When the legendary Rafael Nadal retired at the end of 2024 at the age of 38, he seemed to take with him not just his 22 Grand Slam titles (a record 14 of them at the French Open), but an entire world of secrets, too. Unlike so many other athletes who played a sport at the highest level for a long period of time, Nadal didn’t much seem to care to unburden his soul. Unfailingly polite, one of the greatest sportsmen to play any sport, revered by his rivals, sure—but, as a man of few words, eternally something of a cipher.

Director Zach Heinzerling’s new four-part documentary, Rafa, which premieres on Netflix on May 29, goes a long way to change all that. Yes, we see Nadal grow up in Majorca, a tennis prodigy from an early age, coached and shaped (for almost the entirety of his career, as it would turn out) by his uncle Toni, who taught him to push, and push, and push, and push. Crucially, though, we also see the toll of this pushing—on Nadal’s body as well as his psyche.

Lifelong Rafa-watchers like me, of course, are well aware of the injuries that, far too often, kept Nadal from playing far too many tournaments (over the course of his career, he missed 18 Grand Slams). But even I was taken aback, when watching Rafa, at how early these injuries started, how serious and rather existential they were, and how early and often Nadal was forced to make excruciating choices about his health and his career.

The documentary, replete with revealing conversations with (of course) Nadal, with uncle Toni, and with Roger Federer and Novak Djokovic, among many, many others, also delivers some incredible insight to Rafa’s renowned on-court rituals; his almost Sisyphus-like drive; his tender relationship with his family; and his crucial decision-making about ending his career.

In short: If you’re a tennis fan, or particularly a Nadal fan, this documentary is required watching. We caught up with Rafa over a Zoom to ask him about it.

Vogue: Where are you speaking to us from? I sense a little commotion in the background. . .

Rafael Nadal: I‘m in Madrid today, because tonight we have the premiere of the documentary, so we have been working on the preparations all day; I traveled yesterday from my home in Majorca.

Slightly random, but I have to ask: When is the last time you hit some balls on a tennis court?

In any way? I mean, playing with my son, who’s three years old—I don‘t see that as hitting a tennis ball, but when he wants to play, I play. Otherwise, I think around seven months ago, whether it was at home or at my academy—I went through a surgery on my hand six months ago, so I was not able to play for a bit after that.

Let’s get straight to the documentary, which I loved. Why did you do this now? You seem like a rather private person—I‘m wondering if you simply wanted to tell a story that hasn‘t been told before?

Because it‘s something that is going to stay forever with us. I think it’s going to be a good memory of the last stages of my tennis career—in a personal way. And then I found the right team: great director, Zach (Heinzerling), and a great team working on the documentary. It’s something I refused to do during all my tennis career, but this time I decided to move forward with it, during the last year of my career, knowing that it probably was my last chance. I think I‘m happy with that decision. It was tough at the beginning, of course—putting cameras in front of people that were not used to having them around. It‘s always a strange feeling at the beginning, but [the team] was great, and my family got used to it.

It‘s very personal. We see these quite crucial moments when you are making major decisions—about your health and your medical treatment, about your career, and even about ending your career. We see you in these tender moments playing with your son. Was there any situation where you just said, "No”—like, you can‘t film this?

I mean, when I‘m going to the shower, I don‘t want them to show my shower time [laughing]. No—but I mean, if you do a documentary like this, you have to do it the proper way. If not, don‘t do it. I didn‘t want to hide anything—I was just being myself. I wanted people to see who I am in my daily life in a real way, not just in front of the cameras or on a public stage.

One of the most riveting parts of this film was the footage centered on your different rituals or habits on the tennis court. These are things, of course, very familiar to your fans—before every serve, you adjust your hair, your headband, your shorts; at changeovers, you became somewhat notorious for aligning your water bottles on the court below your chair in a very, very particular way. What I didn‘t know—until I saw it and heard it here, from your uncle Toni, your longtime coach—was that this was something that, at one point, you tried to get rid of or dial back a little bit. Uncle Toni seemed to think it was beneath you. From your point of view, though, what was the purpose of these rituals—or was there no purpose, and they were something that just kind of evolved and had a life of their own?

People probably think that I was doing all of this because I am superstitious or all this stuff, but I am really not—and I am not doing any of this stuff in my real life. It was a way to make myself comfortable, a way to get myself focused on what I was doing, and a way of not distracting my mind from what I was doing in every moment. The rituals helped me to know exactly what I was doing in every single moment when I was on court. And of course those rituals were increasing during my tennis career—at the beginning, I had less; later on, I had more. But in some way, when you have to compete every day against an opponent, you need to be in your bubble. And that was the way that I felt comfortable, to be honest. That‘s as simple as that. And I tried to avoid that for a while, but I didn‘t achieve that. And that‘s the truth.

You obviously made some very important decisions about your health—about playing with injuries—both early in your career and, actually, throughout your career. Some of the decisions were against the advice of either doctors or people on your team. Are you comfortable with the decisions you made now, or do you have any regrets about playing through your pain?

Of course I would change decisions that I made in my life—without a doubt. But it‘s easy to say now, after knowing the result. On the other hand, because I was able to explore where the limit was, I was able to have a much longer career, and I was able to achieve much more than if I hadn’t tried. So I would change things, yes—but with all the things that I did in my tennis career, I was thinking that I was doing the best thing possible to keep playing tennis at the highest level in the way that I needed.

Last question: It’s French Open time again. Does your blood still start to race at this time of the year? Do you feel it? Do you miss it?

No—not at all. No. My life as a tennis player is closed, and well-closed. I‘m very happy with my new life, and I don‘t feel nostalgic about my past. I am very proud, but it‘s over, and I‘m happy with my new life.

Fair enough. But who, may I ask, is going to win it?

That’s the great thing about sports: it’s unpredictable. It looks like Jannik Sinner is a huge favorite—he‘s achieving everything—but it‘s always difficult to win. But let‘s see if he‘s able to go all the way.

This interview has been edited and condensed.