FAT = TAF
THE SHIRT YOU CANNOT HIDE
In primary school, I belonged to a club I never asked to join.
It was called TAF, Trim and Fit.
If you spelled it backward, it told the truth no one wanted to say out loud. FAT.
We knew what it meant. Everyone did.
During recess, the rest of the school rushed to the canteen. The smell of fried noodles and chicken wings filled the air. Laughter, noise, freedom.
For us, it was different.
We had to put on the orange T-shirt, bright and impossible to ignore. The letters TAF were printed across the front, as if announcing to the entire school who we were.
Then we ran.
Round and round the field, while everyone else watched.
Some laughed. Some pointed. Some just stared.
It was not the running that hurt.
It was being seen.
At that age, you do not yet have the words for shame. But you feel it anyway. It sits quietly inside you and grows.
I told myself I would change one day.
But I did not know how.
THE ADULT WHO STILL FELT LIKE THAT BOY
Years passed. I grew up. I got a job in the pharmaceutical industry.
From the outside, everything looked fine.
Inside, something had not changed.
I worked long hours. Weekends disappeared into deadlines. Meals became quick fixes, whatever was convenient, whatever was fast.
Slowly, the weight followed me into adulthood.
One day, I noticed something I could no longer ignore.
I felt breathless climbing stairs. I felt tired even after a full night’s sleep.
My body was sending signals I had ignored for too long.
And something inside me remembered that boy in the orange shirt.
I decided to act.
THE FIRST ATTEMPT
A new gym had just opened. They were offering a founder’s rate.
It felt like a sign.
I signed up.
At first, I went all in. Five to six times a week. I showed up, I pushed, I sweated.
After every workout, I felt good.
Stronger. Lighter. More in control.
Then I got hungry.
Very hungry.
So I ate.
I told myself I had earned it.
Fast food, large portions, extra everything.
I was working hard, so I deserved more.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
Nothing changed.
The scale did not move.
That was the moment I realized something uncomfortable.
Effort alone is not enough.
THE ADJUSTMENT
I started to pay attention.
Not just to how much I exercised, but to how much I consumed.
I began to understand something simple, but powerful.
If I added more calories than I burned, nothing would change.
No matter how hard I worked.
So I adjusted.
Not overnight. Not perfectly.
But steadily.
I made better choices. I reduced what did not serve me. I became more aware.
This time, the results followed.
My weight dropped.
From 100 kilograms to 75.
But something more important changed.
I no longer felt like that boy running in the field.
THE RACE THAT WAS NEVER ABOUT WINNING
I started taking part in fitness races.
Running alongside others who were also pushing themselves, also trying, also improving.
At the starting line, everyone looks strong.
At the finishing line, everyone looks different.
Some sprint. Some struggle. Some walk.
But they all finish.
And that is when I understood something that school never taught me.
If you do not complete the race, it is not failure.
If you show up, if you try, if you take one step forward, that already counts.
To complete the race is not about beating others.
It is about not giving up on yourself.
WHAT FAT REALLY MEANT
For a long time, I thought FAT was a label.
A definition.
A judgment.
Now I see it differently.
It was a starting point.
It forced me to confront something I could not ignore.
It showed me that change is not about shame, and not about punishment.
It is about understanding.
About adjusting.
About continuing, even when the results are slow.
The boy in the orange shirt thought he was being exposed.
The man I am today knows he was being given a chance.
Disclaimer:
This story is a narrative reconstruction based on a live sharing by Lim Wee Siang. Some details have been interpreted or expanded for storytelling purposes.
