A story that starts with lines of code, passes through sport and sport science, and ends — for now — in a physiotherapy clinic in the Salamanca district of Madrid.
If someone had told me at sixteen that I would end up as a physiotherapist, I probably would not have believed it. At that age I was spending most of my time in front of a computer, writing code, solving problems that barely anyone asked me to solve, and enjoying the process as an end in itself.
Programming taught me something I value to this day: that complex problems have structure, that structure can be understood, and that if you understand it well enough, you can find a systematic path to a solution. It is a way of looking at the world that I have never fully abandoned.
Sport was always there as a parallel passion. Football, athletics, whatever there was. At some point — I cannot pinpoint exactly when — sport began to matter more than the screen. And with sport came a new kind of question: why does the body respond the way it does? Why do some people recover quickly from injuries and others don't? Why does training that works for one athlete have no effect on another?
Those questions led me to study Sport Science (CAFyD). It was a deliberate decision, and the right one. Studying how the body moves, adapts and breaks down was the closest thing to programming I had ever found, but applied to a system infinitely more complex: a human being.
«Sport science taught me that the body is a system. Physiotherapy taught me that every system has a person behind it.»
During my CAFyD years I began working in sport readaptation — accompanying athletes from injury back to full performance. That work introduced me to physiotherapists with a completely different level of depth in their anatomical knowledge and their ability to intervene clinically. I wanted that.
I enrolled in physiotherapy at the Universidad Francisco de Vitoria in Madrid. It was four more years, but they were worth it. One of them I spent in Coventry, in the United Kingdom, as part of an exchange programme — an experience that shaped my clinical perspective and my way of understanding the physiotherapist-patient relationship. British health culture does something well: it places emphasis on the patient's autonomy and the importance of giving them tools to self-manage, not just to receive treatment.
After graduating, I completed a Master's in Invasive Physiotherapy at CEU San Pablo — the specialisation that brought me into the most anatomically precise territory of the profession: needles, infiltrations, direct work on specific structures. A natural complement to what I already knew how to do.
I want to tell one story, because I think it explains better than anything why I am doing this.
A few years ago, I had a patient who had suffered a stroke. She had lost mobility on one side of her body. When she first came to the clinic, she could barely lift her arm, and walking was a great effort for her. We worked together for months — weeks of small, patient, unhurried progress.
The day she walked into the clinic without a stick, I understood what physiotherapy really is. Not a technique, not a protocol: a process in which two people work together to recover something the person feared they had lost forever.
That is what I do. That is why I do it.