The mind game

Origins

Federico Chingotto grew up in Olavarría, a city of 100,000 in the Buenos Aires province where padel was not a sport but a language. His parents played. His cousin played on the street in front of the house. By five years old, Fede had a racket in his hand. He has not put it down since.

“It got into my blood,” he says. “I feel it’s my life. When my head gets too full, going to train gives me life.”

He is the only child of parents who gave him one clear message. On the door of his childhood bedroom they placed a phrase that has never left him: always try to be the best, never believe you are.

“That phrase has marked me. It pushes me every day.”

The climb

The path from Olavarría to the top of world padel was not linear. It required, among other things, sleeping in a car.

When funds were short, Fede and his partner would drive to a tournament the night before, skip the hotel, and sleep in the car. They would wake up, drive to the venue, and compete. “I know a lot of service stations in Argentina,” he says, with something between pride and disbelief at the memory.

To raise travel money, he played in rifas, fundraising draws, what the Spanish call tómbolas. Sponsors were scarce. The prize money at junior level did not cover costs. Every tournament was a calculation. A bad result meant the next tournament might not happen.

“I knew I had one shot. Either it worked out or I went back to Argentina and padel would just be a hobby. I don’t think there’s a greater pressure than that, knowing you have one bullet to make your dream real.”

In July 2016, he and his partner won a qualifying spot for a European circuit tournament in Alicante. They had two days of practice. They came through pre-qualifying, qualifying, and reached the round of 16, where they faced Paquito Navarro and Sanyo Gutiérrez, then ranked No. 12 in the world.

“They were our idols. We had watched them on our phones. They beat us 6-0, 6-1 in 45 minutes. But that feeling, walking onto the main court with a full crowd, my heart was full. For us, reaching the round of 16 from pre-qualifying was a prize.”

The click

For eight years, Fede competed at the highest level and did not win a title. Not for lack of effort. Not for lack of talent. Finals came. They slipped. The difference, he now understands, was almost entirely in the head.

“One day something clicks. You start to feel more secure. When you reach that final, you’re a little calmer. You don’t fully understand it while it’s happening. But something changes.”

The call that changed everything came while he was on his way to get a haircut.

Alejandro Galán, former World No. 1 and five-time world champion, rang to propose a partnership. “I was walking out of the hairdresser and I stayed frozen. I wasn’t expecting it. Obviously it was my idea, I thought we could build something great together. But hearing it from him, like that, I was stunned.”

Their first year together: 15 consecutive finals. Five titles. The click had arrived.

The night before

Fede plays over 90 official matches a year. The week runs Monday to Saturday, two sessions a day, physical work in the morning, padel in the afternoon. Seven to eight hours of training, daily.

At that volume, sleep is not a luxury. It is a training variable.

“Quality matters more than quantity. Sometimes you sleep nine or ten hours and still don’t feel rested. I’ve seen it in my data. The deep sleep phases, how you move through the night, that’s what matters.”

The night before a final, the anxiety surfaces in a specific way. “I get hungry. Nervous eating. Now I know myself, I put fruit out so I’m not attacking the chocolate.”

He turns off screens. He has two anchors. The first: fishing videos. A man with a GoPro, standing on a riverbank, waiting. “I am hyperactive. Nervous. And somehow, watching fishing, I go completely still. I can imagine I’m there with him. It puts me in another place.”

The second: Dragon Ball. An episode or two. Then sleep.

“Sport is almost entirely mental at high level. Even the reset after a loss, that’s mental. You can have a free week, but if your head hasn’t paused, it’s like you haven’t rested at all.”

Recovery as discipline

Two or three years ago, Fede was not sleeping well. He is hyperactive by nature, his mind runs fast, even in the dark. He kept his phone close. He stayed up late. He compensated with long siestas because he was running a sleep deficit from the night before.

“I was activating myself with everything, without realising it. I couldn’t rest. Then someone showed me the path, removing screens, red light in the evenings, things that help you wind down. And when you try it and feel the difference, you start to pay attention.”

Now recovery is structured. After every match: communicate with family. Shower. Treatment with the physio, ideally before dinner. No exceptions. “That moment, it’s like the match never happened. The body resets. Then back in bed.”

After a late match, sometimes finishing at 9 or 10pm, the adrenaline does not clear until 2 or 3am. The Pod by Eight Sleep holds him there. “I’m very hot in summertime. I set it cold, minus 2. It gives you that fresh feeling, you want to wrap up more. I feel the difference in recovery the next morning.”

The dream

“The dream is already happening. I am living it. I can help my family. I travel well to tournaments. I have the tools to perform. When things go badly, I think about sleeping in the car, about the rifas, about that one shot, and I am grateful. Immediately.”