Blogpost for Thursday, 24th September 2009

La Merce
Today marks the start of Spain's arguably biggest festival, spanning till Sunday with tons of activities, music and dance performances littering the city.  Being a holiday for the Academy too, I tramped down to Barcelona centre with Kiko and Robin after lunch, to check out the festivities.  Here is a photojournal (of sorts) of the day, kicking off with lunch at the Academy.

Lunch consisted of fried salmon fillet and paella--the typically Spanish dish of fried rice with condiments meat condiments--usually of seafood origin.  This had the cheaper, chicken substitute.

When we got to Barcelona centre, we were greeted by a host of colourful vending stalls, selling almost everything from Hello Kitty balloons to snacks and fizz drinks.  To the left of the picture you can see the beginnings of one of the many massive stages the city council has set up for performances this entire weekend.  Exciting stuff!

Picking balloons. There were tons of families walking about or sitting down, all soaking up the sun.

One of the many typical, colourful vendor stalls in the Square.

They even sold birdfeed for the pigeons...

There were tons of people lining the streets at different parts of the city centre, craning their necks to catch the passing processions.  I thought these three ladies here were especially funny.  Uno, dos, tres!  On a separate note, it seems that Spain does have a rather large elderly population.  They fill the buses, streets, everywhere!

Another old man enjoying the parade... :)

Robin--my Australian friend with a fetish for pistachio nuts, insisted on bringing a big glass jug of them along.  "What forrrr?? We won't be eating it!!"  I wailed.  (I actually didn't want to carry it.)  It found its way into my bag, and I lugged the whole lot through the city.  Here he is, caught nibbling on them during the parade.  I nibbled on some too.  Fine, they were good.

Some random cafe I chanced upon on one of the smaller streets, that I MUST go back and visit!

The adjourning inner courtyard to the cafe.
Took my breath away.

Gelare shopping.  Tons of stalls littering the city--all, surprisingly, with different distinct tastes.

Strawberry at one doesn't taste the same as strawberry at another.

It makes me happy, nonetheless :)

La Colmena--one of Barcelona's oldest confectionaries. 
It was tempting not to buy any chocs, but I saw EUR53/kg choc there... -Choak!-

 

I thought of my very fat, cute, 3.5 month old sausage-looking nephew Brucie when I saw this. The bar in contrast was old, quaint, rather run down, but cool nonetheless. Something like Yet Con at Purvis Street, back home.

Just look at the drawers hanging off the wall!  Love it!

Kiko's and Robin's pose are cool too.  Added with the random passerby and the stall owner's, their bodies plot a sort of guiding linear disjoint amidst the semi-chaos.  Interesting.

Pity it's slightly blurred, though.

Blogpost for Wednesday, 23rd September 2009.

Chopping Wood
Fitness this afternoon was particularly enjoyable—mostly for the wide (and interesting) range of exercises I got to do. It seems that being in the recuperating stage of injury has its own benefits—my training focus has moved to the upper body, and I’ve been put through a series of workouts focussing on my arms, abs, shoulders and hips. I’m glad about this because in a sense, it means I have time and space enough to rest, and focus on this area of development. Bulk up the stick thin arms, strengthen the back, solidify the core, add mobility to the hips.

And so, thus, immobilized by my current hamstring reparations, today’s exercises involved a wall, a medicine ball, a big long hammer, and a massive tyre.

How strange!

Yeah, pretty much. After the routine warm up on the rowing (elliptical) machine, things fired off with throwing a 3kg medicine ball against the wall in a series of patterns. From my left, this meant thrusting my hips and swinging my arms forward and then releasing the ball, as if I were hitting a forehand. Similarly on the other side, rotating my shoulders from perpendicular to parallel to the wall, and releasing, as if I were hitting a backhand. Forward overhead throws involved sticking my heels to the ground and using only knee flexions and arms to generate as much momentum as possible. Then there were backward overhead throws (with my back facing the wall, hauling the ball over and behind my head). Forward pushes—involved using more of the wrists, forearms and a quick forward toss to rebound the ball off the wall and catch it again, without touching the floor. One of the more interesting ones was to push/throw the ball at an angle downwards, at the floor just where it met the wall—so that it bounced right back up at you.

