The Singleporean: I paid $3,600 for a revenge bod – and got a reality check instead

The Singleporean is an anonymous column by a 30something, female Singaporean writer who’s obviously single (and cautiously ready to mingle). She pens her thoughts on work, relationships and adulting from the lens of a millennial on the cusp of a mid-life crisis.

Three years ago, I splurged $3,600 on four months of personal training at a swanky private gym in the CBD, hoping it would finally transform my physical health. If money could change anything, surely it could give me a post-Covid revenge bod… right?

What I didn’t expect was how much I would end up hating the regimented environment, and the feeling of constantly being told what to do. From weekly weigh-ins and diet checks to soul-destroying deadlifts and never-ending lunges, I felt hemmed in and micromanaged.

By the end of the four months, all I had gained was a new-found hatred for chicken fillet, and the sense that I still wasn’t enough.

Believe in the change you want

The lack of results was entirely on me: I was unmotivated and inconsistent with my workouts. I didn’t stick to the diet and, let’s be honest, my attitude sucked. Every push from my trainer was met with resistance and eye-rolls from yours truly.

What that failed experience taught me was that if I wanted real change, I not only had to believe in it – I had to actually enjoy the process too. So I went for what I genuinely liked: yoga.

What started as once-a-week “let’s see how this goes” turned into a four-days-a-week thing on slower work weeks. And instead of locking myself into an unpalatable high-protein diet, I simply ate healthier options I didn’t hate.

Over the course of a year, I shed 10kg and, more importantly, felt lighter, stronger, and far more connected to my own body than I ever did in that fancy private gym.

Let the small wins stack up

I once saw a motivational poster that said, “No matter how slow, even the tortoise finishes the race.”

Yes, it’s cheesy – but annoyingly enough, it’s true. That disastrous gym chapter taught me one thing: Consistency isn’t immediate, but it works. Real change didn’t come from a $3,600 programme or forcing myself into routines I hated. It came from showing up and letting the small wins stack up quietly in the background.

And somewhere between grimacing through a chair pose and choosing food I actually enjoyed, I realised something else. That feeling of being “enough” doesn’t come when you hit a magic number on the scale.

It happens in those tiny moments when you notice you’re just a little stronger, a little more confident, and a little more you.

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