Before UX, before design tools, before wireframes — there was movement. I’ve always believed the human body is capable of far more than we assume. You just have to test it. Repeatedly.

It Started With Speed

In school, I was into athletics — running and long jump. I wasn’t just fast. I was the fastest in the entire school. District-level tournaments? Won many. Lost count? Also yes. Speed taught me one thing early: focus + discipline = results.

Then Came Control

Next chapter: Karate. I trained for years and earned my Second Degree Black Belt. I competed at district and state levels, winning multiple tournaments. Karate taught me control — of body, mind, and ego. You don’t rush. You read. You react. Sounds familiar? That’s basically UX research.

Then I Met Endurance

Swimming changed everything. I learned to swim in two days. Yes!. In two weeks, I was the fastest in my batch. I trained every single day — experimenting, pushing limits, testing stamina. Eventually, I moved into long-distance swimming. At 15 years old, I could swim 2.5 km nonstop — the only person in my hometown who could do it.

What amazed me the most was realizing that you can actually feel your sweat in the water — but only when you push past what feels comfortable. That moment made me stop and think: we humans are incredibly, almost perfectly designed — capable of far more than we could think of.

I qualified for state-level competitions five times in a row. And five times… I couldn’t attend. Family issues. Academic pressure. Life. It was frustrating — but it taught me something important: progress still counts, even when the result doesn’t show up on paper.

Leadership on the Field

At the same time, I was also part of my school football team — playing as a midfielder / defender and serving as team captain. We won a state-level tournament. That’s where I learned leadership isn’t about shouting instructions — it’s about reading the game and making space for others to perform. Again… very UX.

The Pause

After school, life shifted. College. Responsibilities. Distance from sports. For almost four years, I played no sports at all. But I kept building myself — fitness, strength, discipline, and quiet consistency.

The Comeback? (Chapter Canada!)

After moving to Canada, everything restarted. I returned to endurance sports — smarter, calmer, more intentional. Not chasing medals. Not chasing validation. Just showing up consistently and listening to my body.

I started ice skating in January 2025. Ottawa is home to the world’s longest skating rink — 7.8 km. Today, I can complete the entire stretch in 25 minutes.

And let me ask you something — Have you ever sweated in –22°C? I have — and believe me, it’s one of the best feelings in the world. That moment raised a question in my mind: How perfectly were we designed — that our bodies can adapt anywhere, anytime, to almost anything?

From April 2025, I began cycling long distances whenever I get the time. My favorite place? Gatineau Park — the toughest terrain in the area. I choose it because it’s hard.

I’m fascinated by discovering what the human body — and mind — can do when pushed gently, consistently, and with intent. The more I experience this, the more I understand a belief that deeply resonates with me — that out of all the beautiful mountains, rivers, and oceans, The Creator says humans are the finest creation. As stated in the Qur’an:

“We have certainly created man in the best of stature.”
— Qur’an, 95:4

And maybe that’s why I live the way I do — to explore that potential, to respect the design, and to see how far patience, discipline, and belief can take a person.

How this all Connects to my Career

All of this shaped how I design. I don’t panic under pressure. I observe before acting. I respect limits — but I’m not afraid to test them. UX isn’t just pixels and flows. It’s patience, empathy, endurance, and iteration.

“True design — like life — isn’t about avoiding friction.
It’s about understanding it well enough to move through it with intention.”

If you want to know more — about my work, my thinking, or my journey — I’m always open to a conversation.