What made it all particularly interesting (and challenging) was that these balls have an almost zero bounce return. They’re weighty, made of solid thick, dull rubber, and have no air in them whatsoever. Instead of a springy “Boinggg!” (think: taut basketballs), or the neat “Dook!” (think: fresh tennis balls), all you get from a medicine ball is a deadening, almost depressing “Dud.” And yes, you get it no matter how hard you throw it against the wall. What you expect to bounce back up to your waist comes lolling back to your shins—or in worse cases, your ankles(!)

In a sense, this makes med balls good training tools because their sheer unresponsiveness forces you to make every throw a good throw. After twenty minutes of throwing balls against the wall like a maniac, you learn how to distinguish a good “dud” from a bad “dud” (sheesh…). You learn how to welcome the weight of the ball back into your arms after a rebound. You learn how and when to release the ball to generate maximum power through the arc of your swing. You learn also, that a half-ass throw always ends up with a rebound to your shins—which throws off your rhythm—forcing you to pick up and start again from scratch. I don’t think I’ve mastered the finer intricacies of med ball throwing, but it’s definitely fascinating in a Dudley sort of way. Hur hur hur.

What was equally fascinating was the second exercise with the hammer and the tyre. While wall throws were done in the courtyard outside the gym, we moved on to under the trees by gym for our next exercise. There greeted us, like black, over-sized polo mints, two humongous tyres. Kapi went into the gym briefly and came out with two big hammers. “Have you done this exercise before?” he asked, as he looked, frowning, from tyre to hammer, hammer to tyre again. “Erm… no?” I shook my head slowly. What was he going to make me do? I didn’t have time to think much before he thrust one in my hand and said “Watch carefully.”

Remember Kapi’s “once-only” mantra I talked about the last time? Here it was again, and I stood fascinated, wide-eyed and (slightly) open-mouthed as he began to re-enact the entire motion of chopping wood, hammer in hand, on the rim of this wide rung tyre. “The bottom hand does not shift… you swing your other arm back like this… lift the head, always, in front of you…and then swing down hard like this… BAAHHH!” (Kapi likes to use sound effects when he’s teaching to heighten understanding. It really helps.) He hit the tyre so hard, the rubber mass quivered and, to my astonishment, out buzzed at least a dozen mozzies, startled awake from its dark depths.

“Wah! So many mosquitoes!!” I thought. “What if they’re dengue?”
I must admit that for the briefest moment, I thought about calling the dengue hotline to report. Haha!

For the next half hour, I stood under willow trees outside the gym, lumbering with a massive hammer in hand, pretending to cut wood. “Doong! Doong! Doong!” I reckon everyone should attempt to hack wood (or at least pretend to) at least once in their life. It was surprisingly stress-relieving, and more of a work out than I’d expected. For the first since I stopped court work, it felt glorious to feel tears of sweat running down my brow and cheeks again. What was also cool was that Kapi seemed happy with the way I was hitting the tyre, and decided to film me going through the motions. “Good technique, very good technique” he repeated every now and again, as he whipped out his dslr to take a video. Wearing a ratty tee shirt, grey berms and specs, I joked about how I would’ve worn something nicer had I expected this!

What wasn’t half so glam was that I went to the bathroom right after to wash my hands and realised that I had one big pee sai dangling from my nostril all that time -_______- Wah lau!! I was grossly startled for a second--"Damn unglam lah!" I grimaced. But then I thought about camera close ups,... and just had to laugh out loud.

-Shakes head- Sarah, Sarah!!!!

Snap
I've torn my left hamstring.

