Humble Beginnings

Delusions are a powerful yet dangerous instrument. There is a bold line between hope and delusion; something my trainer had failed to recognize in all seventeen races I had run in the past six months. He called it hope, but anyone with a brain could easily recognize his persistence as delusional.

Seventeen races, zero wins. My trainer, Sunny Jim Fitzsimmons, clung desperately to his ideals; that I, Seabiscuit, would be crowned a victor. As painful as it was to accept the fact that I would never accomplish my own ideals, I continued to trust in that man. The man who tirelessly egged me on until I physically couldn't move anymore.

Coming home was even worse than training. My mother, Hard Tack, was the progeny of an Uma Musume legend, Man o' War, my grandmother. To this day, my grandmother's exploits are hailed as the all-time greatest accomplishments in racing history, boasting twenty out of twenty-one wins in her career. Of course, when it was my mother's turn to take up the torch, the pressure ate her away from the inside. I can count on one hand the number of races she actually won in her career, but that information is irrelevant and quite hard to bring up in front of her.

Every single day I would come home after dark, a slight limp in my step as I passed by my sour-faced mother. I had grown used to the insults by now, and it was easy to ignore them, but today was different. I was sure the words that came out of her mouth would stick with me forever.

She said, and I quote,
"You're a disgrace to our family. My biggest mistake."

I tried desperately to hold back the whimper escaping my throat, but that soft squeak of sorrow ended up slipping out, perfectly in earshot. There was nothing I could do or say that would change her mind. Regardless, I continued to cling to my trainer's delusion of victory, heading straight to my bedroom to stretch my sore muscles before whispering a silent prayer to lull myself to sleep.

That night, I dreamt of my future.

* * *

The day of my eighteenth race had arrived. I had been on the road since around three in the morning, drifting between consciousness and sleep for hours before arriving at Narragansett Park in Rhode Island. My trainer, Fitzsimmons, had given me a few carrots to munch on during the ride, but he refused to let me have a proper meal until I proved myself worthy on the track.

A stupid tactic; I was starving. This only served to worsen my mood for the remainder of my time before the race.

"I'm telling you, a hearty meal will be a great motivator for giving it your all, Seabiscuit!"
Fitzsimmons offered an almost sympathetic smile.

"But I'm hungry now... What if I don't win? Are you going to leave me hungry the entire car ride back to Kentucky?"
I angrily pouted, adjusting my tight shorts that were riding way too far up my bottom.

This is so uncomfortable.

"Well... obviously I'll feed you either way. I just figured the promise of something like a large portion would drive you to do better. Plus, I let you snack in the car."
Again, Fitzsimmons smiled.

I scoffed in disbelief.
"Yeah, because those three carrots were so filling. I'm going to end up passing out at this rate."

He gently placed his hand on my shoulder. I wanted to shake it off, but I was too exhausted to care.

"Seabiscuit,"
He looked me dead in the eyes.
"I have a good feeling about today... Try not to let me down."

I wanted to scream.

You have a good feeling?! Who's the one actually racing?! It's me! I swear, I'm going to lose my mind if I hear him mention a "good feeling" one more time.

Making my way toward the starting gate, I could hear murmuring from my fellow Uma Musume contenders.

"Ew, she's so skinny. What's with her lazy expression?"

"Most likely anorexic. Doesn't her trainer feed her properly?"

"She's probably been doped. I heard it's quite popular nowadays."

Well, at least one of those nasty rumors was slightly true. I definitely hadn't been fed properly.

* * *

"Blue skies loom over the Narragansett Park Racecourse here in Rhode Island! The temperature is currently eighty-seven degrees Fahrenheit, making for a lovely summer day!"
The announcer's voice echoed through the slightly barren grandstand holding a decent number of spectators for such a lackluster race.

"I'm hoping for a dead heat! That's when the sparks really fly!"

"The girls are taking their position at the starting gate!"

I approached post number seven, giving my tired muscles one final stretch before preparing myself for yet another painful defeat. I could hear my fellow Uma Musume whispering nonchalantly about the lack of a crowd to show off in front of, but personally, I felt less pressure with such a small abundance of viewers.

* * *

The starting gates burst open, and as usual, I stayed a few lengths back to keep a watchful eye on the flashy front runners who used full stamina to show off. It wasn't until I reached the first corner that I began to notice it. The front runners had fallen back all the way to my own position in eighth place.

What? Is something wrong up ahead?

I glanced up from staring at my cleats, scanning the area to determine any potential hazards that would cause the girls in front to fall back so suddenly. The coast was nothing but clear; completely undamaged dirt lay beautifully in front of me.

"Number five and number three seem a bit rushed! I hope they can recover!"
The announcer shouted excitedly.

Confused, I decided to keep my pace the same, though I definitely had enough stamina to pull ahead by at least seven lengths.

I could hear heavy panting and wheezing on either end of me. The girls were already sweating, looks of pure exhaustion on their faces as we neared the end of the second straightaway.

"I can't do it!"

"I won't lose!"

The various shouts caused a surge of confidence to swell from my core and into my bloodstream. Frantically, I burst ahead of the pack, practically sprinting around the final corner as the dust from my cleats created a smoke screen in my wake.

The goal was fast approaching, and I still had more than half of my stamina to spare. This was it; a first place victory was about to be mine.

"It's Seabiscuit! Seabiscuit has brilliantly pulled ahead of the pack! Nobody can stop this Uma Musume!"
I could barely hear the announcer over the speaker, as the sound of my own heartbeat pulsed in my eardrums like a timpani.

I had won. Completely and utterly destroyed the competition who had ridiculed me moments prior, falling eight lengths behind me halfway through a mile-long race.

No freaking way... But, how?

As my mind filled with questions, I could see Fitzsimmons rushing from the winner's circle and onto the track to congratulate me.

"Seabiscuit, you actually did it! I'm so proud of you!"
He was slightly out of breath as our gazes met each other's. That grin of his, it was genuine.

Yet, I couldn't bring myself to smile. I had no joy, not a single ounce of pride as I walked past him and toward the paddock. I had been ridiculed, trained like a dog, forced to starve, and my only successful race had been my eighteenth?

It was time to accept my fate. I would never amount to anything.