When I was younger, I got to go to the "Beach Club" with my friends who had the luxury of being members during the hot summer days. It was every kid's dream, parent's escape, and tween's grounds for underwater funny business. There were two levels, two pools, a giant grill, fitness center, and stairs that led to the beach down below. Yes, life was rough.
One of my favorite things to do at the "Beach Club" was diving board jumps. We would eagerly line up to climb the ladder to the rusty blue board with images of The Sandlot dancing in our heads and present our best trick for the slew of friends treading water and clinging on to the lane ropes down below. Tricks would range from pencil dives to cannonballs to flips. When you emerged from the plunge, your audience would each "rate" you on a scale from 1-10. We had clearly been exposed to the Olympics around this time, giving 6.4s, reasons for 10s, and so much more. Everyone wanted a 10.
I couldn't have been older than 7 or 8 during these summer days, but my understanding of the scale was likely truer that it has become. Whether that is because it is tainted or a tougher rank, I'm not sure. It was clear that a 10 was the ultimate. If I came out and got a 7, I was going to do my next jump better and bigger than the last. I was going to improve to get to the top. The 7 was just not good enough.
These days, it's tougher to remember this.
Sometimes we allow ourselves to sustain a "7" just to avoid a 4 - or worse, a 0. If it's goodenoughfornow, then why bother risking something that might be worse? Too painful. Too daunting. Too scary.
I'm guilty of sitting at a 7 now and then. During my first recover from my ACL tear and proceeding surgery, I lost steam quickly. I was aggravated, unprepared, and insecure in so many ways. I was so eager to be part of social activities that I neglected much of my protocol. I walked on the beach too soon, went out "dancing," and joined in activities that caused some pain, but not enough to re-damage me fully. I didn't want to sit out on the sidelines. I didn't want to feel outcast or different or limited. I didn't want to feel like a 0 or a 4. So I settled for a 7.
Nothing was terrible, but I never got great again. I couldn't truly run without discomfort. I stopped going to physical therapy. I stopped identifying as someone who was recovering from an injury and instead started identifying as someone who was fine with just a hint of an old injury - aka a "7."
And then I had my 2nd surgery. We can go ahead and call that a 0.
I wasn't perfect the 2nd time around, but I was better. I followed protocol, eased myself into things, and self-pitied myself for being a lousy 0 when I had just been a 7, which seemed much more exciting at this time. Eventually, I healed well, got my strength, speed, and skinny back, and felt on top of the world. Yes, the elephant in the text is that I have obviously been writing about my 3rd knee surgery, but the point is, you can't have a 10 without having a 0. Literally.
My friend and I discussed this tonight on a more personal level. About shooting high rather than settling at just ok. Have you ever had a relationship that you were constantly validating to yourself? Like, "wow, last Saturday was so much fun, I'm completely unphased that I haven't heard a peep in 5 days. It's totally fine." Except it's not. Saturday was a 10 and today is a 4. You're averaging somewhere in the 7 range. And chances are, you allow it to continue. I know I have before. The low days hurt, so you're constantly feigning for the high days, but the inconsistencies never allow you a full 10 for any sustainable period. Is it worth giving those small victories up? Most often, it doesn't seem like that.
One of my favorite things to do at the "Beach Club" was diving board jumps. We would eagerly line up to climb the ladder to the rusty blue board with images of The Sandlot dancing in our heads and present our best trick for the slew of friends treading water and clinging on to the lane ropes down below. Tricks would range from pencil dives to cannonballs to flips. When you emerged from the plunge, your audience would each "rate" you on a scale from 1-10. We had clearly been exposed to the Olympics around this time, giving 6.4s, reasons for 10s, and so much more. Everyone wanted a 10.
I couldn't have been older than 7 or 8 during these summer days, but my understanding of the scale was likely truer that it has become. Whether that is because it is tainted or a tougher rank, I'm not sure. It was clear that a 10 was the ultimate. If I came out and got a 7, I was going to do my next jump better and bigger than the last. I was going to improve to get to the top. The 7 was just not good enough.
These days, it's tougher to remember this.
Sometimes we allow ourselves to sustain a "7" just to avoid a 4 - or worse, a 0. If it's goodenoughfornow, then why bother risking something that might be worse? Too painful. Too daunting. Too scary.
I'm guilty of sitting at a 7 now and then. During my first recover from my ACL tear and proceeding surgery, I lost steam quickly. I was aggravated, unprepared, and insecure in so many ways. I was so eager to be part of social activities that I neglected much of my protocol. I walked on the beach too soon, went out "dancing," and joined in activities that caused some pain, but not enough to re-damage me fully. I didn't want to sit out on the sidelines. I didn't want to feel outcast or different or limited. I didn't want to feel like a 0 or a 4. So I settled for a 7.
Nothing was terrible, but I never got great again. I couldn't truly run without discomfort. I stopped going to physical therapy. I stopped identifying as someone who was recovering from an injury and instead started identifying as someone who was fine with just a hint of an old injury - aka a "7."
