Page 80 of Salto

A few moments later, he slid the paper across the table toward me.

It was a pain scale.

0 — no pain

2 — noticeable but not distracting

4 — uncomfortable, but you can train normally

5 — starting to affect power or focus

7 — sharp pain, training needs to be modified

8 — high pain, only light work or stretching

10 — can’t train

“Tell me what number you’re at.”

I looked down at the numbers again.

Maybe if I didn’t have to say anything out loud, that would be easier for me.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

He leaned back in Vanta’s chair and crossed his arms over his chest—waiting.

I wanted to say four.

So badly, I wanted it to be manageable.

But I knew I would have to be honest, or this wouldn’t work.

So, with a deep breath, I picked up the pen and circled the most accurate number on the scale.

“Seven.”

CHAPTER 30

The number system seemed to be working.

We stuck with it for the rest of the week. Every morning, I walked into our session, and Rove handed me the notebook. I'd circle whatever number my body felt like that day, and he'd adjust my training accordingly.

I bled for a few more days, but the pain wasn't nearly as intense as it had been that first day. It still hurt, but at least I no longer felt like I was on the verge of passing out.

What I hadn't expected was how often Rove checked in on the numbers throughout the day.

I'd be up on the bars about to do a skill, or finishing a vault, and he'd ask, "Number?"

“Four.”

He'd nod once, and we'd continue.

It was simple and effective.

And I liked it more than any system a coach had ever tried with me before.

Most of the girls never mentioned my fall on bars. The only person who said anything about it afterward was a girl named Lexi.