From falling hard during practice to enduring mockery from others, Hajar Fahmi's journey was filled with challenges. But she turned every setback into a stepping stone, proving that sports aren't limited by gender—they're for everyone. It was a sunny Wednesday afternoon in January 2023, around half-past five, and Anfa Park was alive with energy. Families strolled, children played, and music echoed through the open space. Among the crowd sat 20-year-old Hajar Fahmi, chatting with her friends while watching a group of boys glide effortlessly across the concrete. They weaved, jumped, and spun on their roller skates with such grace it seemed like they were floating. Intrigued, Hajar couldn't look away. Overcome by curiosity, she suddenly stood up, walked over to one of the boys, and asked, «Can I try?» He smiled wide and said, «Of course, give it a shot!» That was all the encouragement she needed. But her first attempt didn't go as planned. As she tried to find her balance, her leg slipped out from under her, and she crashed to the ground—hard. The fall broke her arm. The pain was sharp, but not sharp enough to dull her determination. After a visit to the hospital, she returned home without telling her parents what had happened, worried they would forbid her from trying again. Did that stop her? Not even close. Exactly one month later, Hajar bought her own pair of roller skates and began practicing alone. Each session came with a mix of fear and joy—falling, getting up, and trying again. «Skating became a way to let off steam», she recalls. «I'd fall and keep going. I can't describe the feeling—it's just amazing, even with all the bruises». But the challenges weren't only physical—they were social too. Hajar often faced mockery from boys who believed skating was a sport for men. «Go back to your kitchen», they sneered. «This isn't for girls. You'd be better off with a doll». Those comments stung. At one point, she even started avoiding busy parks, choosing instead to practice in deserted areas where no one could judge her. It was during those solitary sessions that she honed her skills and began making real progress. «Two months later, I went back to the same park, same time, same boys. They were stunned by how much I'd improved. They'd thought I gave up. Their looks said it all—I was on the right path. This sport isn't just for men». Hajar Fahmi As she progressed, Hajar began sharing her journey online. Her videos quickly gained attention, and her name started to spread. Girls across Morocco saw her as a role model—someone proving that passion and persistence could break through any barrier. But the road was still rocky. In April 2023, she suffered a serious fall during a rainy practice session, landing face-first and requiring stitches on her chin. Once again, she kept it from her family. But when they saw the video online, the truth came out. Concerned and upset, her parents confiscated her skates and banned her from skating for a month. Still, she didn't give up. Quietly, she bought another pair and went back to training—this time in secret. Later that year, she discovered her university was holding a skating competition. She signed up—not to win, but to see how far she'd come and to connect with others who shared her passion. It was at this event that she discovered the Rollschool Family association and joined them. «The association gave me the training, equipment, and support I needed. My progress skyrocketed from there». In May 2024, she competed in the first edition of Ride avec Elle and took home first place. In November, she won again—this time at the Moroccan Championship. Today, Hajar is not only a champion skater but also a coach. She trains children, teens, and adults alike, teaching not just the sport but also the strength and resilience it instills. Remembering how she started—with no guidance, no support—she's determined to be the mentor she once needed. And she's not stopping anytime soon. Hajar now has her sights set on international competitions—and one day, the Olympics. Despite all the injuries, setbacks, and criticism, she has no regrets. That Wednesday afternoon in Anfa Park was more than just a moment—it was the beginning of everything.
