To rejoice and keep pushing: the story of physiotherapist Joyce

Starting off

Afternoon light spilled gently across the training room at The Clinic, softening the metallic glint of dumbbells and resistance bands in the gym. By then, I had just finished another set of balance exercises, with Joyce timing for me. She wore a black polo shirt, embroidered with The Clinic's logo, and her face, framed by short brown hair, carried the casual calmness of someone who had witnessed both pain and recovery up close.

I've known Joyce since I was 12, when I was first barred from volleyball due to a foot injury. But it wasn't until last year, when I began spending my breaks training here, that our conversations deepened. Today, I was lucky enough to have trained with her and asked if she would share her path, struggles, and the world she navigates as a physiotherapist. She agreed with a warm, amused smile.

Early Inspirations and Struggles

I began with the most generic question, “What first motivated you to become a therapist?"

Joyce leaned back on the chair for weightlifting, folding her arms loosely. Her eyes flickered for a moment, as if tracing back years of memory.

"I studied at Nanjing Medical University, and by the time I had completely no idea what I would be off to after college finishes," she said slowly, her voice carrying a soft steadiness. "I had my own physical struggles— not having the best conditions to play the sports I love, and lingering injuries and fatigue that followed me even after college. To be honest, I was never strong or fit enough. Some days I felt my body wouldn't keep up with what my mind wanted to learn and work."

Her lips curved into a smile with resilience, “After college, I tried several jobs- had my internship as a doctor elsewhere in Shanghai, being a fitness trainer, etc. I wouldn’t say I didn’t like them… I did put effort into them, but something is missing that I couldn’t tell- perhaps it’s happiness, perhaps it’s the flexibility and freedom of working time.” She raised her eyebrows and looked at me, pursing her lips as if her mind was brought back to her most naive memories. Joyce carried on.

“I went through the frustrations in working environments and staying at home. I understood what it meant to hurt, to want to recover. So I thought, if I can't make myself perfect, at least I can dedicate myself to helping others move better, feel stronger. Maybe that's exactly why I chose this path- to pass this resilient attitude to life onto more people, who’re mentally or physically hurt.”

Her words carried no bitterness, yet only the clarity that revealed how hardship had given rise to perseverance. I nodded, realizing that those struggles had given her a depth of understanding that textbooks and classes in college alone could never provide.

Starting The Clinic

I wandered to the training area behind us, where athletes from different backgrounds worked quietly with staff. “The Clinic seems unique. What's it like working here?”

Her eyebrows lifted in excitement, her tone becoming more animated. “It's special. Did you know that I was the very first one to join and start this institution? Despite having a decade of memories here, it’s the people- our customers and trainers- who have made this little space a special one.”

Joyce looked up at me, her face carrying a tender smile, said “actually, many student athletes from bilingual or international schools come here during breaks—basketball, volleyball, footballers, swimmers, etc. Swimmers train particularly hard,” a subtle sense of admire popped up, “They're sometimes away from their usual training bases but don't want to lose momentum. So they come here.” 

“I see them sweat, struggle, and improve, all in this room. For me, that's incredibly positive. It shows not just their dedication, but also the trust they place in us." Joyce was clearly so proud of them.

She leaned forward on the chair again, eyes glowing with confidence. “You'd be surprised how much these young athletes inspire me. They juggle academics, cultural adjustments, and competition, yet still come here every morning. It reminds me that resilience isn't only for professionals—it lies in every level of sport.”

I felt her words resonate deeply, thinking of my own summer mornings spent here, finding both challenge and comfort in her guidance.

Encountering the World's Best Athletes

When I asked about memorable career highlights, Joyce's expression shifted to one of pride laced with humility. 

She scrolled through her phone and showed me a photo from the recent Diamond League in Keqiao. Her eyes sparkled as she detailed her journey. “I was there providing physiotherapy support in many international tournaments. I saw Kirani James again just as I saw him 10 years ago. Truly, ten years have passed, and he hadn’t even changed a bit…” she pointed on her phone, “here he is, still running, still defying time, gravity, and air resistance… There’s Sandra Perković, too—the queen from Croatia. Seeing athletes like them reminds me that sport itself is a form of resistance against aging.”

Joyce’s hand lingered on the screen before she continued, “Look, just by the beginning of May, I worked with Mondo Duplantis, the pole vaulter who now holds the world's top ten records. Imagine—one man rewriting an entire sport's standard.” She shook her head in admiration.

Her voice softened as she unfolded, “Moments like these remind me how fortunate I am. To witness greatness up close, and to know that my small part—taping, massaging, adjusting—helps them step onto the track with confidence.”

The genuineness of imbuing patients with confidence truly touched me: I almost felt like it was a mental therapy rather than a physiological one. So I asked another question, “After all these past events, what do you find most interesting in your patients, or what would you cherish the most during any therapy?”

Joyce working with the pole vaulting world record holder, Mondo Duplantis 

Joyce’s sharp professionalism gives way to warmth after those exciting small stories. “You know, every patient here carries a story behind the injuries. It could be sad, it could be ridiculous. I’ll have to know that sometimes it's not just an injury—it's fear or doubt, especially for those on a more advanced level of competition.” Joyce’s tone became gentle and compassionate, “an athlete worrying they won't return to the field. A student fearing they'll fall behind. I did see all of that in their posture, in their eyes.”

She smiled gently, her gaze turning toward me. “Of course, I can see your fear. When you first came here, you were hesitant, cautious. But now you move with more confidence. That change—that's what fascinates me. Not just physical growth, but emotional transformation...”

As our conversation drew to a close, Joyce glanced around the clinic, her expression a little more determined, "I don't think I chose the easiest career. There are long hours, physical exhaustion, and sometimes, little recognition. But every time I see someone walk out of here stronger than when they came in—that's enough. That's what keeps me here.”

The Clinic is hummed with the quiet discipline of recovery. Joyce's presence seemed woven into it all, steady and grounded. She has fully blended herself into this place for the past decade.

As I walked out into the late summer air, I was still amazed by her journey—from struggling on her own to standing beside Olympians and world champions, to guiding and training young athletes like me. Joyce embodies a paradox: shaped and initiated by vulnerabilities, yet she has reconciled all of them and is now a source of strength and inspiration for others. 

This unintended, ingenious paradox is exactly Joyce’s greatest gift for her patients.