Vietnamese Swimming: Journey from Shallow Pools to Continental Arena

Kazan taught me that speed can also dance. But in Vietnam, I learned that patience can sing. When I stood by the international pool in Guangzhou, watching young Vietnamese swimmers step into the spotlight for the first time, I recalled the moment in Kazan in 2026 – when Mbappé sprinted at 37 km/h past the Argentine defense. The difference is that there, I was just a spectator; here, I am the one writing their story. Vietnamese swimming has long been seen as an 'unlucky' sport – lacking standard pools, lacking experts, lacking media attention. But over the past five years, I have witnessed a quiet transformation. At the 31st SEA Games held on home soil, the Vietnamese swimming team won 10 gold medals, surpassing both Thailand and Singapore. That number does not tell the whole story. It is just the tip of an iceberg I have been watching from beneath the water's surface. Nguyen Huy Hoang, 22, is the clearest proof. He started swimming at age 8 in a makeshift pool in Quang Binh – where the water was only 1.2 meters deep, with no lane markers. His coach, Nguyen Van Hung, once told me: 'We don't have force-measuring devices, no Olympic-standard pools. We only have water, and patience.' Huy Hoang broke the national record in the 1500m freestyle at SEA Games 31 with a time of 15 minutes 12.34 seconds, just 4 seconds off the Asian record. But what impressed me was not the number, but how he managed his breathing – every three strokes, one breath, as steady as a Swiss watch. In the emptiness, I hear the breath of the match more clearly. At the 2026 Asian Swimming Championships in Jakarta, I stood in the spectator-free zone where athletes were warming up. I saw Huy Hoang repeat a shoulder-rotation exercise 20 times, then stand still for 30 seconds, eyes closed. No one said anything to him. It was the ritual of someone accustomed to solitude in training. As a result, he finished 5th overall, but more importantly, he improved by 2.3 seconds from his SEA Games time. That progress did not come from a modern gym, but from understanding his body through thousands of hours in the water. The language of silence – that is what I learned from Vietnamese swimmers. They are not loud, they do not announce grand goals. They just quietly improve every percentage. Take the start technique: at SEA Games 31, the Vietnamese team had an average reaction time of 0.68 seconds, compared to Thailand's 0.72 seconds. That 0.04-second difference sounds small, but in swimming, it is the gap between gold and bronze. Coach Nguyen Van Hung explained: 'We don't have pressure sensors, but we record slow-motion videos at 240 frames per second with our phones, then analyze every movement.' Creativity within constraints – that is the essence of Vietnamese swimming. However, there is a contrarian view I want to raise: the lack of standard pools is not entirely a disadvantage. In short 25-meter pools, swimmers are forced to turn more often, thereby honing their turn skills – one of the decisive factors in short-distance events. Nguyen Thi Anh Vien, Vietnam's swimming legend, once told me: 'Short pools taught me how to accelerate after each turn. When I got to long pools, I felt relieved because I had fewer turns.' This explains why Vietnamese swimmers often perform well in the 200m and 400m events – where turn skills play a big role. Meanwhile, countries with long pools often focus on endurance, overlooking this detail. But there is also a blind spot. I notice an over-reliance on a few individuals. Huy Hoang and Anh Vien are the two pillars, but the next generation has not yet emerged. At the 2026 National Youth Championships, only 3 swimmers under 18 achieved the SEA Games A-cut. That number is too few compared to Thailand (12) or Indonesia (9). Without a long-term training strategy, Vietnamese swimming could fall into a gap after the current generation retires. I have seen the same in football – when the golden generation of Vietnam's U23 team in 2026 had no worthy successors, and the national team struggled in subsequent tournaments. The pandemic season was where the truest voice was heard: the sound of the ball hitting the grass. For swimming, it was the sound of water breaking without spectators. In 2026, when pools closed, Huy Hoang had to train in a fish pond at his hometown. He said: 'The pond water was murky, but I still swam. I just needed to feel the push of my hands.' That resilience cannot be measured by machines. It comes from a love for the sport, and from discipline honed over the years. When pools reopened, Huy Hoang had improved by 1.8 seconds in the 800m – a remarkable figure given the deprivation. I recall an interview with Coach Nguyen Van Hung at the national training center in Da Nang. He pointed to the 50-meter pool – one of the few Olympic-standard pools in Vietnam – and said: 'We have 10 lanes, but only 2 have timing sensor systems. For the rest, we use handheld stopwatches.' That statement made me think. In the era of big data, Vietnamese swimming still relies on human observation. But that limitation creates an advantage: coaches are forced to read athletes with their eyes, noticing subtle changes in technique that machines might miss. When I stood at the 2026 National Championships, I saw something new: young swimmers starting to use smart goggles – devices that display heart rate and stroke count. This is a sign of transformation. But I also worry: will the reliance on technology erode the instinctive feel for water – the thing Huy Hoang and Anh Vien built through thousands of hours without devices? I don't have an answer, but I believe the balance between technology and feel will be the key. Vietnamese swimming is at a crossroads. On one hand, the results at SEA Games 31 and 32 have created great momentum. On the other, infrastructure remains lacking, and media attention is still limited. But I see a new generation – 10-year-olds training at public pools in Hanoi, Da Nang, Can Tho. They don't know Anh Vien's records, but they know swimming can take them to the world. And that, to me, is enough. As I left the international pool in Guangzhou, I looked back at the young Vietnamese swimmers warming up. They didn't say much. They just quietly stepped into the water and started swimming. In that moment, I remembered a quote from an Italian coach I once interviewed: 'Silence is not lacking language – it possesses its own tongue.' For Vietnamese swimming, that tongue is the sound of water breaking, the steady rhythm of breath, the wordless patience. And I believe, if they continue to listen, they will write stories no one can predict.