Shooting hoops
A few days later, Dr. Keller came to see John.
"Colonel, you mentioned that if I needed any help with Ronon I could turn to you," she began.
"That's right," John answered.
"I have a request now. We will begin stage 3 of the exercises tomorrow. This involves trying to get Ronon to 'walk' while supporting himself on two horizontal bars. Although he won't be able to actually move his legs, the attempt alone sends the command to take a step to the brain via the nerves, which stimulates them, and helps them remember what they are supposed to do."
John nodded. "Makes sense to me."
"Good. Now obviously, for a man of Ronon's height and build this exercise requires significant upper body strength, but over the last ten days these muscles have been sadly neglected due to the fact that I could not allow him to put too much strain on his back. But at this stage, I believe it is safe for him to engage in some sport."
John looked at the young woman skeptically. "What kind of sport? And where do I come in?"
"From your medical records I know that you were once handicapped in a similar way for several months. And I know you became a very accomplished wheelchair basketball player during that time."
She stopped when she saw John's horrified expression.
"I'm sorry if what I said brought back painful memories," Jennifer said.
"No, no it's not that. Although painful is the right word…" John hesitated. "It's just that I already mentioned teaching Ronon how to use a wheelchair, and it didn't go down well at all. So I'm afraid if I approached him again, he would not take kindly to the idea."
"I'm not so sure about that. I still think it's worth a try," Jennifer insisted. "You are not suggesting the use of a wheelchair for mobility, but as an exercise instrument. I'm pretty sure he's noticed in today's therapy session that he's lost muscle strength and tone through inactivity, so he should be ready to try something to counteract that."
With a sigh, John relented. "Okay, Doc, I'll talk to him tonight."
Ronon was sitting up in bed, watching TV when John knocked on his door. Waving his team leader in, he pointed at a bowl of popcorn in his lap.
"Guess you smelled this and couldn't stay away," he suggested, cramming a handful of popped kernels into his mouth.
"You're right, and I even brought a movie to go with it," John replied, holding up a VHS cassette.
"Really?" Ronon asked, still chewing. After swallowing, he continued, "What kind of movie?"
"Actually, it's a sports tape," John said, walking over to the TV set, and sliding the cassette into the appropriate slot.
"Sports?" Ronon said dismissively. "Not more 'Blades of Glory', I hope?"
"No, nothing like that." John hit 'Play', and turned around to watch his friend's reaction. The film started in the middle of a wheelchair basketball game. Flashing chrome, squealing tires, rapid passes, high fives when a shot hit its mark - John knew every second of the tape by heart. With concern, he saw his the Satedan's face cloud over, his brow furrow. But just when Ronon opened his mouth, ready to vent his anger at Sheppard, something made him stop.
"Hold it," he said. "Go back a bit, and freeze the frame."
John did as he was told. The flickering screen froze on a young, dark haired man who was just expertly maneuvering his wheelchair around a defensive player of the opposite team, the ball sitting in his lap.
Ronon looked at John. "That's you," he said.
John nodded. "I told you I was in one of those things for a long time. My leg got almost torn off in the crash, and I was not allowed to put any weight on it for months."
"But… you knew you'd walk again, why did you learn to do that?"
"Because it was too boring just sitting or lying around all the time. Because it's an exciting, highly competitive sport. And most of all because I wanted to be in good shape when I would finally get out of the chair again."
Their eyes met. "Three good reasons," Ronon admitted.
"That's right. So if you want, I'll teach you."
Ronon looked away, back at the TV. "Lemme see the rest," he said.
The 'frozen' John on the TV screen continued his offensive, and crowned it with a masterful shot from the 3-point line, that danced only briefly on the edge of the hoop, and fell through the net mere seconds before a siren signaled the end of the game. Gleefully, John spun his wheelchair in a few tight circles, and rocked it on its rear wheels while his team came to congratulate him.
John turned the player off, and turned to Ronon.
"So? You game?"
This time, there was no hesitation. "Count me in."
The next day saw Sheppard and Ronon in wheelchairs on the city's basketball court. John handed his friend a pair of supple leather gloves.
