Tear, rend, sprain, or break?" she asked, still working. The muscles felt tense and she swore they were twitching. Asli's knowledge of first aid wasn't all encompassing, however: she had to hope that he at least knew a bit about his injury, or she'd have to resort to massaging and ice packs.

[Devinder Singh]

"Tear," Devinder said through gritted teeth, "Meniscus tear. Around fifteen years ago." It was stupid how much it hurt. Why was it flaring up now? Devinder thought he had taken all of the necessary precautions to look after himself. And here he was, flat on his ass on the ground with a strange woman grabbing his leg. He was only in a patka, too. Fuck. He shivered lightly. The cold was starting to set in since he was no longer in motion.

He looked up at the woman, and in the back of his mind he was surprised at how clear pain made him see. The woman was beautiful. She was young, far too young for him--and he knew his boundaries--she couldn't have been older than twenty one or twenty two years old. He suddenly felt very surreal. Who was this beautiful young woman, who in the middle of frozen North America, could speak Punjabi and was comfortable enough to lay hands on him? A complete and total stranger? 

"How do you know Punjabi?" he asked, feeling disoriented. "Your accent is perfect." He hadn't heard Punjabi besides talking to his family on the phone in years. It made his heart ache with homesickness, which distracted from the pain in his knee for a brief moment.

[Asli Tilki]

A tear. That made some sense: obviously a long-term sports injury of some kind. Asli could understand that, and she could, if only distantly, understand the thoughts that went behind pushing oneself for some kind of sporting event. She went to work massaging still, this time adding more motions as if she wished to smooth out the wound. Other people were gathering, some asking, and Asli was tempted to ask one to get a ride. it occurred to her that it was probably best to ask the afflicted.

"Do you wish to--" she began, only to have the question catch her by slight surprise. Asli flicked her wrist. "I studied in India for the last several years, thus I had to learn several languages," technically Asli was fluent in something like six or seven, at least conversationally (English, Turkish, Punjabi, Hindi, Chinese, and Japanese at the least). That happened when you were in a hub school like hers and had the dedication to communicate with just about everybody.

"Now," she said, continuing, nodding. "Are you comfortable with asking for transport? And do you require medical attention or merely a means of getting back to where you live?" This was definitely skipping a few steps: they still had to alleviate the immediate pain, after all. Asli worked more on concentrating on the man, reading emotions and seeing if there was something she could do there to make things easier.

[Devinder Singh]

"Studied in India," he murmured. He wondered where she had studied, but now wasn't the time to make small talk. He had already gotten distracted enough by the woman for the moment. He shook his head slightly, noticing the people who had started to gather. "All I need is to get home." Devinder had been living with this old injury for fifteen years. He just needed to put it up, ice it, and be gentle with himself for the next little while. Knee injuries never really went away. They were hard to recover from. And he had, quite foolishly in his youth, tried to push himself over his top speed and essentially blew out his knees. It had been a painful recovery with special physiotherapy from St. Bethany's. Even though he had been injured as a graduate, the nature of his injury had needed specialized care.

He started to push himself to his feet. It was a careful motion, he didn't want to strain his injury any more. He gently moved the woman's hands off of him. He put his hands flat on the cold ground and pushed off, using his other leg to balance and the strength in his shoulders and core to substitute for not being able to use his leg with the busted knee. It was a bit of a struggle, but he got up and balanced on his good leg. He had a solid centre of gravity and was comfortable moving on one leg, even if it was inconvenient. As an athlete, he was very in-tune with his body. There was scattered applause from a few passers-by who had stopped to see if he was okay. He smiled thinly, grimacing at the pain still flaring in his knee.

"What now?" he asked, switching to English and directing his attention back to the woman. "I hate to ask, but you wouldn't have a car near-by, would you?"