Disclaimer
This article is a personal reflection drawn solely from my own lived experiences as a former national athlete and medical doctor. It is written to share perspective, not to comment on, critique, or respond to any individual, organisation, or ongoing public discussion.
Any references to public conversations are mentioned only as background context for reflection. No statements herein are intended to allege wrongdoing, misrepresentation, or fault by any person or party. All views expressed are my own and relate strictly to my personal journey.
Recent public discussions comparing part-time athletes with full-time athletes prompted me to reflect on my own journey—not to engage with any individual or debate, but simply to make sense of my personal experience.
I fully acknowledge that competing as a part-time athlete comes with real disadvantages. We have less time to train, fewer resources, and compromised recovery. These realities are undeniable, and I have no intention of disputing them. What follows is not an argument against these truths, but a reflection on how, in my own case, those very limitations unexpectedly became a strength.
Before the 2013 Southeast Asian Games
Before the 2013 Southeast Asian Games marathon—where I was privileged to win Singapore’s first-ever gold medal in the event—I had just graduated from medical school in 2012 and was working as a house officer.
Anyone familiar with medical training understands the demands of house officership: long hours, frequent overnight calls, and chronic sleep deprivation. Recovery was often compromised, and training quality inconsistent. I was no longer a student athlete; I was now a junior doctor juggling work, fatigue, and running.
I vividly remember running to and from work—sometimes running home from Khoo Teck Puat Hospital to Tampines. Meanwhile, many full-time athletes elsewhere would wake up rested, enjoy a leisurely breakfast, stretch, and head out for training. The contrast was real, and the challenges were undeniable.
The Unexpected Benefits
Yet, being a working athlete was also protective.
When training was difficult, I could immerse myself in work. When work was overwhelming, I could escape into a long run. Each sphere provided relief from the other. Injuries, which I experienced often, did not dominate my mental space. As a doctor, I simply did not have the luxury to dwell on every ache. That perspective kept me grounded and prevented tunnel vision.
Two Weeks Before the Race
Two weeks before the marathon, I was enlisted into the Medical Officer Conversion Course—a physically demanding military programme. During that period, I sustained a groin injury during casualty evacuation exercises and developed a persistent viral cough that disrupted my sleep.
At that point, I was not just a working athlete; I was a soldier-in-training athlete.
I was offered certain concessions, which I declined. This was personal psychology. For me, the more difficult my circumstances, the less pressure I felt to perform. The more “reasons” I had not to succeed, the freer I felt.
I climbed eight storeys to my bunk daily. I booked out only two days before the race, flew in the day before, checked the course once, and raced that same night.
Racing Without Pressure
On the start line, I told myself:
You don’t have to win. You were in camp two days ago. You’re injured. You’re coughing. No one expects anything.
That absence of pressure was liberating.
At the 20-kilometre mark, I was in fourth place. I remember thinking, This is already more than enough. And yet, kilometre by kilometre, I slowly moved forward. In the final kilometre, as I emerged into the lead, one thought surged through my mind:
You were a house officer. You were in army camp two days ago. And you’re about to win.
That thought alone gave me an extraordinary surge of adrenaline. I closed hard and crossed the line first, winning Singapore’s first SEA Games marathon gold medal.
A Necessary Clarification
I am deeply aware that this experience is not transferable, nor is it a model for success. Many athletes work just as hard, face equal or greater constraints, and never stand on a podium. Outcomes in sport are shaped by countless factors—timing, health, opportunity, and circumstance—many of which lie beyond personal control.
This reflection is not a claim of superiority, resilience, or moral strength. It is simply an account of how, in one narrow season of my life, circumstances aligned in an unexpected way.
A Different Kind of Advantage
Looking back, I am convinced that I could not have raced that way had I been a full-time athlete. The expectations, time taken off work, and singular focus on performance would likely have created far more pressure. Being a working athlete allowed me to race freely.
This is not a critique of full-time athletes, nor an argument against funding or institutional support. Those are complex and important issues that deserve careful discussion beyond the scope of this reflection.
I simply want to say this: I do not regret being a student athlete or a working athlete. I cherished that season of life. It shaped my perspective, resilience, and sense of freedom.
For me, those became my greatest strengths of all.