Well, marginally, according to Nachos, the resident doctor. It happened last Saturday during a measly TWO HOUR session of tennis (it wasn't even a full day, dammit!). Think cold weather, a half warmed up body, and an assignment to hit controls (rallies with specific shot sequences) with a boy who smacked the ball really fast, really flat. The sense of pressure struck again and maybe it was the fact that it was a new coach watching me hit, or that it was a new sparring partner, but I definitely over-stepped my footwork limit and felt a cruel, sudden pull in my hamstring as I stepped out for a backhand.

“Ouch!”
-brief pause-
“That really hurts. I can’t move my leg properly.”
-another brief pause-
“It must be a muscle pull. I can probably stretch it out later.”

Over-determined, I ignored the pain and muscled through the entire practice, including the 2 tie breaks we later played. Despite the pain, I managed to get into optimal position and balance for most of the rallies, varying the shots and cracking sharp with my serve (new toss included). I lost the first tie break 6-8, and won the second 7-5, and it felt good to have nicked 1 from him. I could tell he thought he was going trash me from the get go, so in a sense, it was a definite confidence boost. The niggling pain didn't go away, and while I forced myself to totally rest on Sunday, it returned on Monday during morning fitness.

We did a lot of running that morning and I was determined once again to muscle through the pain and finish it (sigh…sound familiar? :) ). Laps for us at the Academy are done around the perimeter of the swimming pool compound, and I believe it spans about 300 metres per round. I honestly thought Roman (pronounced Roe-mahn), our frequently angsty, sullen-faced fitness coach went ku ku. It was a hell lot of running—3 jog laps, 1 sprint lap, 2 jog laps, 1 sprint lap, 1 jog lap, 1 sprint lap; per set, two sets. What made it worse was that we weren’t allowed to stop after either sprint or set, so in all it was doing 18 laps and sprinting for 8 of them. That roughly translates to doing 13.5 laps around a 400m track, non-stop.

Needless to say, I could feel from stride #1 that my leg still wasn’t alright, and rightly so, I got a sore scolding from Nacho when I finally saw him. Thankfully the tear isn’t very big, so I will only be out for the next 4-5 days. I was instructed to ice my ham (mmm, yum yum… haha!) every three hours, and to come in everyday for ultrasound and stretching.

When I came in this morning for treatment, Allez (Nacho’s partnering physiotherapist) got me to lie down for another look. He made me do a series numb-inducing stretches, twisted my leg around in ways I never knew it could twist, then got me to lie on my tummy while he felt my ham (string and butt included). Verdict? He and Nacho think it’s not so much my hamstring that was weak, but my hips and abdomen that needs to give my legs better support—or in Kapi’s words, “protection”. While my legs are strong, my hips mobility and lower back are commensurately less—and so during rigorous movements, they tighten up and in this instance, pulled my left hamstring a little too much. Hence the tear.

Allez told me my sciatic nerve needs to loosen up—it probably caused the injury and its current equal tightness is impeding my healing process. He went on to pummel my butt while I yelped like a pathetic puppy in pain. “You’re probably going to have a little bruise here after this ok?” He laughed as he pressed down hard and I grabbed his knee, yelling “GAAARRRGHHH!!!!”.

When I told Kapi about my leg, he patted me on the shoulder and went “Don’t worry, training won’t stop. We can still do a lot of exercises for your upper body.” And a lot of exercises it has been. I am constantly amazed at how the fitness coaches, tennis coaches and medical team communicate with one another. Before I even told Kapi about Allez’s opinion I heard this morning, he nodded and said “Yes, Nacho told me.” What on earth? Yes it’s some reassurance for sure… I guess. Haha. Allez gave me a few exercises and stretches to focus on, and for fitness today, Kapi focused on my core and back. I wish I could show you guys how cool (and difficult) these exercises were, but this blog post will end up a little to long. Maybe in the next one!

