Vietnamese Athletics: The Journey to Reclaim Position on the Asian Track

On a March morning in Hanoi, when mist still lingered over the track, a young female middle-distance runner stepped into the starting line with eyes accustomed to silence. She was neither the most famous nor the most noticed person at the training ground that day. But when the whistle blew and her spikes touched the track, something in her stride—a quiet rhythm, an unspoken resolve—made an observer like me pause. That is the moment I have witnessed hundreds of times over thirteen years following Southeast Asian athletics: women running not to be seen, but to prove that their presence on the track is already a victory.

This article is not about a record. It is about a system struggling to survive, a system that once produced golden tears on Olympic tracks, now fighting to maintain its footing even at the regional level. Vietnamese athletics—the foundational sport, the sport everyone assumes anyone can run—stands at a historical crossroads where those of us in this profession must ask: Are we losing the very essence of this sport, or is this merely another bend in a much longer road?

Historical Context: When the Track Was a Dream

Looking back at Vietnamese athletics history, people often mention names like Vu Van Son, Tran Bao, or more recently, athletes who brought home medals from SEA Games editions. But the least told part of that story is the years of system building, the long-term strategic decisions, and especially the children entered into training camps at age twelve, sacrificing their childhoods for a dream their families might not fully understand.

In my experience following competitions and tournaments, I have met coaches who spent entire lifetimes developing a generation of athletes, only to watch them drift toward sports with higher media coverage. Athletics lacks football's glamour, basketball's drama, or the romance of scenic long-distance marathons. Athletics offers only the track, the whistle, and numbers on an electronic display. For people like me—those who can read the stories hidden behind those numbers—that purity is precisely the greatest beauty.

But that purity is under threat. According to data from continental competitions I have monitored for over a decade, Vietnamese athletics performance in track events has shown a declining trend compared to regional rivals like Thailand, Philippines, and Indonesia. Remaining medals come mainly from field events and distance running—the sports many Vietnamese still call by the old name: "athletics."

Notably, this division is not new. Even during Vietnamese athletics' golden era, we excelled in sports requiring endurance and perseverance—qualities that Asian and Vietnamese cultures specifically nurture from childhood. What is changing is that the line between "strong" and "weak" is becoming sharper, and that gap extends beyond technique or fitness.

Tactical Analysis: A Structurally Flawed Development Model

When analyzing Vietnam's athlete development model, what concerns me most is not a lack of talent—Vietnam has no shortage of children with physiques suitable for athletics. The issue lies in how we identify, select, and develop those talents.

Over thirteen years following competitions from provincial to international levels, I have witnessed a repeating pattern: a young athlete discovered at thirteen or fourteen, undergoing intensive training for three to four years, achieving good results at national youth level, then... disappearing. Not due to injury, not for lack of ability, but because the system lacks mechanisms to retain them.

Consider an phenomenon I have observed: many Vietnamese middle and long-distance runners have potential to reach SEA Games level or even higher, but they are lost during the transition from adolescence to adulthood. This period—typically eighteen to twenty-two—is the most critical in an athlete's physical and psychological development. It is when the body requires scientifically adjusted training, personalized nutrition, and psychological support to withstand competitive pressure.

Yet Vietnam's current system lacks specialized protocols for this stage. Many young athletes are treated as miniature adults, with equivalent training intensity but without proper nutrition, recovery, and psychological support. The result is a high dropout rate during this period—and this is where I believe we are losing talents who could have transformed Vietnamese athletics.

Another issue I have noticed is a severe shortage of stable competition systems. While developed athletics nations in Asia like Japan, China, and even Thailand have dense professional domestic competition schedules, Vietnam is still building its foundation. National competitions often lack the necessary competitiveness to push athletes to their limits, while international competition opportunities are too scarce and usually reserved only for top athletes.

This creates a paradox: athletes need competition to improve, but the system does not provide enough opportunities at appropriate levels. When opportunities arise, pressure is often overwhelming because these are important competitions with ranking systems and expectations from coaching staff and nation. Meanwhile, athletes need permission to fail at smaller events, learn from mistakes, and improve gradually.

