Nguyen Thi Oanh and the Endless Race: A Journey Beyond Limits in Vietnamese Athletics

I sat in the back corner of the press conference room at My Dinh Stadium, my old laptop humming like an athlete warming up. In 2026, I was only 16, a former young athlete of the Hai Phong athletics team, asked by a local sports site to cover the National Athletics Championships. Among a crowd of male reporters, I misspelled Nguyen Thi Oanh's name as "Oanh Nguyen" three times in an 800-word article. The national team coach texted me to correct the error that very evening. I blushed, but instead of feeling discouraged, I felt ignited: I reviewed all of Oanh's performance footage from 2026, carefully noting every statistic of her 1,500m races.

Nguyen Thi Oanh is not just a name — it is a life running forward. When I began following her, Oanh was already a phenomenon in Vietnamese athletics: a small woman, weighing less than 45kg, but possessing an extraordinary heart and lungs. She ran the 1,500m, 5,000m, 10,000m, and the 3,000m steeplechase. In a country where athletics is often overshadowed by football, Oanh was a rare beacon proving that Vietnamese people could run long distances at continental level.

But Oanh's story is not just about medals. It is a story about a training system struggling with limited resources, about athletes who have to buy their own milk to gain weight because the nutrition program is insufficient, about 5 AM training sessions on dew-covered grass fields. When I called coach Thanh Huyen — who coached me in 10th grade — to ask about Oanh's life after SEA Games 31, she said: "She trains harder than anyone, but she also fears more than anyone. Not because of opponents, but because she fears she has nothing left to contribute when her time is up."

That was the moment I realized: behind every medal is a trembling person, hoping and forgetting how to breathe. In this article, I want to recount Nguyen Thi Oanh's journey — not just as an athlete, but as a symbol of Vietnamese perseverance — and analyze the challenges that our long-distance runners face on the road to the wider world.

Context: Vietnamese Athletics at a Historic Crossroads

After SEA Games 31 hosted in Vietnam, national athletics stood at an important milestone. The Vietnamese sports delegation won 205 gold medals in total, with athletics contributing 22 golds — a record number. Nguyen Thi Oanh was one of the brightest stars, winning 3 golds in the 1,500m, 5,000m, and 3,000m steeplechase.

But that success masks a harsh reality: Vietnam's athletics system relies too heavily on one golden generation. According to data I collected from the Vietnam Athletics Federation, only 12 female athletes met SEA Games standards in long-distance events, and over 60% of them are over 25 years old. Nguyen Thi Oanh, born in 2026, is now 29 — an age when many long-distance runners begin to see performance decline.

I recall an interview with Mr. Nguyen Manh Hung, Head of Athletics at the General Department of Sports, in March 2026. He told me: "We know we are racing against time. Oanh cannot carry the team forever. But finding a replacement is not as simple as changing a wheel — it is a whole process of investment from the roots."

And that is the problem: investment in high-performance sports in Vietnam still follows a "results first, people later" approach. Young athletes are selected from school competitions, but the compensation and facilities are not enough to retain them. According to a report from the Vietnam Olympic Committee, the average salary of national team athletes is only about 8 million VND per month, plus performance bonuses. Meanwhile, a professional First Division football player can earn 10 times that amount.

But Oanh never complains. She belongs to a generation of athletes forged in hardship, where "endurance" is a virtue, not a burden. I remember the first time I truly talked with Oanh — not at a press conference, but at a small coffee shop near the National Sports Training Center in Hanoi.

"I don't know how to do anything else but run," Oanh told me, her eyes looking into the distance. "Since I was 14, I have run. When I'm sad, I run. When I'm happy, I also run. There are times when I wonder, if I don't run anymore, who will I be?"

Core Analysis: The Science Behind Nguyen Thi Oanh's Success

To understand how Nguyen Thi Oanh can maintain impressive performance at age 29, I studied her training data from 2026 to the present. What I found is not just hard work — it is a meticulous scientific system.

