After one of those milestone birthdays, more than a few years back, I decided it was time to get a trainer. I had belonged to the local wellness center for some time and did not use it as much as I should. I felt that a trainer would help to teach me how to use the machines, the right combination of exercises, and number of reps.
The first one assigned to me was fired by the management during our session. I don’t know what she was supposed to have done or not done but she claimed innocence quite vocally. Number 2 was a young, energetic, recent college graduate, and new Dad from West Virginia by way of Mumbai, India.
Darsh and I hit it off immediately. He laughed easily, liked to talk to old ladies, and realized early on that we were not training for the Olympics. He was an expert at stretching the number of your sessions over a long period of time (instead of an hour we did 1/2 hours), quick to cancel when the weather was bad and his car, “old yeller” couldn’t make through the snow, and all in all made you want to get up for that 6:30 A.M. workout session.
Sometimes though, Darsh stretched our physical boundaries. Into the gym we went one morning. He made me run back and forth from line to line, much like I remembered from my high school basketball days ( I was mostly a bench sitter, even then). Breathless from that exercise that had to have lasted a minute or minute and a half. He then got the bright idea to toss the medicine ball around. “Come on LB you can do it.” I could…for a while. A short toss made me step into the catch and the ball stoved my middle finger. I cringed. At first glance, no big deal. Darsh comforted me by saying to “shake it off LB”.
Ever willing to please, I shook it and purposefully did not look at it until I sat on the rower. It hurt and was swelling. The most disgusting part it was bent and no amount of my effort would straighten it. “Darsh, should it look like this?” Looking ashen, he said NO! He ran for ice and told me to go to the ER. I did not. What were they going to do?
At work, I called my orthopedic doctor, as I must be prone to need one of my own. While I waited in the exam room, I studied the descriptive charts Dr’s use in lieu of wall art of all kinds of horrible, cringe-able things you can do to your fingers. Diagnosis, I had broken bone and an avusion . After wearing a splint for two months, I resigned myself to not having pretty hands anymore and threw the splint in a drawer full of other accumulated medical appliances.
I am happy to say that Darshan is still my friend. He is a successful businessman and father of two. I am smiling just thinking of all the fun we had. And, happy to report that not a pound was lost!
My only real regret. is that when I feel the need to flip the bird, it is looking always back at me.
I’ll call it, Darsh’s karma.
My Second Act, Scene One 