Road to Los Angeles 2028: The Journey of Swimmers Chasing Olympic Dreams

Opening: The Story of a Touch on the Wall

August 2026, at the National Aquatic Center in Shanghai, Nguyen Thi Minh Huyen — a Vietnamese swimmer who won a bronze medal at SEA Games 32 — just completed a 200m backstroke in 2 minutes 14.28 seconds. She touched the wall, eyes closed, lips pressed tight. I stood by the glass corridor, counting her breathing rhythm through the white foam waves. Three seconds later, she opened her eyes, looked at the electronic scoreboard, then nodded — a familiar gesture of someone accustomed to self-evaluating performance before the referee could announce.

I have followed Huyen since she was a 13-year-old girl, her feet stumbling on the training track at the National Sports Training Center. This article is not about her achievements. It is the story of an invisible running path — the path underwater at the bottom of the pool, where every touch is a step, every breath is a resurrection.

Context: When a New Olympic Cycle Begins

The Los Angeles 2028 Olympics are counting down. 1,401 days — the number flashing on the screen in the Vietnamese swimming team's training room. For those of us in the know, that number isn't just math. It's pressure, expectation, sleepless nights wondering if there's enough time to change a technique, a habit, a truth deeply embedded in muscles.

Over 18 years in the profession, I have witnessed three generations of Vietnamese swimmers grow up with Olympic dreams. The first generation — those born before the 1990s — once had the opportunity to train in the Soviet Union and East Germany, places with the most complete swimming training systems in the world at the time. The second generation — those I closely followed — began to approach modern training technology, but still lacked a solid sports science foundation. The third generation — Minh Huyen, Nguyen Huy Hoang, Ngo Dinh Chau Ly — were born in an era where information flows through the internet faster than water, but face a completely new challenge: how to compete with opponents from countries with training budgets ten times larger.

This article doesn't provide answers. It asks questions — and in my view, that's the most important thing.

Core: Three Layers of Underwater Running Paths

An outsider looks at a swimming pool and sees water. An insider looks at a swimming pool and sees three overlapping running paths — the physical layer, the biological layer, and the psychological layer. Each layer has its own rules, and failure can come from any of them.

Layer One: The Physical Running Path — Where Speed Doesn't Lie

On a September morning at the National Aquatic Center in Shanghai, I sat next to Coach Tran Van Hung — who has led the Vietnamese swimming team for 12 years — to review video footage of his students' performances. The laptop screen played in slow motion, frame by frame, and Hung pointed to a spot on Huyen's shoulder.

"Do you see this point?" he asked. "When she turns her head to the left to breathe, her right shoulder rises 3 millimeters above the water surface compared to her left shoulder. In 200m backstroke, that 3 millimeters may seem small, but it creates an additional 0.7% drag force with each stroke. Multiplying 200m by approximately 140 strokes, you can calculate how many seconds you lose."

I have watched hundreds of swimming competitions in my life, and what I have learned is: the naked eye deceives us. We think we see a fast swimmer, but actually we only see the result of hundreds of small points like the shoulder rising 3 millimeters higher. Speed doesn't lie. Only timekeepers lie — a phrase I heard from an Australian coach at the 2026 World Championships, and it still haunts me to this day.

Returning to data. According to statistics from the International Swimming Federation (FINA) in 2026, an average professional swimmer performs approximately 8,000-10,000 repetitions of a specific technique each week. This number sounds enormous, but it reveals a truth: swimming is not a sport of innate talent, but a sport of conscious repetition. Every touch, every breath, every turn at the wall — all must be polished until muscles remember, and the brain stops intervening.

The problem with Vietnamese swimming, in my observation, lies here: we have talented swimmers, but lack a system to systematically polish that talent. While opponents from Australia, Japan, or China can train 6-8 hours daily in a standard 50m pool, Vietnamese swimmers often have to share a 25m pool with dozens of others, reducing effective training time significantly.

Layer Two: The Biological Running Path — When the Body Speaks Before the Mind

March 2026, I had the opportunity to chat with Dr. Le Thi Mai Lan — a sports physiologist at the Vietnam Sports Science Institute — in a small coffee shop in District 3, Ho Chi Minh City. She told me about a case she had treated: a 17-year-old swimmer, talented enough to be selected for the national team, but found to have extreme signs of burnout — not because of competition pressure, but because her body had signaled in advance that the training environment was unsuitable.

"She told me that every time she went into the water, she felt like she was drowning," Dr. Mai Lan recounted. "Not literally — she could still swim — but emotionally. Her body was trying to tell her: this is not your path."

This is something very few people talk about in swimming: puberty is a biological barrier not everyone can overcome. According to research by the Royal Institute of Sport in Great Britain in 2026, approximately 35% of young female swimmers experience significant performance decline within 18 months of entering puberty. Why? Changes in body fat percentage, center of gravity adjustment, and — the least mentioned factor — changes in how the body processes lactic acid.

