Let’s get one thing out of the way:
This wasn’t beautiful tennis.
This wasn’t a highlight reel.
No fireworks. No flowing rhythm. No elegant first serves dropping in like poetry.
But this past week, from Thursday to Sunday, I won.
I played four matches in a row, on clay, in a 4.1-limited tournament.
And I brought the trophy home.
Not because I played great.
But because I kept going, even when everything in my body said, “Go to bed, old man.”
Late Nights, Long Points, and Bouncy Balls
Matches started late. Like, after 8pm late.
Some nights I didn’t finish until midnight.
For someone like me, who usually starts yawning around the end of the evening news, that’s a massive shift.
The rhythm was off.
My body didn’t feel ready.
The lights changed the way the clay looked, the balls bounced like they were injected with caffeine,
and my serve... oh, my serve.
It was clumsy.
Slow.
Tense.
Like trying to paint with frozen fingers.
And yet, point by point, I figured things out.
Not by brilliance. But by persistence.
Winning When You're Not At Your Best
This tournament taught me something I really needed to learn:
How to win when you’re not playing well.
Not with flair. Not with perfection.
But with focus, adaptability, and mental grit.
I stopped looking for comfort.
I started looking for solutions.
I hit safer second serves.
I used more backspin to manage the bounce.
I played longer points, defended deeper, waited for the right ball.
And it worked.
Four matches. Four wins. One title.
Not because I was the best player out there…
But because I was willing to stay in the fight, even when the conditions (and my own game) were screaming “Not tonight.”
The Real Victory
Here’s the most satisfying part:
After this win, I’m just 20 points away from reaching 3.5.
It feels like standing on the threshold.
One more door to open.
And I got here not by dominating, but by enduring.
By showing that I can still compete, adapt, and finish, even when the tennis gods don’t hand me my A-game.
That’s the kind of tennis I’ll need to reach Second Category.
Not just the days when everything clicks.
But the nights when it doesn’t, and I fight anyway.
And Now… Recovery
Truth be told, my body is still recovering.
Those late-night matches hit harder than expected.
My legs feel heavier than they should.
And let’s not even talk about the morning after the final… walking down stairs felt like a sport of its own.
But I’m proud.
Proud of the trophy.
Proud of the points.
But most of all, proud of winning without playing well.
Here’s to the ugly wins.
The bouncy balls.
The missed first serves.
The midnight battles.
And the belief that every match, beautiful or brutal, is another brick in the road to 2nd Category.
We keep going.
— Il Tennista
One trophy heavier, twenty points away, and finally learning how to win ugly.
