I wanna talk about fear. A few months back I went to a friends dads funeral. As we stood there and the bag pipes started playing, the body being carried in the coffin down the aisle I couldn’t help but feel this insane energy. I should clarify I don’t have much experience with death – I’m lucky enough to still have both sets of grandparents and when the only pet I had when I was a kid (rabbit called floss) died I was presented the information in a ‘I have some good news and I have some bad news’ scenario. The good news was that my mum had bought me a 6ft long piece of bubblegum. Who was floss? Still to this day I feel like when people die bubblegum should be handed out. Anyway back to the funeral, I felt like for everyone there at that moment when the body was being carried in we were all connected. Bound by the fear of our own deaths – grappling with the idea that that would be us one day. A true human experience. Grabbing soil and throwing it on the coffin made me think about fear. If this is how it all ends up what is there to fear, I mean really if I’m going to be dead in a box in the ground one day why waste another second being scared of life.
For a long time I was so scared of shitting myself. Like I have mentioned before I’ve struggled with anxiety my whole conscious life. It’s manifested itself in so many ways and often for me I have a psychosomatic response to the anxiety. For example my fear of being sick would mean I would wretch and gag, and when I feared I was having a stroke my left side would go numb. All incredibly confusing considering you’re not actually in danger. Anyway for a long time I got fixated on being terrified of shitting my pants. It was in my teenage years when one of the fit older girls in 6th form used to pick me up and take me to school everyday and I would just think how fucking terrible would it be if I shat my pants in Amelia’s car. I would sweat out that 20 minute journey holding in a shit that didn’t exist and then forget about it once we pulled up to school. One day I’ll tell you the story about when I actually did shit my pants but not now. The reason I’m talking about fear is because I’ve been feeling it the last few weeks.
It started after I arrived in south west France. I don’t really know why but I just felt weird. I think subconsciously I was feeling the pressure of the project. Have I played enough games? Is the blog interesting enough? Have I got enough money to get home? What the fuck am I doing!!!? All just pointless nonsense that I can easily attach too. Despite this feeling I spent an amazing couple of days with my old friend Gary and his son Archie. We met up at Tennis club Anglet Olympique where Archie had his tennis lesson as part of his journée d’école – a thing in France where kids have Wednesdays off to play sport – something I would have fucking relished as a kid but alas I grew up in England where Wednesday is just another day on the grind. lol. We played tennis together, camped side by side, played footy on the beach and spent time catching up. Gary was such a big part of my life growing up and somewhat of a farther figure in my formative years away from home so it was so special to reconnect and share stories with each other over a few cold ones. I knew I was going to make new friends on this trip but had overlooked the fact that I would have the chance to reconnect with old ones. Soon enough Archie will be ready to give me a run for my money but for now football is his priority and so hes focused on heading the ball over the net.
Despite all of this, I was still feeling weird. I needed to play a match – get the project moving again. On the Friday morning I headed to Tennis Club Luzien after receiving a text from a friend of a friend of a friend who had been told about my project and wanted to play. We played on clay after a heavy night of rain. Humidity was high and so were my nerves. I managed to get the win despite Jean-Gabriel putting up a fight. I still wasn’t satisfied though I wanted more. After a coffee with JG where he told me stories of his youth growing up with Tsonga’s agent and the parties in Paris with the Eurosport pundits, I decided to go find myself another match – I needed to play my way out of this weird feeling. I drove from club to club looking for a match but to no avail. Clubs in the southwest seem to close from 12-2 and this was the window I was operating in. Fuck.
I made a rash decision to cut my losses and leave town. I honestly just felt deflated that I hadn’t made the most of being in that area and playing more matches but sometimes you’ve got to just call it. I headed towards Annecy.
An unexpected skill I have acquired on this trip is the ability to spot a sports complex. The particular height of a flood light, the colour scheme of a building, the smell of the air. I’m acutely tuned in – like the tennis equivalent of a truffle pig. I was on high alert on my drive and about an hour in sniffed out a beautiful little court. I pulled in, grabbed my racket and went to find a match. It was closed, no one to be seen anywhere. However there was a skatepark. I needed to sweat, I needed to move, I needed to stop feeling weird. And plus I needed to use my skateboard which takes up far too much space in the van for the use it was getting.
Fear. Again. Accept this time you could argue it’s a rational fear. Fear when skateboarding is a new sensation for me, one that makes me feel old. As a kid the idea of breaking a bone or hitting my head on the concrete did not scare me (shitting my pants in Amelia’s car did) but these days I’d much rather shit my pants than eat it. As any skateboarder knows it’s impossible to ignore that desire to land a trick once you’ve entered the early stages of the battle. This had happened to me – I was trying to land a nollie heel on a flat bank. Rolling in each time fearful of eating shit, knocking myself out, not being found for days etc etc but I couldn’t walk away. 20 something goes later I did it rolling away shouting ‘yes!’ Pure kook but fuck it I’m 35 leave me alone, to be cool is something I no longer desire.