"You'll need these," he said. "You get callouses after a while, but at first the friction on the metal will really blister up your palms and fingers. Plus it keeps your hands from slipping in case they're wet or sweaty."
Obediently, Ronon pulled on the gloves. Then he grabbed the metal guides, and pushed his chair a few feet ahead.
"That's right," John encouraged him. "Try and get a feel for it."
It didn't take long for Ronon to figure out the basics. He mastered starting and stopping, turning and reversing. Eager for more, he wanted to continue past the half hour that had been set aside, but John wouldn't allow it.
"There's no need to overdo it. And I'm sure Dr. Keller will find something interesting to do with needles for my next checkup if I bring you back in worse shape than you left her."
"But I want you to show me that twirling move," Ronon persisted.
"Yeah, that's a cool one," John agreed, but still shook his head. "Tomorrow," he said.
When John came to the infirmary the next morning to pick up Ronon for their training, he was told that his friend had already left. It wasn't hard to figure out where to find him. And sure enough, the Satedan was waiting for him in the basketball court. Although, waiting wasn't quite the right term. He had procured some construction cones from God-knows-where, and had set them up in a straight line. Ronon was practicing his slalom skills when the Colonel entered, but stopped and did a 3-point turn when he heard the door.
"Almost thought you'd stood me up," Ronon declared.
John dropped into his own chair that was sitting by the door, and adjusted the footrests.
"My thoughts exactly when I didn't find you in the infirmary," he countered. "How long have you been here?"
"Just a couple of minutes."
Noticing the beads of sweat that were beginning to form at Ronon's hairline, John doubted that this was true. But on the other hand, he had not seen his friend so upbeat and enthusiastic for a long time, so he decided not to dampen his spirit.
Still, something a little less exhausting than racing around cones was probably a good idea.
"So," John said, "you wanna learn to spin?"
"Sure," Ronon replied, and rolled over to where John was standing.
"Okay. The trick is to turn one wheel forward and the other wheel backward. Evenly. That way the chair rotates on the spot."
John demonstrated this. Slowly.
"Now you try."
Again, Ronon caught on almost instantly. The two of them spun and twisted until they grew dizzy, so John called a break and handed Ronon a cold water bottle. Ronon took off his gloves and gratefully swallowed the icy liquid.
"Makes you wanna be a giraffe, doesn't it?" John said, downing a swig himself. "Then you'd enjoy the sensation a lot longer." He knew he wouldn't have to field any questions here, they had watched several documentaries about wildlife on earth together.
Ronon grinned. "But just imagine how long you have to wait for the food to hit your stomach when you're hungry," he shot back.
John grinned right back at him. "Are you speaking from experience? I mean, were you hungry last night - finally?"
Ronon nodded. "Could have eaten a horse. Nothing like a workout to give you an appetite."
"Good for you. We'll make sure we keep it up," John promised.
"So we're gonna actually play today?" Ronon asked.
"Sure, if you want to." John spun around in one swift, precise motion. "The balls are over here behind this wall panel."
When he reached the indicated place and turned around, John noticed that Ronon was trying to imitate his move. He also noticed, that his friend had not put his gloves back on. Reaching far down the front and back of his two wheels, Ronon was getting ready to try a 360˚ turn.
"Wait!" John called out, "don't forget your…"
But it was too late. With a mighty heave, Ronon pulled on the wheels' guides. Unfortunately, his right hand was still moist from holding the dewy water bottle, and it slipped. The jerk on only the left wheel brought the chair around in an off-center arc, and it toppled over.
Cursing under his breath, John jumped from his own chair and ran over to where Ronon lay sprawled on the ground.
"Buddy? You okay?" Shep asked, as he knelt down next to his friend. Putting a hand on the Satedan's shoulder, he noticed that it was shaking, and when Ronon raised and turned his head to look at John, his eyes were wide with shock.
"You okay?" John repeated, feeling his heart sink. "Did you hurt yourself?"
Ronon blinked, and let his head drop down to the floor again. "I did," he said in a muffled voice.
"Where? Is it your back again?" John prompted, trying to quell the panic he felt rising inside him. "How bad is it?"
Ronon lifted his head again. "You don't understand," he said in a choked voice. "I banged my knee against the floor. And it hurt!"