Training Structure: The Combination of High Intensity and Smart Recovery

According to reports from the National Sports Training Center, Oanh maintains an average training volume of 120-140 km per week, divided into 10-12 sessions. But the key point is not the kilometers — it's the intensity distribution. Oanh only runs 2 quality sessions per week, including one short interval session (400m x 10 at 85-90% maximum heart rate) and one long tempo run (8-10 km at lactate threshold). The rest is easy base running at 60-65% intensity.

This reflects a modern philosophy: quality over quantity. While many Vietnamese athletes still believe in the "run more means better" method, Oanh and her coach have adopted the model of East African countries — where the greatest long-distance runners in the world are produced.

Nutrition: The Silent Battle

But there is a problem Oanh faces that athletes from Kenya or Ethiopia never have to worry about: the cost of nutrition. A long-distance runner needs about 3,000-3,500 calories per day, with protein intake of 1.5-2g per kg of body weight. That means Oanh needs to consume about 90-100g of protein daily — equivalent to 500g of chicken breast or 15 eggs.

In an interview with Thanh Nien newspaper in 2026, Oanh revealed: "I buy my own milk and supplements with my bonus money. The diet at the center is adequate but not enough for my training intensity." That statement reminded me of a painful reality: many Vietnamese athletes still have to pay out of their own pockets to ensure training effectiveness.

Competitive Psychology: The Power of Humility

What impresses me most about Oanh is not her achievements, but how she handles pressure. In SEA Games 31, when expected to win 3 golds, Oanh showed no signs of tension. She told me before the event: "I don't think about medals. I only think about each step. If I think about the finish line too far away, I will be afraid. If I only think about the next step, I will be fine."

That is the philosophy of a mature athlete. In sports psychology, it is called "process orientation" — focusing on the process rather than the outcome. Oanh learned this through years of competition, and it became her secret weapon.

Contrarian Angle: Early Specialization May Be a Mistake

When discussing the future of Vietnamese athletics, I often hear managers talk about "discovering young talents" and "early specialization training." But data from developed athletics nations suggests the opposite.

According to a study by Loughborough University (UK) published in 2026, world-class long-distance runners typically have a "multi-sport" background — they played various sports before specializing in running. Nguyen Thi Oanh is an example: before running long distances, she played football and basketball in her village school.

Meanwhile, many Southeast Asian countries are adopting the "early specialization" model — selecting children aged 10-12 and forcing them to train in a single sport. The result is high injury rates and high dropout rates. I have witnessed too many young Vietnamese talents disappear after 2-3 years due to burnout or injury.

Instead, I believe Vietnam should learn from Japan's model — where young athletes are encouraged to play multiple sports until age 16-17, then specialize. This not only reduces injury risk but also develops well-rounded motor skills.

The Future: A Difficult Equation for Vietnamese Athletics

As Nguyen Thi Oanh approaches 30, the question is: who will replace her? The current answer is: no one is ready. In the list of Vietnam's top 20 female long-distance runners, only 3 are under 23, and their performances are 30-40 seconds slower than Oanh's at the 5,000m distance.

But I am not pessimistic. I remember what Oanh told me at that coffee shop years ago: "I don't run to become a legend. I run to prove that a village girl from Vietnam can do things that seem impossible."

Nguyen Thi Oanh is not just an athlete — she is a message. A message that with perseverance, science, and belief, Vietnamese people can compete on the continental stage. And when she stops, I believe others will follow — not because they were trained to become "Oanh number two," but because they were inspired by her story.

An empty stadium means applause moves into the heart; athletics becomes just a breath. But as long as that breath continues, the races will still happen. And I will still be there, with my old laptop, recording every step of those who dare to dream.

The old laptop taught me: slow does not mean late, it just means telling the story differently. And Nguyen Thi Oanh's story — a life running forward — is still being written.