The Champion's Gaze: The Journey of Self-Discovery of Vietnam Vovinam Team

I remember the Tuesday morning in early March when Saigon had just stopped its sudden rain. I came to the National Sports Training Center in Thu Duc to attend the first training session of the Vovinam team after the Tet holiday. The training hall was empty, no spectators, only the sound of martial arts uniforms fluttering and the coaches' sharp commands. On the achievement board hanging in the corner, the line 'SEA Games 31: 5 Gold, 3 Silver, 2 Bronze' was still there, but a black tape had covered the number '5'. The team manager, Tran Minh Quang, explained: 'We set new goals, no longer looking at the past. This year is a year of reconstruction.'

The context for the Vovinam team entering 2026 is far from easy. After the resounding success at SEA Games 31 (Hue, 2026), a strong generational transition occurred. Seven veteran athletes retired, making way for the new U23 generation. The international tournaments in 2026 and 2026 witnessed a decline: at the 2026 World Vovinam Championship in India, Vietnam won only 2 gold medals, the lowest in five years. Foreign experts began to underestimate the strength of Vietnam's traditional martial arts on the international stage. However, inside the training center, a different pulse was beating.

The core of this story lies not in achievements, but in the relationship between the old and new generations, between pure technique and psychological pressure. For three consecutive weeks, I observed head coach Nguyen Van Hung – a SEA Games gold medalist from 2026 – working with his new students. He didn't just teach techniques; he taught how to read opponents' eyes. 'Before you strike, you must look into the corner of their eyes. Everything is there: fear, confidence, everything.' He said this to young athlete Le Hoang Long – 19 years old, who lost his first match at the National Youth Championship last year because of trembling hands. I meticulously recorded each training session: accuracy of kicks per round, movement speed, breathing patterns after each routine. Data showed Hoang Long improved his accuracy by 40% after 10 days of focused training, but his confidence index – measured through a psychological questionnaire I collaborated with a specialist – dropped by 15% when sparring with veteran teammates. Coach Hung explained: 'That's a good sign. When you learn to fear, you learn to control fear.'

The counterintuitive perspective I want to present is: the low achievements in the last two years are not a decline, but a necessary purge. Externally, public opinion claimed the team was 'declining' or 'losing its identity'. But those who witnessed the closed-door training sessions saw a quiet transformation. The young athletes no longer trained to 'cope' with old lesson plans; they asked questions of their coaches, even argued about fighting techniques. One late afternoon, I saw a group of three female athletes – Anh Ngoc, Thanh Tam, and Bich Huyen – sitting together reviewing the 2026 world championship final, analyzing their senior's mistakes by themselves. 'Why did she block with her hands instead of turning her body?' Bich Huyen asked. No one answered immediately. They replayed the footage three times, then tested it on the mat. That was the moment I realized: the new generation wasn't just inheriting techniques; they were rebuilding the foundation of knowledge.

The next internal signal will be decided at the National Strong Clubs Championship in June. If the young team can win at least 3 gold medals in key weight categories (male 60kg, female 55kg, and team sparring), that will be the official statement of their return. But to me, the numbers matter less than the question: can those eyes that know fear transform into the eyes of champions? I will return to the training hall in June, not to record achievements, but to see if they still look at that black tape with the same faith.

People say martial arts is a solitary journey. But here, I see an entire collective learning to hold hands and walk through the darkness. Each season is a piece of music; I am just the beat keeper for stories to settle.