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From Crutches to Chaos: Seb’s Wild Ride to the World Championships in Tokyo
Playing in the Individual World Championships in Tokyo sounded like a fantastic idea—until my knee decided to throw a tantrum five weeks before the event. Walking with crutches a week before the event, barely able to stand, I wasn’t sure if I’d make it to the airport, let alone a tennis court. But being the optimist (or maybe just stubborn like Sandrine would rightly tell me), I packed my bags and prepared for an adventure. Spoiler: I had no idea what I was in for.
Delayed Dreams: 10 Extra Hours to Question My Life Choices
I left for Tokyo on Thursday, 21st November, full of hope and determination. That hope took a hit when my flight was delayed by 10 hours. Ten hours. You could almost fly to Tokyo in that time! By the time I finally boarded, I was already exhausted. An 11-hour flight later, I stumbled into Tokyo on Friday evening, just in time to miss the opening ceremony. So much for a glamorous entrance.
I clung to the hope that I’d get a day or two to rest, recover, and maybe even adjust to the whole “different time zone” thing. Surely they wouldn’t schedule my first match right away, right? Wrong. My singles match was set for Saturday morning at 9:30 am. Jet-lagged, sleep-deprived, and running on adrenaline, I dragged myself onto the court.
The Match: Playing Tennis on One Leg (and Half a Brain - if I ever had one)
Let me tell you, playing tennis while feeling like you’re stuck in a sci-fi movie is a unique experience. I wasn’t just battling my opponent; I was fighting the very fabric of reality. The space-time continuum—a beautiful balance of length, width, height, and time—felt completely out of whack. It was as if someone hit pause, rewind, and fast-forward all at once. I could almost hear the whoosh of anime sound effects every time I swung my racket, half expecting a glowing aura to appear around me.
The first set? Pure chaos. My brain was trying to process which dimension I was in while my body limped along in real time. The score—6/1—barely registered as I stumbled through, feeling less like a competitor and more like an accidental protagonist in a wacky anime episode. I was the clueless hero, and tennis was my villain.
By the second set, I decided to embrace the madness. If I couldn’t control time, at least I could mess with my opponent’s rhythm. Disturbing his game gave me some semblance of control, though the match still ended with a 6/3 loss. As I hobbled off the court, my knee throbbed a reminder that even if I felt like I was living in an alternate reality, my body was very much grounded in pain.
At least I didn’t transform into a giant robot—or worse, get trapped in a time loop playing that same set over and over again. Small victories, right?
Doubles: Because Why Stop at One Match?
Sunday brought my doubles match with my partner, Kenjiro—a bright spot in an otherwise chaotic trip. Kenjiro was incredibly supportive and positive, even as my mobility left much to be desired. Despite my physical limitations, we put up a good fight, narrowly losing 2/6, 6/2, 8-10. It was one of those matches that reminded me why I love this sport: the camaraderie, the effort, and those fleeting moments when everything clicks, even if just for a point or two.
Kenjiro, if you’re reading this, thank you for carrying me—both figuratively and, at times, almost literally.
But that’s not all Kenjiro gave me. He also taught me a very important saying during our match—one so profound that it’s destined to become a staple of my coaching sessions back at 10is Academy. I won’t reveal it here, so you’ll have to wait and guess what it is when you’re on court with me. Trust me, it’s worth the suspense!
Exploring Japan: Trains, Tokyo, and the Kyoto Cold
With my matches done and my pride mostly intact, I finally got to explore Japan. Navigating the local transportation system was both fascinating and mildly terrifying. Tokyo was a whirlwind of lights, people, and energy—an incredible city that never stops. Then there was Kyoto, serene and traditional but also wet and cold. And guess what? That lovely Kyoto chill gifted me a solid cold to go with my jet lag. Perfect.
I arrived home and promptly slept through most of Saturday, waking up only to wonder what day it was. Sunday wasn’t much better—still spaced out and functioning at half capacity, I tried to capture my jet-lagged, cold-ridden state in an image that probably didn’t do my scrambled brain justice.
The Verdict: Worth It? Absolutely.
Sure, my body felt like it had been through a blender, and the space-time continuum might still be recovering, but the experience? Unforgettable. From competing on one leg to exploring the beauty and chaos of Japan, it was an adventure I’ll be telling stories about for years (or at least until my knee forgives me).
On the way back home, despite the jet lag and a cold that had me feeling like a walking zombie, I made a quick stop to check in on the Adult Christmas Party. It was great to see everyone celebrating, and of course, I couldn’t resist sharing a fun little nugget from my trip: “Even the crows in Japan speak Japanese! They don’t sound anything like ours back home.” Let’s just say that got a few laughs, though I think some of them were wondering if I was still running on half a brain.
Would I do it all again? Ask me in a few months when I’m no longer spaced out. For now, I’ll cherish the memories, the lessons, and the stories, and maybe remind myself that sometimes, it’s not about the results but the journey—and maybe the crows along the way.