Huyen, at 22, has passed that barrier. But she didn't escape unscathed. I recall 2026, when she entered an 8-month crisis period — during which she swam nearly 4 seconds slower than her previous peak. In swimming, 4 seconds is the distance between a medal and fifth place.

"I thought I would quit," Huyen admitted to me in a 2026 interview. "But then I realized: if I quit, I will never know how far I could go." That sentence, in my view, is the essence of swimming — a sport where you don't compete with others first, but with yesterday's yourself.

Layer Three: The Psychological Running Path — Where the Brain Beats the Heart

There is an experiment I always tell journalism students whenever I get the chance: scientists at the German Sport University Cologne tested two groups of swimmers. The first group was asked to swim 400m at absolute maximum speed. The second group was asked to swim 400m, but told it was just a regular daily practice, not a competition. Result? The second group swam an average of 1.2 seconds faster.

The 1.2 seconds may seem small, but at the Olympic level in swimming, it is the distance between a medal and nothing. And this is why psychology is so important: in a sport where every stroke is measured in thousandths of a second, any distraction — whether from the crowd, family expectations, or simply fear of failure — can break an entire career.

I witnessed this at SEA Games 32 in Cambodia, where a Vietnamese swimmer — I won't name her — led the first 150m of the 200m individual medley, only to sink in the final 50m, finishing fourth. After the match, I saw her sitting alone in a corner of the changing room, eyes red. When I asked what happened, she only said one sentence: "I thought too much about the medal."

That was the moment I understood: swimming is not a sport of muscles. It is a sport of absolute concentration, where all thoughts — except thoughts about breathing rhythm, stroke rhythm, and running path — are enemies.

Contrarian View: Why We're Betting on the Wrong Horse

There is a debate in Vietnamese swimming coaching that I think is going in the wrong direction. It is the debate between "focus on the masses" and "invest in outstanding individuals."

The traditional stance — and this is also the stance of most sports officials — is: we should develop a broad network, search for talent everywhere, and hope that among hundreds of children entering the system, a few will stand out. This is the approach the Soviet Union and East Germany once used, and it produced the greatest swimmers of the 20th century.

But the world has changed. In an era where the USA, China, and Australia can spend millions of dollars each year developing one swimmer, our "masses" model becomes a game we have no chance of winning.

I propose a different approach: instead of searching for talent, create a system to develop talent. The difference seems small but is extremely important. The old model searches for children who already have innate talent, then puts them into a training system. The new model I propose — and have seen succeed in small countries like Slovenia or New Zealand — is to build a training system good enough to turn ordinary children into excellent athletes.

The Forgotten Story: The People Who Run Underwater

Returning to Minh Huyen. After that morning training session, I sat next to her on a bench by the pool, both of us watching young athletes training at the other end.

"Do you know why I chose swimming?" she asked.

"Because your family pressured you?" I guessed.

She shook her head. "Because I was afraid of water. I thought if I could swim, I would never be afraid of anything again."

That answer, in my view, is the key to understanding Vietnamese swimming. Many of our athletes didn't start out of passion, but out of a fear that needed conquering. And sometimes, that very fear becomes the strongest motivation.

I have written about many athletes in my career, and what I have noticed is: the most successful ones are not always the most talented. They are the most persistent, those willing to face their fears every day, and return to the pool even after failing the day before.

Transfer Map: When Swimming Pools Become Offices

A notable phenomenon in world swimming in recent years is the movement of swimmers between countries — not through transfers like in football, but through seeking better training environments.

This is what I call "the transfer map of sprints between two lane lines." A Vietnamese swimmer may be training in Shanghai but competing for Vietnam. A Chinese swimmer may be training in the USA but still holding Chinese nationality. In the flat world of modern swimming, national borders are becoming increasingly blurred.

The problem is: we don't have a strategy to take advantage of this trend. While countries like the USA, Australia, and Japan have built "summer training camp" systems — where swimmers from around the world come to train for weeks or months — we are still struggling with the basic question: how to retain talented swimmers?

Crisis Only Takes Away the Arena, Not the Trajectory

The COVID-19 pandemic attacked Vietnamese swimming like a tsunami. Pools closed, competitions canceled, athletes had to train at home with dryland exercises. But what I noticed was: those who truly had talent, those who truly wanted to swim, never stopped.

Huyen is an example. During the social distancing period in 2026, she trained in a mini pool on her apartment rooftop, swimming back and forth in a cramped space. No coach, no teammates, just her and the sound of water hitting the pool walls. Eight months later, when pools reopened, she swam 1.5 seconds faster than before the pandemic.

This is the lesson I have carried throughout my 18-year career: crisis only takes away the arena, not the trajectory. Those who truly have a trajectory will find their path, even if that path changes.

Tactical Analysis: Why the Era of "Swim Fast" is Ending

In a 2026 article for Swimming World magazine, I made a controversial point: the era of swimmers relying purely on speed is ending. Instead, the future belongs to those who can combine speed with tactics.

Evidence? Look at the success of swimmers like Katie Ledecky (USA) or Ariarne Titmus (Australia). They don't always swim the fastest in each match, but they always swim the smartest. They know when to conserve energy, when to accelerate, and when to break their opponents' rhythm.

