William Liu, a former athlete on one of China's top volleyball teams, says he now lives a very different life. ZOU HONG / CHINA DAILY

Aged 19 and a player on one of the top volleyball teams in China, William Liu began to notice what was happening around him. Senior teammates were getting injured, their bodies were wearing out and they were unable to return to the game and were put out to pasture like racehorses that had run a few too many times around the track.

"I knew I had to change my life," said Liu, now 28. "I saw I could not play volleyball forever."

But he said it is not easy for Chinese athletes to quit the sport they have dedicated their lives to.

Sports schools tend to put training ahead of education, leaving athletes with few skills to do anything outside the system they grew up in. It can be equally hard for those who want to play on teams in Europe or America. Such a move, if possible at all, is viewed as a deep betrayal to the institutions that supported their careers.

Liu managed to get out.

What propelled him to leave was not wholly a desire to play volleyball somewhere else. It was more of a need to go to college, to learn English, to build a future for himself beyond the volleyball court and the relentless hours of training.

Around 2000, while playing for one of the top Chinese teams, Liu, originally from Dalian, began applying to colleges in the United States. A friend translated e-mails into English that he sent to dozens of coaches there. He had to hide his ambition to leave his teammates and his coaches.

"It was very stressful," he said. "I couldn't let anyone know. And I could not get off the team. I had to keep everything a secret because I really wanted to go."

Liu heard back from coaches. Many were interested in him, and two schools in Hawaii and Wisconsin offered him full scholarships to play. Yet he soon encountered another obstacle. Because he played on a military team, he could not get a visa to the US where immigration restrictions were tighter than ever after the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks.

Once again, the situation seemed hopeless. To even be considered for a visa, Liu would have to leave the military and obtain a Chinese passport (military personnel have passports that are different from those of normal Chinese citizens). That would mean giving up everything and risk gaining nothing and there was still no guarantee he could get the proper documentation to go to the US.

Walking away would mean the end of his professional volleyball career in China. His contract, salary, sponsorship - everything would be severed. He would have to start all over with few chances of entering the Chinese education system where students' fates are determined well before they ever set foot on college campuses.

Liu left anyway.

Returning to his parents' home, a place he had not lived in for nearly a decade, Liu switched his passport and around the same time won a scholarship to a language school in Canada.

He traveled to Beijing to apply for a visa at the Canadian Embassy. For days he waited and waited, finally to receive the news that he could go.

"I got my freedom," Liu said. "I will never forget that day."

Liu moved to Canada, speaking no English at all and unable to get around, he was totally lost.

"I almost cried," he said.

His English did, eventually, improve and soon he joined a beach volleyball team in Montreal. He and his teammates entered the Canadian national championships and placed fifth: The volleyball career Liu had left behind in China was clearly not over. Instead it was escalating to a different level - a level that would rekindle ambitions Liu once had to be one of the top players in the world.

From Montreal, Liu moved to Vancouver where he received a scholarship to play for the University of British Columbia. As the only Chinese volleyball player in the country, Liu stood out not only because of his talent but also because of his nationality.

Competing against players from around the world, Liu's skills continued to advance. Soon, agents from European teams were approaching him, luring him to join national teams in France and Switzerland.

He went. And then, in March last year, during a game in Lugano, Switzerland, he was hit by injury. Jumping up for a spike, Liu landed on the foot of a teammate. A tendon in his ankle snapped. At that moment, he says, he knew his career was over.

Unsure of what to do next, Liu returned to Vancouver. There, the reality of the end of his career began to sink in.

"Those emotional feelings, like you have some awesome job, you have been doing it for so many years and you have so much more room to grow, and you are on your way to reach your goal and you have to stop it. It was hard to keep my emotions down and stay positive."

With no solid leads, Liu decided to return to Beijing.

Liu, who studied business and physical fitness while playing in Canada, has been interviewing with a few investment firms and sports companies. To make ends meet, he offers personal training sessions, mostly to Chinese celebrities and wealthy foreigners.

"It is challenging," he said. "Before, my life as a professional athlete meant everything was organized for me. Now it is different, I have to do everything for myself, find an apartment, build relationships, learn how to communicate with people. It is challenging."

China Daily