Name: Rae Woon
Age: 23
Occupation: Business student at Singapore Management University (integrated Bachelor’s and Master’s programme), content creator
Status: Attached
Food: I used to have a really complicated relationship with food, especially after I lost a lot of weight when I was younger. I went from being overweight to feeling addicted to the euphoria of becoming “skinnier” and I thought absolute control was a pre-requisite for discipline.
At one point, I over-monitored everything: calories, macros, “good” foods versus “bad.” It was exhausting. Over time, I realised what I actually needed was not more discipline, but more compassion for myself. Food used to be something I feared. Now, it’s just part of living well.
My relationship with food now is simple: I eat because I respect my body, not because I’m trying to control it.
Exercise: My weeks are like structured chaos. I work out between four to six times a week depending on how heavy my school and internship workload is. I don’t follow a rigid plan; I rotate between what my body and mind need.
Some weeks I’m deep in triathlon prep… running, cycling, swimming. Other weeks, I’m back on the judo mats or rolling in BJJ. I do bouldering and Muay Thai when I can, because I love how it makes me feel sharp and grounded. I do yoga and pilates when I need to slow down. When I travel, I hike or scuba dive. And when I want something light-hearted, I pick up a pickleball paddle and laugh my way through an hour.
I’m far from being professional athlete, and to a certain extent I’m not even particularly gifted in most of these sports. But I love learning new ways to move and meeting parts of myself I didn’t know existed. My only rule is that fitness should add joy, not guilt. I’ve fostered a mindset that I will never train to “burn off” food. I train to celebrate that my body can do things it couldn’t before, which gives me enough reason to keep going.
When you were younger, were you active in sports?
Not at all. I was that stubborn, overweight kid who refused to exercise. I decided early on that sports just weren’t for me. I was always called out in school during height and weight for “needing urgent intervention”, with step-tracking programmes, visits to the health clinic, and yet I still found excuses. Even through my resistance to exercise, I hated feeling slow and different. I thought fitness was something other people did; thinner, faster, stronger people… and just not my thing.
However, my first glimmer of hope came when I experimented with strength-based sports in my secondary school. I was still big, but that worked in my favour for once. I got into sports like boxing and Muay Thai, and realised I had power. For the first time, I realised that even though I was still the slow one, at least I was strong. That tiny perspective change made a huge difference. It taught me that my body wasn’t my enemy. It was just waiting for me to give it a chance.
It took years after that to build consistency and to find the kind of joy I have now. But that was the first spark.
What did you get into as you got older?
When I entered university, everything shifted again. Joining SMU’s Judo Club was the first time I’d ever been part of a real competitive sports team. For the first time, I had a coach, teammates, and a structured reason to train. I wasn’t just exercising alone anymore, I had a community to grow with, and a team to show up for.
Strength was still my biggest advantage, but it only got me so far. I soon faced the harsh reality that you can’t muscle your way through sports if you’re already heaving in the first 30 seconds. My cardio was abysmal and that reality hit hard. I started running out of necessity, not enjoyment, purely to build an aerobic base that was, at best, average.
I joined a few run clubs in hopes of motivating myself and realised that running didn’t have to be this lonely, punishing thing. It could be social, fun, and communal. Suddenly, what started as a personal burden became something I actually looked forward to.
Earlier in 2025, I signed up for my first official race (the 2XU half-marathon) just for fun. I didn’t care about the pace. I just wanted to finish. Crossing that line showed me that I was capable of a lot more than I ever gave myself credit for. I wasn’t fast, but I was consistent, and that felt like its own kind of victory.
From there, my pursuits in sports just snowballed. Running turned into swimming, swimming turned into cycling, and soon the thought of a triathlon didn’t seem so impossible. Each “why not” opened another door, and before I knew it, I was knee-deep in triathlon training, juggling three sports and still wanting to learn more.
That’s how I’ve ended up where I am today… collecting sports and experiences to the best of my average full-time student ability. Every one of them teaches me something different about patience, humility, and joy. It’s not about being great at any of them. It’s about proving to myself that I can keep showing up, again and again.
How do you manage so many different sports?
A big part of it is proving to myself that nothing is ever as unattainable as it first seems. Every time I try something new, I’m reminded that starting from zero isn’t a setback… it’s a chance to rebuild from a different angle. I’ve stopped expecting myself to be perfect at anything. I just want to keep showing up and learning.
Each sport teaches me something different. Running teaches discipline and consistency. Judo and BJJ teaches me humility… that strength isn’t just in how hard you fight, but how quickly you can adapt. Muay Thai keeps me sharp and confident, while diving teaches calm and presence. Yoga and pilates remind me to slow down, to rest, to breathe.
Trying new sports keeps me grounded. It humbles me and keeps me curious. I love being a beginner… that mix of confusion, progress, and surprise when something finally clicks. It reminds me that growth doesn’t only happen in mastery; it happens in the willingness to start over.