(P.S. Sorry about the typos if any. It’s late and I have only time to type but not re-read through. I’ll edit it later, trust me :) )

Visit to Barcelona centre's oldest market.

Our hawkers could def. learn a thing or two about presentation!

Sweet vendor--my nephews and nieces would swoon, I'm sure!

Hur hur hur.

Kiko was with me when I took this shot.

"How long do you think it'd take you to eat all this meat?" I asked.

He could only blink his eyes in response. Lol.

"You have to play with your eyes."
I had the opportunity to hit with Sergio Casal two days ago--the other half of the Sanchez-Casal Academy, just last Friday.

It was an incredibly windy afternoon, and I was surprised when Andreau, our WTA group coach, patted me on the back and told me "Sarah, you go and play with Sergio now." Grinning, he added "Be prepared to get killed!!" Sergio, standing nearby, laughed and blurted something along the lines of "Sooo not true!"

As tired as I was from the accumulated days of training, I was very excited just to walk on court. Think about it, what opportunity! And just me with him! Woot! We did a couple of drills, starting off with volleys and passing shots--he stood at the net and I at the baseline, hitting lots and lots of passing shots. It's strange--the first few balls I hit were good, deep and fast. But then my brain started working overtime and I started feeling pressure to keep up the qualities of rallies I had initially set upon with such freedom. Then I started getting tired and making mistakes. Hahahah.  Not so cool.

Thankfully, Sergio was understanding about the fatigue.  Whenever the drill stretched out long and I'd start hitting like a pondan, I'd start to compromise the correct movement/footwork, in order to force in more speed.  Each time this happened, he slowed down the feed, shorten the court, and kept on reminding me "I wait for you! I wait for you!"  One thing I really appreciate about the system of training here, is that the coaches are willing to adjust themselves to the individual's pace, especially during ball feeds.  Pushing but not necessarily forcing the player.  There is none of the paranoia to do it fast and furious--the focus is more on control and precision.  Are you moving correctly?  Are you hitting it cleanly?  If you have to go slow to get it correct first, let's go slow together.  It's more about control, precision, positioning and balance.  Once these things are in place, the power and the pace come naturally.

One thing that's also tremendous about the training system here, is the emphasis on understanding the drill before doing it.  Good coaches bother to explain the particular relevance of a drill to the actual game situation.  Why are we hitting the ball down the line instead of cross court?  Why is the alternating shot an approach short cross instead of another down the line?  The particularly exceptional coaches take further pains to differentiate and explain to the player when and why it's a tactical drill or a technical one.  Thankfully there are many of them here--and it amazes me how they all sing the same, cohesive tune.  It's true that there are different grades of coaches here--no one is the same--but still, the variations range from good to incredibly brilliant, so there's really marginal short changing going on.  In my two weeks here, I've trained with 12 coaches and worked 1-1 with about 4.  In between, we are usually assigned to hit 1-1 (2 per court) or do drills with a coach in the ratio of 1:2.  Rarely do we have 1:3 coach:student ratios, or 1:4 court:player ratios--which is fantastic, really.  This really provides space enough to hit and play, and grow properly.

Among all of these, obviously, the 1-1 sessions are the best, because that's when you have the time and chance to ask more questions, and when the coaches themselves have enough focus to explain things in depth.  What I've learnt most during my 1-1 sessions was understanding how these series of drills serve as fractions that add up to the sum total patterns of rallies in an actual game.  Sergio ended up spending more than half of the time we had together explaining the significant relevance of the drills, and then analysing how I could use my specific body type (long arms) to hit my backhand better.  I've been having problems getting into the grove of my backhand, partly because of my old footwork, but also how I'm so used to using a lot of my left hand instead of my right.

But all it took was one astute observation, one simple tweak and I could angle and hit my backhand approach shots so much more easily.  Incredible!

