Completely unplanned (again) my resting spot in Madrid was just a 2 minute walk from a large private tennis club. I walked over there on my first day in search of a match and some sort of redemption for my poor recent form. Approaching the reception, after peeking over the wall, I had a nervous feeling that was slowly becoming familiar and, dare I say, slightly easier with each time I do this. however there’s a new twist – Spanish – a language that I can speak absolutely nada. The receptionist didn’t speak any English but took me to find someone who could. To my complete horror he interrupted a yoga class that was going on outside to ask if anyone could speak English and one of the participants, who could, came over so I could explain my project. She relayed it back to the receptionist and I apologised to her and the class while he took me off to the academy side of the club where I was introduced to a coach named Alvero. Alvero said he could play me at 12 and told me to come back then, and that’s what I did. On my return Alvero told me he was just going to take a piss and grab some balls and then we could play on centre court – exciting! He had told some of his students and colleagues what he would be doing at 12 and so we had somewhat of a crowd (6 people) but still it adds to the pressure. Our match started and I am dominant – 4-0 in no time and cruising to my first victory in a while. Changing ends at 4-1 I make some small talk.
“It doesn’t get hot like this in the UK”
Alvero laughs and says back
“yer! My only chance of beating you is if you keel over and die in the heat”
A throw away comment to most but to me, someone who has a long standing history of health anxiety, a devastating blow.
From this point on that is all I could focus on. Dying. Can you die from being hot? I’m pretty sure you can and I am really hot and I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. A series of errors ensues and Alveros confidence grows. 7-6. Another loss. Holy shit how did that happen. In all honesty I was devastated, Alvero is joyful and really happy about the win and says to me ‘you can pay for the lesson at the front desk!’ €40 that loss cost me. Rubbing salt (and vinegar) into the wound. At least I wasn’t dead I suppose.
After a shower where it was hard to distinguish between tears and water I was walking back to the van and out of nowhere I get bit by a dog. Yes. actually bit, by an actual dog and I’m actually bleeding. Now listen, I don’t blame the dog for wanting a bite out of my beautifully sculpted calves but not now, not today. I’m semi in shock and don’t know what to do. The owner walked off and I was ready to do the same but I was grabbed by a Dutch guy who says I need to ‘shtay’ and that I’m bleeding and will need to go to the hospital. A few people run after the owner and bring him back, the police are called, it’s all very dramatic but nevertheless part of the process here in Spain. After some trouble getting the papers from the dog to prove its vaccinations it’s decided I must go to hospital. Cba tbh. But I do because, again, I don’t want to die. I won’t bore you with the next 7 hours but 20,000 steps, one uber, €400 and four hospitals later I’m cured of the rabies I was never going to get. Did I mention I also lost from 4-0 up earlier in the day?
The following days involved some great moments. I attended a BAGEL x LESBIAN GARROS event on the Friday night. We played tennis for hours in a very DIY club in the centre of the city, had bbq and drinks and I made my way home with my heart full again – even if my arm was dead. There is something so nice about seeing familiar faces in foreign places! The Saturday involved waking up and heading over to the ‘club internacional de tennis’ which was hosting the Mini Shop Open. A team, tie-break 10s tournament. I don’t know what I expected but it wasnt this. The scale of the whole operation was so impressive and I had the best day out. I wasn’t playing but I spent my time support my new friends Lesbian Garros who made an impressive run to the last 8 only to go out in devastating fashion at the hands of a dodgy call and the crowd chanting ‘fixed!’ as the girls left the court. Next year there will be a Sad Baby Tennis Boy team and we’re gonna win (my half arsed attempt at manifestation). Again, my heart full and my arm dead I headed to the van to drive home. Imagine if I left my lights on all day and the battery was dead – that would be funny wouldn’t it. Cool, I spent the night in the club car park after asking each exiting patreon if they had any cables, apparently as rare in Spain as a win is for me on the Van AM tour. I managed to get the van started in the morning and drive back to my spot.
Monday was a mellow one, just a national emergency from the power outage across the whole country. What a surreal experience that was. No access to information, no contact with anyone and no idea how long it would last. It didn’t take long to settle in to it tbh and it solidified my idea that the world would be a better place without the internet. I got loads of work done, an essential van upgrade (pictured below) and jack draper read ten pages of a book! Subsequently my match with Rodrigo the following morning was cancelled as he had got stuck on a train in Barcelona. I think it’s time to cut my losses here and head west.
I reached out to one of the Lesbian Garros girls that I had seen play on Saturday at the tournament to see if she fancied playing. A last ditch attempt to salvage my time in Spain. She agreed and we played on Wednesday. When I watched Laura play on Saturday I was taken back by her power, consistency and technique and was thrilled she had agreed to play. Obviously I lost (7-5) but I completely held my own and felt my confidence come back slightly. I just wanted to have fun and that’s what I did. My match with Laura is my favourite one so far. It was a set which lasted 58 minutes and exactly what I needed.
If I was to describe my time in Spain in one sentence it would be ‘nuggets of gold in a big pile of shit’ obviously I don’t mean this but I thought of this line while driving to Portugal. Will I ever win a match again? Who knows? I do feel sorry for whoever I play next though – I’ve got that dog in me.
All the best
Tom