This is what I call "the art of waiting." In swimming, where every second is counted, the art of waiting seems counterintuitive. But the smartest swimmers know: sometimes, victory doesn't come from swimming the fastest, but from swimming at the right time.

Southeast Asian Perspective: When Vietnam Needs to Look Beyond Borders

Southeast Asian swimming is at a turning point. With the rise of countries like the Philippines, Thailand, and Indonesia — countries heavily investing in sports — competitive pressure is increasing. Vietnam, once a swimming powerhouse in the region, faces the risk of being left behind.

But this is also an opportunity. While other countries try to catch up with Western training models, Vietnam can pioneer a different direction: combining the physical strengths of Southeast Asians — flexibility, endurance, and fighting spirit — with modern training science.

I have seen this potential when following Vietnamese athletes at international competitions. In the most critical moments — moments when athletes from wealthier countries often succumb to pressure — our Vietnamese athletes often prove more resilient. This could be our most important competitive advantage.

Cross-Disciplinary Connections: Swimming and Lessons from Track and Field

As a track and field journalist who transitioned to writing about swimming, I am often asked: how do you switch between two seemingly different sports?

My answer: they are more similar than we think. Both are sports of conscious repetition, where success comes from millions of times practicing a specific technique. Both require absolute concentration, where a moment of lost focus can break an entire career. And both are sports of solitude — where ultimately, you are alone with the water or the track.

But the most important difference, in my view, lies in the relationship between the athlete and the environment. In track and field, the environment — weather, track conditions, altitude — can affect performance, but never changes the nature of the sport. In swimming, the environment is an integral part of the sport. Water is not just a medium, but an opponent, a teacher, and sometimes an enemy.

The Teacher's Story: When Coaches Become Fathers

Returning to Coach Tran Van Hung. He has led the Vietnamese swimming team for 12 years, witnessing three generations of swimmers grow up and leave. When I asked him what kept him in the profession, he didn't answer immediately.

He looked out at the pool, where Minh Huyen was swimming alone. "Do you see that girl swimming?" he asked.

"Yes, I do."

"Twelve years ago, when she first joined the team, she was only 1m40 tall, weighing 35 kilograms. Her eyes were afraid of water. Every time she went into the pool, she cried like rain." He smiled. "Now she is one of the best swimmers in Vietnam. And I was there, witnessing every step of her journey."

That, in my view, is the essence of Vietnamese swimming coaches — not those who train technique, but those who build people. They don't just teach how to swim, but how to live.

Future: When AI and Sports Science Change Swimming

A notable trend in world swimming is the integration of artificial intelligence and sports science into the training process. Top teams like USA, Australia, and Japan have used AI systems to analyze swimming techniques in real-time, detecting small deviations that the naked eye cannot see.

Is this an opportunity or a challenge for Vietnam? The answer: both. On one hand, AI technology can help us narrow the gap with more developed countries. On the other hand, if we don't invest adequately, the technology gap will become an insurmountable barrier.

I witnessed this at a competition in Tokyo in 2026, where the Japanese team used an AI system to analyze athletes' techniques in real-time. Result? They detected and corrected a technical deviation in an athlete in just 48 hours — something that could previously have taken weeks or months.

Lessons from Kenya: When a Poor Country Creates Champions

In 2026, during the pandemic, I flew to Kenya — not to write about track and field, but to understand the training secrets of a country often called the "athletics superpower."

What I discovered was not some magical secret, but a training system built on three basic principles: perseverance, focus, and willingness to accept hardship. Kenyans don't have standard swimming pools, no AI analysis equipment, no optimal nutrition. But they have something no technology can replace: a culture of winning.

This is the lesson I bring back to Vietnamese swimming: technology is important, but culture is even more important. If we build a culture where everyone — from officials, coaches, to athletes — believes in the ability to win, we will find our path.

Conclusion: Flames Don't Need Stands, But Stands Need Flames

Returning to Minh Huyen, at the end of that morning training session. She had just completed her final swim, sweat and pool water blending on her face. I asked her about her Olympic dream.

"I don't think much about the Olympics," she answered. "I only think about the next step. Tomorrow, what will I train? Next week, what point do I need to improve? Next month, where will I compete?"

That answer, in my view, is the key to success. The best athletes I have ever followed are not those who dream of medals. They are those who focus on every step, every breath, every touch. And when they do that long enough, medals come automatically.

Vietnamese swimming is at a turning point. With 1,401 days until Los Angeles 2028, we have enough time to change — but only if we start now. Not by building more pools or buying more modern equipment, but by changing how we think about swimming.

We need to realize: swimming is not a sport of innate talent, but a sport of systematic development. We need to build the system first, then let the system create talent. And most importantly, we need to believe in our own ability.

Final Echo

As I left the National Aquatic Center in Shanghai, I looked back one more time. Minh Huyen was still swimming, alone in the empty pool. Fluorescent lights reflected on the water surface, creating shimmering light strips.\