Super duper uber tired. I joined Kapi for fitness today, after my normal day of six hours tennis and fitness. I thought it would be an hour, hour half long session. It turned out to be a two hour ordeal of explosive exercises, running, weights and more running. One of the antics I was asked to engage in (I really shouldn't call it antics) was to do a head stand. Yikes! Kapi's style expects a quick catch-on from the athlete. He repeats the exercises once, yes, only ONCE and you have to catch on and replicate it quickly. If you can't, he will repeat it one more time, but by that time, you're embarrassed enough for not being as quick or apt. Pressure, some. Admittedly. For the head stands, for example, he demonstrated it once ("Lace your fingers, hold your head between your palms, square your elbows, and push up!") and left me to it. Wah lau stress man. I tried once, but ended up tumbling (rather unglamorously) over a pile of stretch mats nearby. Sigh. Pick up. Focus, try again. I managed to do it on my second try. Now it's a matter of doing it again, without any wall support.

Needless to say, I was flat out after the whole day. But it wasn't the end of things yet. Every Wednesday the Academy takes us out on a trip to the supermarketto get our weekly supplies. Because of the session with Kapi, I had to shower, have a pronto dinner and then catch the Academy bus to Carrefour. On the ride there, I was so tired I didn't even want to lift arms. Only just close my eyes.

I bought:
EUR 1,35 A bunch of Delmonte bananas

EUR 4,96 Two big cartons of eggs (30 pieces each) Dad would be so proud! He loves eggs :)

EUR 0,55 5L bottle of mineral water

EUR 0,65 Carrefour isotonic drink

EUR 13,95 A small tub of isotonic powder (like Gatorade)

EUR 0,85 200g pack of salted pumpkin seeds (I just munched a few. Very salty!)

EUR 0,59 200g pack of salted peanuts (I expect this to be just as salty...)

EUR 1,35 1.5l bottle of orange juice. Couldn't resist lah.

EUR 1,31 Pack of green grapes

EUR 0,80 400g pack of Carrefour digestive biscuits (I hope these taste good...)

EUR 1,95 Carrefour soap bars, 4 in a pack

EUR 1,00 Green cotton top on sale

EUR 1,00 Blue cotton top on sale

TOTAL: EUR 30,01

On the ride back I apparently annoyed a blonde-hair-blue-eyed boy on the bus. I was one of the last to get on--and he was sitting right in front, hogging two seats with his groceries and his bum, while everyone else was squashed like sardines on their small seats. Unimpressed, (I was struggling with two big cartons of eggs, come on!) I stopped right in front of him and pointedly asked if I could sit down. The girl sitting across the small aisle raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders as he gruffly got up, making no pains to show he was pissed for being asked to move.

For the next two minutes, I sat next to him, scowling about his attitude and how I was in the right, he was so inconsiderate, blah blah blah. Obviously, I wasn't too happy either, but something inside somehow felt bad for feeling annoyed too (strange, isn't it?). I ended up forcing myself to talk to him with the "Hi, what's your name? Where are you from?" routine. I did mean the questions, but what I meant more to do was to let him know I wasn't intentionally being a pain. I come with peace la, I just needed a seat! Turns out the conversation went really well--he was surprisingly friendly once past the icy cold exterior. 16 year old Russian boy, 3 years at the Academy, curious about, but equally looking forward to College.

We ended up talking about a college education for most of the trip back. Surprisingly, he started off the topic after I told him I'd just finished Uni. He asked a lot of questions, and I could tell, was genuinely interested in the intricacies of the entire experience. In many ways, it really was nice sharing how I felt a University really moulds you into a fuller person in every sense of the word. It expands your mind, your thoughts, your interactions and experiences. He listened with his eyes, his ears, obviously hungry to hear, taste, absorb more--and I was surprised at his eagerness. Tennis Academy aside, how often do we meet people enthusiastic about going to University? Not many in my books. And so, as he asked more, I shrugged and shared more. Introduced more ideas to him, drew more worlds in the semi-darkness as the bus trundled along, past sweeping highway lights and the constant glow of faraway factories, misty in the horizon. I kept on pushing boundaries, recounting experiences, and he kept on keeping on. It's slightly ironic that it took four years of University to expand this young mind's borders in a single bus ride conversation. But what a privilege! As we alighted, I smiled to myself.