Back in the van and back on the road I was feeling a bit better. I felt more satisfied with my day and was ready to put a shift in in the van. Or at least I thought.
Another hour later and my little tennis snout started going again. I had spotted a court through an opening in a warehouse wall. Without thought, I pulled in, grabbed all my shit and walked in towards the entrance. In the reception area were 2 lads in their 20s – the most intimidating genre of person to approach. However I was on a mission and explained my project to them and asked if they knew someone I could play. Within 5 minutes I was on court with Ibann after he had asked his coach if he could play. Within 15 minutes I was back off court after getting battered 6-0 infront of his mates. I apologised and began a monologue of how this was my 5th 6-0 loss and how I keep getting in my head to which Ibann replied ‘ I just try to have fun on the court’ a timely reset from the wise words of a 20 year old. My ego didn’t like the mirror he had held up to me – but he was right.
I got back in my car and beeped as I drove away waving at my new friends. That whole hour felt like a fever dream.
The reason I was driving to Annecy was because my girlfriend was coming out to see me for 4 days after 7 weeks apart. Listen, I know that maybe you don’t wanna hear this stuff but this is my diary and if you’re going to be rude and read it you’re gonna have to read the wanky stuff too. I couldn’t wait to see her. I drove that extra bit faster and extra bit further each day as if that would bring Monday closer. Seeing her face at Geneva airport is one of the highlights of this whole trip and after we hugged for way too long we got in the van and headed off to Annecy. On the first morning in the van I jumped out to make a cup of tea for Jess while she was still in a bed, a ritual she enforced upon me back home but something I actually enjoy. As I went to the front of the van to grab the teabags I suddenly got a whiff of something (it wasn’t a tennis court) but infact Jess had accidentally kicked her synthetic Zara jumper on to the gas flame and in a matter of seconds the whole back of the van was on fire. I grabbed the jumper and threw it to the ground, smoke was literally billowing out all the doors and windows of the van. It was fucking mental and the smell was rancid. It had burnt the stove, the duvet and the curtains – at least she was getting the full experience. Jess claims it’s her favourite jumper which does make you wonder why she would set it alight like that?!?
Despite this we spent 4 perfect days together. We swam in the lake, ate cheese, smoked cigarettes, drank wine, hung out with friends and watched man united lose the europa league final (can’t have it all)
Waving Jess off at the airport was a very strange experience. I couldn’t help but ask myself ‘why am I not getting on that plane?’ It made no sense. I mean, really I was doing this project to prove to myself I could – and in a way you could already argue at this point I have. Her visit completely took me out of the project and back in to the things that truly matter. Friends and family. Friends and family and? Friends and family and tennis? Yer friends and family and tennis.
The next day Jess was just a distance memory as I stood four feet away from Djokovic while he warmed up for his match against Norrie in the semi finals of the Geneva open. I was lucky enough to get given a press pass from the guys at Bagel magazine. The whole day was great but there was something truly special about watching the preparations. I’d gone for a piss half way through the first semi final and while making my way back from the toilet I noticed a small commotion around a court in the distance. Geneva is a small club and by this part of the tournament the grounds were empty and easily accessible. I headed towards it and saw a young guy pacing the courts preparing for something. My Serby senses were tingling – I was convinced this kid was waiting to warm djokovic up. I stuck to him like glue (albeit at an undetectable distance) turns out I was right and I had managed to grab a spot right at the front where I watched the match preparations unfold. Of course I am aware of the levels to this sport but being front and centre to it was really something special. Djokovic was particularly focussed on preparing for the lefty wide serve of norrie. He requested his sparring partner to give him a ‘fast kick serve out wide’ to which the kid delivered each time. Then ‘second serve slice down the T’ again, executed to perfection. The kid – whose girlfriend was in the crowd – kept looking over and pulling a face which screamed ‘holy shit! I’m warming up the goat!’ She remained proud with her phone constantly capturing the whole thing. After they finished I hung about as I’d noticed a ball get wedged behind one of the fences. I went and grabbed it and have been sleeping next to it ever since.
It was now time to head further east and back to Zurich where the seed of this idea began, but not before a little session with Ian (the fourth person I played on the tour) who put my through my paces and then had me be sparring partner for one of his players. Unfortunately I had to cut this short because of a blister developing on the sole of my foot. Those of you who read this blog are probably expecting me to put a picture of this below but I wouldn’t do that to you.
I know this blog has been a bit weird and I’m sorry about that if you have made it this far but it’s just the reality of this project. I’m feeling less fear and I’m proud of how handled it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about fear over the last three years is; you have to head straight towards it. I don’t mean actually shit your pants in Amelia’s car I mean you have to acknowledge it accept it and keep moving through it. So yer, if you’re going through it – keep moving it’s all you have to, and remember: friends, family AND tennis over everything.
Speak soon
Tom x