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Everyone knows the fame of the Poogle Racers. I scaled the peaks of Neopia's highest mountains in the frigid cold in search for them. Then one glorious day I finally found them and requested membership into their ranks.
"The first requirement is that you have to be a poogle," they laughed at me.
I wasn't. I knew that becoming a poogle racer would be hard work, but I didn't realize this type of discrimination existed. I thought I had the same rights as all other neopets. I thought all opportunities were open to me regardless of species.
I went home and implored my owner, Soleil, to morph me into a poogle.
"You want me to spend thousands of neopoints so that you can become a chubby neopet with stubby little legs just to run?"
How could I possibly explain that the other poogle racers won't let me join them because I wasn't a poogle?
"What you are on the outside doesn't matter," Soleil said. "It's what you do and say that makes you who you are. "
I was determined to race with them. I figured my wings; spiked tail and sharp teeth could be overlooked when they saw my dedication. So I persisted.
"The second requirement is that you have to be super fast," they told me without mercy.
How fast could a big fat blue skeith possibly be?
I fled the echo of their heartless laughter and insisted Soleil to take me to the training school on Mystery Isle.
"Now you want to learn to battle?" said Soleil. "I've yet to see you complete one workout at Grundo's Gym. "
I was discouraged but I refused let them shatter my dreams. There must be a way to achieve my goal. I followed the poogles during their workouts. They jogged, ran, drilled, stretched. They practiced technique, endurance, speed and strength. I was often left behind on my third lap while they were on their eighth. Even though I wasn't officially a member, I felt like part of the team. We celebrated together when they won. We trained harder together when they lost.
About five months later, a devastating incident occurred. I had been training so hard. I ran ten miles everyday. I guess I was working too hard that my body didn't have enough rest to recover. It was a cool windy Sunday, a perfect day for jogging cross-country, when my ankle failed to support my weight. It twisted under me and I felt my lower backside go down. The rest of my body followed. I found myself rolling down a steep hill. Worse, I rolled half way up the next hill and rolled back down again before coming to a stop.
I must have quite a sight on my return home, a scratched up skeith, bruised purple, dragging a swollen ankle through Neopia Central.
I spent my recovery days in bed, my pillow drenched in tears. I worked so hard. I dedicated all my time. Yet, it was all for nothing. I feared I would recover with a limp. I was afraid I would never be able to run again. My goal seemed impossible. It was me against the world. How could I ever possibly hope to succeed?
"Don't ever give up," said Soleil. "You're stronger than you think. "
"We'll run together. " said my poogle friends. "You might not be a poogle on the outside, but you have the heart of a poogle racer. "
Even though I've lost hope at times, I still have others who support and inspire me. My injury didn't harm me, it only give me
the drive stay focused and to run faster. I have ambition; I will continue to train today. Nothing will stop me from achieving
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