Wasn't half that bad a ride back, after all.

Just a short note. Lunch has finished but we´re stuck in the Cafe because it´s been raining. It´s freaking cold today--my fingers were frozen on court, despite the two hooded jackets, cap and two tee shirts. Not a fan of the cold at all!

One week on and I can feel less energy and rigor in my body. It's probably an accumulation of stress of the previous week, a knotted back, and the fact that I haven't gotten a good night's sleep for the past two days. Memories of Eli surface, and precisely because dreams can seem so real, waking up to reality can be distressing.

I started out with the WTA group today--and here is our daily schedule for Mondays to Fridays:

9-10.30am: Fitness
10.30-10.45am: Break Point (you get a fruit and a little bottle of water)
10.45am-1.30pm: Tennis
1.30pm-2.45pm: Lunch/Rest (not much time for rest, you can just about imagine!)
3pm-4.30pm: Tennis
4.45pm-5.30pm: Stretching

I was really looking forward to the group, and seeing their level of play. True to form, all of them play well, move well, hit well. Still, I was genuinely surprised to realise the different work ethic some of them held. Over fitness, they ignored instructions and argued with the coaches. One instance was when the fitness coaches were encouraging us to start writing down things we were weak in and things we needed to improve on--in preparation for the coming fitness test we're going to have in two weeks. "Write down your strengths, weaknesses, and even the things you eat for every meal." To my surprise, one of the girls started arguing and being openly sarcastic about how much effort it would take jotting everything down. "I'm not going to write an essay man." Sheesh.

Over tennis, two out of the four girls I hit with pulled a long face over drills. Their body language and general demeanor reeked of attitude and disinterest--maybe it was because I was the one on the other side hitting with them (ha ha!), but it was challenging being patient, and genuinely disappointing because it was obvious they had a lot of talent. That said, not all of them are like that--but it's still hard to improve and train when half your hitting partners seem too self-involved to give training their best shot.

I'm off to do a little bit of back massage with a good ol' wall and tennis ball before I sleep now.

I hope tonight spells a better sleep, and tomorrow, a better day.

--------

Dinner:
Aglio Pasta (that tasted like fried noodles, thank God!)
Veal with pepper sauce
Steamed cod
Orange walnut salad with feta cheese
Baguette with olive oil
Watermelon + something-that-tasted-bitter drink
Peach Juice

Quiet time by the pool after a long day of training. The water is painfully cold but it's good for muscle recovery.


Lunch (mmmmmmm!)
Salad with raw herring (I didn't quite like the herring)
Beans with fried fish fillet and pork sausage
Brown rice with peas and carrots
Kiwi
Orange fanta (my one indulgence:P)
Tomato cucumber drink (tasted horrible!, hence the half-cup)


Things I have to do today.

-----

How disappointing. I didn't manage to train by the beach with Kapi today. He had arranged for Estella--the bungalow resident supervisor--to contact me about the time I was supposed to have met the group this morning, after tennis. Unfortunately, she was no where to be found this morning. After looking for her in her bungalow four times, visiting the offices, tramping to the gym and asking reception, not only could they not find her--they couldn't contact Kapi either. To think I had prepped so carefully last night to do fitness with them today.

The good news, though, is that Ángel Giménez told me this morning over tennis that I am to train with the WTA group come the start of next week (!!!!) We did a session together this morning, and he is a very good coach who bothers to explain in detail, why we are doing a particular drill, and for what specific reasons. He's a short, little man, with stout legs, a mustache, shaggy grey hair, and wonderful eyes that show incredible kindness.