Contrarian View: What Happens When We Misvalue Things

There is a question I always ask when analyzing Vietnamese athletics, and it has nothing to do with technique or tactics: Are we correctly assessing this sport's value?

For many years, I have witnessed sports officials and sponsors make grand commitments whenever Olympics or Asian Games approached, then forget when the flames extinguished. Athletics—especially women's athletics—lacks the media appeal of football or volleyball. No spectacular goals for highlights, no tense clashes for commentators to shout about, no transfer drama to attract attention.

But precisely for this reason, athletics is the purest sport. And within that purity lies a value few recognize: athletics is the only sport where you cannot hide weakness. On a 400m track, there is no VAR to review, no defensive tactics to compensate, no single outstanding player to carry the team. There is only you, the clock, and the distance between you and the person beside you.

This is why women's athletics stories always carry special power in my eyes. When an eighteen-year-old girl runs 800m with results insufficient for a medal, but still shows up the next day, that is an act of resilience few can comprehend. And when the system does not support her, when media ignores her, when even her own family is uncertain about her future in the sport—her presence on the track every morning is a stronger statement than any speech.

One notable aspect of the current context is the rapid development of women's athletics in several Southeast Asian countries. Philippines, with its sports modernization program, has made significant strides in sprint and middle-distance events. Indonesia has invested heavily in facilities and training systems. Thailand, with its decades-long foundation, continues maintaining regional leadership.

Meanwhile, Vietnam stands at a crossroads. We can continue with the current model—uneven investment, unsustainable development, dependence on outstanding individuals rather than systems—or we can reassess our approach and build a truly sustainable foundation for athletics.

Positive Signals and Unanswered Questions

But this is not an article about failure. After thirteen years of following athletics, I have learned that in sports, there are always signs of hope even in the darkest periods.

One of the most positive signals I have noticed is the growing interest in athletics among young people, especially the urban running and marathon movement. Marathons in Hanoi, Ho Chi Minh City, and Da Nang attract thousands of participants, many of whom are young people who never cared about traditional athletics. This is an untapped resource: people who love running but have not been oriented toward competitive athletics.

Another signal is the appearance of professional athletics facilities and foreign coaches working in Vietnam. Although the numbers are tiny compared to developed nations, these are seeds that could bloom in the future—provided we know how to nurture them.

And notably, I have observed a shift in mindset among some sports administrators—they are beginning to view athletics not merely as a medal-winning tool for major games, but as part of a healthy sports ecosystem. This change, though slow, is a prerequisite for any real reform.

But the questions remain: Are we prepared for long-term investment in athletics? Are we prepared to accept that athletics success typically comes slower than in other sports, requiring more patience? Are we prepared to build systems instead of merely seeking outstanding individuals?

I have no answers to those questions. But I know that on the tracks of Hai Phong, Hanoi, and Ho Chi Minh City, girls are still running every morning. Not because success is guaranteed, not because the system supports them, but because they have chosen to stand still and watch the ball roll through fate—and keep stepping forward.

That is what I have recorded throughout my career: women's sports do not need saving, they need recognition. And when we recognize properly, we will see that what is happening on Vietnamese tracks is not decline, but possibly a new chapter being written—slowly, imperfectly, but full of meaning.

Returning to that March morning. The middle-distance runner I mentioned at the beginning—she broke no records, received no name announcement on the public address system. But when she crossed the finish line, I saw her smile. Not the smile of victory, but the smile of someone who has accomplished what she set out to do for herself. In today's sports world, where everything is measured by medals and records, perhaps that is the most valuable thing.

And perhaps, that is also what Vietnamese athletics needs to be reminded of: not every race requires finishing first. Sometimes, standing on the track and completing your own race is already a victory. Those small victories, accumulated over years, will build a greater journey than any medal.

As I left the training ground that day, I thought about what a veteran athletics coach told me many years ago: "In athletics, you cannot hide anything. But precisely for that reason, you cannot hide resilience." And perhaps, that is everything Vietnamese athletics needs right now: not a miracle, but resilience—from leaders, from the system, and especially from those running on the tracks every early morning, hoping that tomorrow will be better than today.