Joe Joyce looks back: ‘My parents didn’t want me to box. I thought I’d become an artist’

Born in London in 1985, Joe Joyce is one of Britain’s most interesting boxers. He triumphed in school swimming galas and on the rugby pitch, before starting to take boxing seriously in his early 20s, training at the same gym as Frank Bruno. Joe earned the nickname the Juggernaut after winning gold at the European Games and Commonwealth Games, as well as taking home silver at the 2016 Olympics in Rio, and turned professional in 2017. Absolutely Marvellous, a documentary about his mother, Marvel, who is 93% blind, was released in 2022.

I was two years old and in Victoria Park in east London when this photograph was taken. That looks like a pearl necklace I’m wearing, but it was actually more functional – my parents put a dummy around my neck so I wouldn’t lose it. It also looks like I’m holding myself up on the side of the bin, but I was pretty steady on my feet by this age. During a previous park visit, I’d apparently run off into the lake with the ducks. Someone had to fish me out and wrap me up in a blanket.

I was pretty good as a little boy, but I had a lot of energy and was always moving. I had already started swimming by the age of two, and could ride a bike when I was three. I wasn’t especially tall until I turned five, which was when I started playing rugby for an under‑nine team, as well as doing karate. Then I started growing properly: when I was 12, I was 6ft (1.83m) with size 12 feet, and by the time I was 18 I was 6ft 6in.

Dad would have taken this photo. My parents split up when I was little – Dad lived in east London, and I lived in south-west London with my mum. I had the best of both worlds: two houses, two holidays, two birthdays, two Christmases. Lots of things to do and plenty of attention, whether it was trying new sports with my dad or going to music festivals with my mum. The only downside was that when they got together for the exchange, they would fight. That was hard to be around.

Related: Zara Larsson looks back: ‘I never really had any worries about or doubts about being successful’

Mum lost her sight in an accident when she was a little girl, and can only see patches of light through a monocular [a small telescope]. As I was her first son [Joe’s brother is the musician Torann Opara], I was Mum’s carer. If she was going out alone, I would have to do things like help her learn the layout of supermarkets, or tell her the number of the bus that was approaching. I could never just leave her: I would have to check if she got on to the bus, and if we were travelling together I would always help her read signs or tell her when to get off a train. It was all I’d ever known, so I never considered the dynamic as different, but in retrospect I had a level of responsibility that other kids my age didn’t have. I didn’t find it tough though: I would always put myself in my mum’s shoes and imagine how hard it would be not to see. That being said, I’d also play games with her and joke around, saying, “Look Mum, the bus is here!” even if it wasn’t.

When I was at primary school, I was bullied and got into quite a few fights as a result, which I would always win. It was verbal bullying, and they would push me and push me until I’d snap and have to beat them up. I didn’t get in a lot of trouble though – I was never expelled. I would get the odd detention, and I would bunk off school like any other adolescent. I made mistakes, but in general I was middle of the road. Neither good nor bad.

My teen years were full of activities, but I had no idea what I wanted to do. I didn’t know who I was or where I fitted into the world yet, so I tried everything. I played the trumpet, did rugby, and swapped karate for kickboxing, kung fu and athletics. Mum would drag me around with her wherever she went – whether that was to an African drumming class or to stand in as one of her case studies when she taught massage.

When I was 18, I realised I was really unfit. I was drinking and smoking and getting up to no good. If I ran for a bus I would feel out of breath, and I didn’t like that. So I decided to go to a gym as well as doing diving at the local leisure centre. A Cuban athlete who worked there called Juan [Hernandez Piñeda] became my mentor. Until then, I just wanted to hit a bag and spar, but he saw my potential as a boxer and said he thought I could go to the Olympics. He ended up sending me to Cuba for 21 days to train. When I came back, I won the super-heavyweight class at the 2012 ABA Championships.

Neither of my parents wanted me to box. Although I was always doing sport, I didn’t expect it to become my profession. Initially, I thought I would become a painter. My dad taught me how to oil-paint when I was seven, and Mum taught me about pottery. I was studying fine art at Middlesex University when I first met Juan, so painting was my passion.

Boxing was just for fun at the start, but things started to take off very quickly. I met Frank Bruno at one of my first fights. He told me there was a lot of money to be made in boxing so I should keep it up, and I’m glad I did. I ended up getting medals at all the major championships.

Competing in the Olympics was definitely a career highlight. How many people get to go to the Olympics, let alone medal at them? While the experience was amazing, it was tough for me. I felt like I got robbed of the gold [by French boxer Tony Yoka, in a fight that was subsequently scrutinised by an independent investigation]. The super-heavyweight final was the last boxing event of the Olympics, so I had to wait right until the end to compete. I was still training and working hard while the other competitors around me had finished and could go out. I could hear them celebrating, and it was hard to stay focused. I couldn’t leave the village. Even after the closing party, I couldn’t really relax: the next morning, I had to get up and speak to the media.

When I’m not working, I do like to enjoy life. I swim and I have an electric skateboard, but it’s important for me to let my hair down too. As for my future, I will keep competing. The goal is to become a heavyweight champion. After that, I could transition into something else. You can get typecast as a boxer, but I can do a lot of things: I even did a year abroad in Sacramento, California, where I learned about cheerleading – I liked moves like tumbling, where I would throw the female cheerleader up in the air and catch her by her feet. I wouldn’t mind acting in a film too, and I’d like to pass on my skills and help the young, the way I was helped. I could teach diving, swimming or art. Anything really. But maybe not the trumpet.