I still feeling a little overwhelmed with the news--and can think of a few reasons why I wouldn't be able to match up to this. But then again, these are mere thoughts. Before I left, Pastor Prince preached a really powerful sermon about how we have to constantly bring our thoughts captive not to our insecurities or fears which is so natural, but rather, to Christ, in whom is our security, strength and solid assurance.

Psalms 18:2
The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.

I think the same goes for this transition to the WTA group. It's a privilege, filled with incredible opportunity to improve my game. Let me just look at it that way. Focus, Sarah, have fun, enjoy yourself :)

Today marks day four of the programme--I'm sorry I've not thrown as quick an update as I know some of you have been hoping for. I can just about hear the voices popping up: "What's the training like?" "How are the coaches?" "What do you do for physical training?" "And the coach student ratio?" "The academy's facilities?" The voices and the questions just keep going on and on, and trust me, they're like a bad cloud looming at the back of my head each time I have time to sit down and... rest.

Truth be told, I'm just so knackered after training, I hardly have time enough to sleep, much less blog. Time to do the bare essentials is also sparse, and I'm just so tired (or rather, paranoid about optimizing recovery) that I don't think or do anything that's not an essential. Read: Eat well and slowly, see to laundry and water, and writing notes notes notes about what I learnt for the day. Even my formerly-freakish obsession with checking my inbox has been pushed into the margins of low-priority. It's a real change of pace, but I'm enjoying it, no doubt.

In many ways, I finally have the time to concentrate on my game. And it feels wonderfully liberating. I am amazed—despite the aches and pains—to see how fast my body is responding to the training—in the most minute ways. My cross-courts and down the lines are getting more consistent. Thanks to the coaches, I've found myself effortlessly hitting the ball much harder, much faster. I get surprised hearing the clear "phark!" sound off my strings now. And only three days, at that! So much, and yet still so much to learn.

One thing for sure, is that I've managed to move up the groups some, so far. In the first few days, I was asked to hit with the 10-12 year olds. Very humbling :P…  ! But I just kept at it--so what if they're 10-12? Some of them hit the ball really hard and cleanly, and I could still learn things from them (by observing), and more importantly with the coach overseeing us. So I gave the drills my all, and kept on asking questions. I moved up to train with the 14-16 year olds about two days ago, and in the past two afternoon sessions, moved up again to hit with the older 15-17 year old boys who are with the Academy for at least a year. I notice more kids here go through the motions, than critically think and dissect their game. I'm not sure if it's an age/maturity thing, but then again, there are the few rare gems who do have a lot of talent and grit.

Today over dinner, I was most surprised when Kapi--the head fitness director came up to me and said "Tomorrow after tennis training, you come and do fitness with me and my girls." Me being a blur sotong, wasn't quite sure what exactly he meant by "his girls". I found out later from Kiko that they're the WTA girls. In one of the first days after practice, I stayed behind in the gym to see him train Marina—a WTA girl who’s currently ranked 50-60 in the world (I think). It was incredible seeing the type of stretches he made her do—and how he followed it up with a series of dynamic explosive exercises with weights, bands, etc—systematically stretching and strengthening different muscle groups. This stout, pony-tailed man has an incredibly creative, focussed, athlete-centric mind. While I sat on a fitness ball and felt shy watching them train, he attended Marina as any true professional trainer would—attentively and with great care and detail. “Nope, don’t bend your back, keep it straight, push your hips down.” “Push your foot slightly back, yes keep it in position as you reach for your shin.” Some of the stretches he made her do would’ve been impossible alone—and I’m certainly not doing him justice merely describing this man in action. Such an eye-opener.