For me, movement is really just a long series of “Why Nots.” Why not try? Why not fail? Why not see how far I can go? And each time I say yes, I find a version of myself I didn’t know existed before.
What does fitness mean to you?
Fitness, to me, is a celebration of what my body can do, not a punishment for how it looks. It’s a way of showing respect to myself.
It’s funny because what started as a necessity, gym for strength. running for cardio, training for performance, has become my anchor. Movement keeps me steady when life feels messy. It’s where I feel most myself. It’s how I measure progress, not by outcomes but by how grounded I feel.
Fitness has taught me that clarity isn’t about having everything figured out. I think that’s why I fell in love with it. It gives me space to exist without overthinking. I used to see fitness as a means to an end… to look a certain way, to hit a number, to chase satisfaction and confidence. Now, I see it as a lifelong dialogue between my body and mind. It’s not about being the best. It’s about staying curious, grateful, and capable.
When you were younger, did you experience any incidents that made you feel insecure about yourself?
Absolutely. I think insecurity was almost a default setting growing up. I hated how clothes fit. I hated photos. I hated being the slow one. But overall, I hated how I spoke to myself and how I was my own worst critic. At my heaviest, I was around 90 kilograms at sixteen. I remember hiding behind baggy clothes, avoiding mirrors, and pretending not to care.
Have you gone through any adversities in life that changed how you viewed life?
The hardest part of my journey wasn’t the workouts or the discipline, it was learning to rebuild a relationship with myself after years of neglect. I realised you can lose weight or gain muscle, but self-compassion and mindset doesn’t transform overnight. There was no dramatic transformation montage, just a series of small, unglamorous choices. But through fitness, I started seeing tangible proof that effort compounds. Every early morning, every sweaty run-walk, every time I followed through even when I didn’t want to, and that’s what rebuilt my confidence.
In 2023, I became a certified personal trainer and worked at an all-women’s gym called MSFIT. That chapter changed me in ways I didn’t expect. Training other women reminded me that everyone carries their own version of struggle. It made me realise how powerful movement can be, not as a way to perfect your body, but as a way to reclaim it. That’s when I understood that strength isn’t just physical. It’s the quiet kind that builds in the background when no one’s watching.
When did you feel the least confident about yourself?
My late teens were easily the lowest point. It was the weird middle space, where you are no longer the kid who didn’t care, but not yet the person who knew who she was. Naturally, I compared myself to everyone around me, especially those who seemed effortlessly fit, confident, stylish. I’d scroll social media and wonder how everyone else seemed so comfortable being seen.
Even after losing weight, I didn’t magically feel better. I was still harsh, still critical, still chasing this invisible finish line. It took me years to realise that confidence isn’t about changing how you look; it’s about changing how you speak to yourself.
Gym and running was a big part of that shift. Being able to witness the progression of your strength or achieving my first ever 2km run without stopping became pivotal testaments to my capabilities through effort.
Now, confidence looks quieter. It’s being okay with trying and not being the “best” at it, knowing that I am showing up for myself and giving myself the privilege to try.
Did you ever struggle with your body or weight?
Yes, deeply and at both extremes. I went from being extremely overweight to becoming overly obsessed with shrinking. At first, I just wanted to be healthier, but somewhere along the way, I got caught up in the validation that came with visible change. People noticed. Compliments came in. And I confused external approval with internal peace.
I became hyper-aware of everything I ate and how I looked. I’d skip meals, over-exercise, and still feel like I wasn’t doing enough. I thought I was chasing discipline, but I was really chasing control.
Eventually, I hit a wall. I was lighter, but miserable. That’s when I realised I’d just traded one form of unhealthiness for another. So I started focusing on performance instead of aesthetics… how much I could lift, how long I could run, how many rounds I could spar without gassing out. Slowly, I began to appreciate my body for what it could do instead of how it looked doing it.
Becoming a personal trainer helped me anchor that shift. Seeing other women find confidence in their own strength reminded me that fitness isn’t a body type. It’s a mindset.
Are you satisfied with your body now?
Yes, I am! But not quite in a “love every inch of myself” way. It’s a quieter kind of satisfaction. It’s gratitude. This body has carried me through every version of myself: the insecure teenager who hid from PE, the twenty-year-old who over-corrected, and the woman I am now who’s learning to find balance in between.
It’s taken me through triathlon training blocks, judo competitions, gym injuries, early-morning runs before class, and long hikes under the sun. Every time I take a step back from my hectic schedule, I realise how my body has learned to dive, to lift, to recover and to rest. It’s done everything I’ve ever asked of it, even when I wasn’t kind to it.
I still have days where I nitpick or feel off, but those thoughts don’t control me as much anymore. I keep reminding myself not chase perfection, but to persue capability. My body might not be flawless, but it’s functional, resilient, and mine. And that’s more than enough.