And then I had my 2nd surgery. We can go ahead and call that a 0.
I wasn't perfect the 2nd time around, but I was better. I followed protocol, eased myself into things, and self-pitied myself for being a lousy 0 when I had just been a 7, which seemed much more exciting at this time. Eventually, I healed well, got my strength, speed, and skinny back, and felt on top of the world. Yes, the elephant in the text is that I have obviously been writing about my 3rd knee surgery, but the point is, you can't have a 10 without having a 0. Literally.
My friend and I discussed this tonight on a more personal level. About shooting high rather than settling at just ok. Have you ever had a relationship that you were constantly validating to yourself? Like, "wow, last Saturday was so much fun, I'm completely unphased that I haven't heard a peep in 5 days. It's totally fine." Except it's not. Saturday was a 10 and today is a 4. You're averaging somewhere in the 7 range. And chances are, you allow it to continue. I know I have before. The low days hurt, so you're constantly feigning for the high days, but the inconsistencies never allow you a full 10 for any sustainable period. Is it worth giving those small victories up? Most often, it doesn't seem like that.
But the answer is yes. We are hypothetically one non-recovered ACL at 70% function because we're unwilling to start back and ground zero. We don't want to build the wall brick by brick. We want one that stands on its own, whether or not it will hold up forever.
Whether validating a relationship or my prideful knees, the answer is to always work toward the 10. I don't want to be goodenoughfornow. I want to be consistently amazing. Sometimes the dull pain of a 7 seems tolerable enough because the sharp pain of a lesser number is too much to bear. Having experienced some low number moments myself, I thought I would share some of the things that they taught me that 7s never could have.
Where am I currently on the self-actualized knee-recovery scale? I'm probably at a solid 6. Maybe my 6 is your 4, or even your 9. Who knows? No, a 6 does not feel like a 10, and neither did a 2 or a 4. But a hard-earned big 1-0 is going to beat settling for a sustained 7. I know this.
Good enough is never actually good enough. Sometimes we have to give up the 7, sink down to our 0, and climb the lone, long road to a 10. The journey is rough, but the destination is about as great as if a pain-free run got your there in the first place :-).
Whether validating a relationship or my prideful knees, the answer is to always work toward the 10. I don't want to be goodenoughfornow. I want to be consistently amazing. Sometimes the dull pain of a 7 seems tolerable enough because the sharp pain of a lesser number is too much to bear. Having experienced some low number moments myself, I thought I would share some of the things that they taught me that 7s never could have.
- Humility. Humility has been ground zero. It has taught me that I'm not the best, that luck doesn't cut it, and that I constantly have a lot to learn. The 7 of humility is embarrassment. It's enough to make us want to run away from the feeling, but temporary enough to put a band-aid over it and pretend it never happened. One is a life lesson. One is a fleeting discomfort.
- Honesty. Honesty, ironically, always seems to be clouded by doubt. Falling down to a zero means being honest with myself. It has made me own my mistakes, apologize to others, and adjust certain lifestyle choices. The liken to Zero's honesty is Seven's gossip. You allow others to be in on a secret, but only at the expense of questioning your own motives and intentions...while the information shared may be true, the dull reminder of your betrayal keeps you from claiming virtue.
- Modeling. No, I'm not talking about hitting the catwalk or the magazine. Hello people - have you SEEN the scars on my knees?! (Not to mention the distinct lack of inches and a few other notable attributes). I'm talking about role modeling. Living at a zero has reminded me that having and being a role model is crucial. I have a few role models - in different areas of my life. My mother has always been my number one, and being at a zero has allowed me to need her and to recognize the greatness in her that I want to also exude. Seven forgets to model and simply gloats. Gloating usually comes from lack of self-esteem; whether you're gloating about your relationship or your accomplishments, chances are, you're just trying to convince yourself to numb the small tingle of a 7.
- Self affirming. This is my achilles heel when it comes to feeling the sharp, constant poke of a 0. I'm down here for a reason. I'm not good enough. Pretty enough. Fun enough. I'm weak or stupid or weird. I'm a zero. The numbers don't climb over night. You want the highs to be inevitable, but until then, it's gut-wrenching. Believe me, my 0s feel the same. How can I get back up? Recover? Gain ground? Low-rated living forces you, and only you, to move up the rankings one positive self-affirmation at a time. It's not easy to say nice things about yourself when the darkness is harsh, but it pushes you to appreciate everything you are, from 0 to 10. Seven simply non-mentions character flaws, rather than works hard in order to rebuild. Seven is cowardly. Zero is appropriately the hero.
Where am I currently on the self-actualized knee-recovery scale? I'm probably at a solid 6. Maybe my 6 is your 4, or even your 9. Who knows? No, a 6 does not feel like a 10, and neither did a 2 or a 4. But a hard-earned big 1-0 is going to beat settling for a sustained 7. I know this.
Good enough is never actually good enough. Sometimes we have to give up the 7, sink down to our 0, and climb the lone, long road to a 10. The journey is rough, but the destination is about as great as if a pain-free run got your there in the first place :-).