Tomorrow's actually a half-day for the Academy--it's a Catalan holiday so there's only to be 2 hours of tennis and 1 hour of fitness, instead of the usual 6. But with Kapi, we're going to the beach after tennis, to run on the sand and climb steps. Let's see how it goes. Exciting lah 

----

Rhema for the day: "For by You I can run against a troop, By my God I can leap over a wall." -- Psalms 18:29

Strange things I've seen so far:
- A woman in church with super frizzy hair and PURPLE eyebrows
- A Nigerian smiling and stirring ice cream into his hot coffee
- A Russian mother and daughter at the Academy, decked in nothing but Chanel. Overkill...

Church on Sunday was much better than I expected. After some research online, there seemed to be only one English speaking church in the city--the International Church of Barcelona. It was hell trying to find the place, but I'm proud I found it. I only had to ask 4 strangers for directions and arrive thirty minutes late. Hahaha!

After getting past the initial awkwardness of standing around and trying to say hello to new people (I had to force myself to stay put and smile, seriously!)--it panned out with an invite to lunch with the young adults ministry, meeting a whole bunch of people from all over the world, and talking to a Russian dude (among them!) about Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment--the book I'm reading now. "Everyone tells me about Tolstoy and Dostoevsky--but no one in Russia reads them!! They're just exports!!!" he lamented. Hahahahahha, funny indeed.

On the bus ride back, I zoning out of the window, enjoying my ipod when out of no where, this hand popped in view and started gesticulating violently. It was a middle-aged man pointing furiously to this sign by the side of my seat. I was sitting on the "Elderly seat" and apparently was ignoring the old woman 2metres behind me, standing next to the exit! He was speaking strongly, and while I didn't understand a word he said, it was pretty embarrassing. I immediately got up, apologetic of course, and the irony was that the old woman didn't even want my seat! A stop later, an old man eventually took it up. I attach a photo here:


He looks like the old man from Up!

And this is just the first of many more times I've gotten yelled at!! It's really taking some time getting used to the culture here, but definitely stay tuned with more stories to come.

This is it. I’m here.

It feels surreal. The 16 hour flight, the fat old man next to me with the overwhelming b.o., and then emerging to the startlingly cool chill of Barcelona’s waning spring. Strange as this mishmash was, it all fed the excitement drumming through my veins. Drum, drum, drum. Yes, even sitting here in the restaurant canteen chewing on lunch as I type this—players of all ages, sizes and nationalities bustle in and out. They stream in carrying their huge-ass tennis bags, snorting to each other in different languages. They secretly scope out each other’s tennis outfits, smile at old friends, talk about the draw of the latest tournament at the Academy. On the walls, tennis greats like Henin, Federer and Nadal look over, silent with their immortalized trophies and autographed best wishes. It is a little overwhelming, but at the same time so, so damn cool.

I touched down at 9am this morning and was picked up by Juan, one of SC’s drivers. He was a short, pudgy, middle-aged man standing glumly at the arrival gate, one hand on chin and the other holding out an A4 sheet with “SARAH PANG” printed huge and bold from side to side. I felt very bad for having made him wait (I had to take a huge dump in the toilet! Ha ha!) but once I waved at him and muttered a sheepish “Hola!”, the man broke into a wide grin and immediately insisted on taking over my luggage.

At the academy, Juan introduced me to Kiko—a very friendly Mexican (!) overseer in charge of allocating accommodation at SC. That made settling in much easier than I expected. Later that evening he had time (and allowance from SC!) to take me out for a short rendezvous around town. I drank Sangria (very nice, UC!!!!) and scoped out part of La Ramblas—the main street to Barcelona Centre. The place was teeming with life!! There were still performers around every corner, drum bands beating life into the night air, and sidewalks choked with animal stands, selling pets of every shape and size. Incredible, really.

Going to scope out an English service tomorrow. Looking forward to it!! :)

LUNCH MUNCH:
Stir-fried brown rice—peas, tomato slivers, and chicken bits included
Grilled salmon fillet
Potato wedges
Fruit salad—lettuce, sweet honey dew, orange slices, kiwi and watermelon chunks. Mmm!
Wholemeal baguette
Mineral water