The Silence Before the Kick: Vietnam Swimming's Journey to Find Its Breath

Kazan taught me that speed can also dance. But before speed rises, there is always a silence. I have stood by many pools, from Kazan to Guangzhou, and now watching Vietnam's swimming from afar. That silence is not only in the sound of water breaking when an athlete dives in, but also in the way we – sports people – listen to our own breath before each expectation. Vietnam's swimming is at a crossroads. From afar, the achievements of young swimmers have improved remarkably over the past decade. But looking closer, I see a large gap between the numbers and international competitive reality. From my experience following competitions, domestic meets often witness impressive performances, but when stepping onto continental or Olympic stages, the gap in level remains – not because of lack of effort, but because of a lack of a system that nurtures endurance. The problem is not in the arms or stroke technique. It lies in the transition period – the moment when a promising 16-year-old athlete steps into their twenties, where physical development is no longer the only advantage. In the emptiness, I hear the breath of the competition more clearly. In China, I witnessed how they build team depth: a continuous youth training system pumping resources into training centers, with sports scientists following every stage of development. In Vietnam, I see bright young talents that easily fade after one season, due to lack of psychological support and proper nutrition at the decisive age. The language of silence. I remember an afternoon at a training center in Guangzhou, when an Italian coach simply nodded to his athlete before competition time. No shouting, no noisy instructions. The quiet Italian just nodded, but the entire defense understood. That is a language built by thousands of hours of training together, by absolute trust in the process. And that is what I long to see in Vietnam's swimming – not big celebrations, but calmness before competition. The truth is, our data still does not tell the whole story. Analysts often look at performance tables and compare with Asian records, but they miss an important factor: stability of performance over many years. An athlete can achieve excellent results at national youth meets, but without a regular international competition system, they will never learn how to handle pressure on the big stage. I have seen too many young Vietnamese talents overwhelmed by the Olympic atmosphere, not because they are weak, but because they have never experienced that feeling. The controversial point is: are we prioritizing the number of SEA Games medals over sustainable development? I do not deny the value of regional medals – they are important motivation. But if we sacrifice the long-term development of young athletes to chase immediate achievements, we will forever stand at third or fourth place on the continent. Looking at countries like Japan or South Korea, they do not just train athletes; they build an ecosystem – where a swimmer can train, compete, and develop a career in a completely professional environment. The pandemic season was where the truest voices were heard: the sound of the ball hitting the grass. When pools closed, when competitions were canceled, we could see clearly who had a solid foundation and who was just following a trend. Athletes with high self-discipline, dedicated coaches, and supportive families overcame that difficult period. Others – despite talent – gradually disappeared from the swimming scene. That is not a story about lack of passion; it is a story about lack of support systems. I want to offer a different perspective, perhaps slightly counter-intuitive: we should not focus too much on finding exceptional talents. Instead, let us build a system that can turn average athletes into reliable professionals. Because a strong team is not built from one star; it is built from the depth of the roster. When you have 20 athletes meeting the A-standard, you will have 3 ready to compete at the continental level. When you only have 3 good athletes, you will have none ready for the world stage. Silence does not lack language – it possesses its own tongue. I hear that voice in the early morning training sessions at youth training centers in Vietnam, where coaches are trying to learn from foreign models. I hear it in the determination of parents who bring their children to the pool every day, not for medals, but because they believe in the value of discipline. And I believe that if we listen closely enough, we will find the way forward. The future of Vietnam's swimming is not in new national records. It lies in the ability to build a sustainable sports culture – where becoming a professional athlete is a viable career choice, not a gamble. It lies in creating an environment where young athletes can fail, learn, and return stronger. And it lies in patience – the patience of sports people who understand that true glory does not come from a single moment, but from thousands of hours of silent practice. When I stand by the pool in Guangzhou, watching Chinese athletes perform repetitive drills to the point of perfection, I ask myself: when will we – the Vietnamese – have that calmness? When will we stop chasing short sprints and start building deeper foundations? The answer does not lie with me, but with those leading our national sports. I can only do what I know best: listen, observe, and tell true stories – stories of perseverance, of the silences before each kick, and of the belief that one day, the breath of Vietnamese swimmers will sound clearly on the world stage.