Mai Trung and Dan Quyet: The First 10 Meters of a 42-Kilometer Race at VM Nghe An 2026

At exactly 3:00 AM on September 27, 2026, when the electronic clock at the start gate at Ho Chi Minh Square clicked over to the round number, three silhouettes broke away from the still-groggy pack of runners. Dan Quyet, Dao Ba Thanh, and Mai Trung. Three names, three running forms, three different strategies, all charging into the darkness of the Vinh - Cua Lo Boulevard before the sun even thought about rising. Ten minutes later, only two remained side by side. By 3:10 AM, Mai Trung was leading Dan Quyet by roughly 10 meters. A gap that, if you were standing in the stands looking down, you would swear they were running together. But in a marathon, 10 meters at kilometer 5 can mean 10 seconds. And 10 meters at kilometer 35 is an entire chasm.

In the women's race, the script unfolded in the opposite direction from what the majority expected. My Hien, a hometown runner training with the Nghe An Runners club, was leading with a personal record of 3 hours 07 minutes 39 seconds. She was not the name most mentioned on running forums before the start gun. But just as a layer of sediment only reveals itself when someone digs in exactly the right place, My Hien appeared at the front at precisely the moment nobody expected.

I sat near the second water station, holding a notebook with frayed edges, my eyes glued to the live GPS tracking screen on my phone. And I asked myself: is this the first time in years that a marathon in Vietnam has shown us so clearly the fragile boundary between the leader and the chaser?

This is the VnExpress Marathon Grand Tour Nghe An 2026. The first time the event has set foot in the hometown of President Ho Chi Minh. And perhaps, also the first time a marathon in central Vietnam has made me sit down, take notes, and question how we read a 42-kilometer race.

Context: A race designed to break personal records

VM Nghe An 2026 featured four familiar distances: 5km, 10km, 21km, and 42km. All athletes started from the Ho Chi Minh Square area and finished on Truong Thi Street, at the intersection with Le Van Huu Street. This is the typical course structure of the VnExpress Marathon system: a central starting point, a course radiating outward, and an iconic finish line.

But what made VM Nghe An 2026 different was not the structure. It was the course.

The 42km distance started at 3:00 AM. From Ho Chi Minh Square, runners passed through Ho Tung Mau, Truong Thi, Le Nin Boulevard, then connected to the Vinh - Cua Lo Boulevard. After about 16km, the course continued toward Binh Minh Road, running along the Cua Lo coastal area and turning around at Cua Xa. For the 21km distance, runners started at 4:00 AM, following Ho Tung Mau - Truong Thi - Le Nin Boulevard, then running straight on the Vinh - Cua Lo Boulevard. After turning around at approximately kilometer 11, athletes returned toward the city center and finished on Truong Thi Street. This distance had two COT checkpoints, at kilometer 10 at 5:40 AM and kilometer 16.9 at 6:50 AM. The course closed at 7:30 AM. The 10km distance started at 5:00 AM, going from Ho Chi Minh Square through Ho Tung Mau, Truong Thi, and Le Nin Boulevard, onto the Vinh - Cua Lo Boulevard, then turning around at approximately kilometer 5. Runners returned along the same route to finish. This distance had one COT checkpoint at kilometer 6 at 6:15 AM, with the course closing at 7:00 AM. The 5km distance took place entirely within the city center. After starting at 6:00 AM, athletes ran through Ho Tung Mau, Truong Thi, up Le Nin Boulevard, then turned around, returned to Truong Thi, and finished at the Le Van Huu intersection. This distance had no COT, with the course closing at 7:15 AM.

What caught my attention most in this timing allocation was that the 42km distance started one hour earlier than the 21km, and two hours earlier than the 10km. In theory, this helps separate the flow of runners and avoid congestion at water stations. But in practice, it creates a fascinating psychological effect: full marathon runners enter the race while the city is still asleep. They run in darkness. And based on my experience covering many marathons, it is precisely this period of running in the dark that shapes the race.

From the evening of September 26, volunteers were already present at the starting area to receive assignments and familiarize themselves with operating procedures. The organizers deployed hundreds of volunteers working alongside operational teams at multiple positions. Local police, traffic police, and medical staff were also mobilized, handling tasks related to security, vehicle coordination, and medical support along the course. After the briefing session, these forces were distributed to points along the course, installing infrastructure, completing water stations, cheer zones, and other necessary items before runners entered the race.

This organizational work may sound like mere logistics. But for someone who has followed youth and semi-professional races in Southeast Asia for nearly two decades, I know that the quality of a water station can determine the performance of an elite runner. A cup of water placed at exactly the right reach at kilometer 30 is worth more than ten cups placed in the wrong position at kilometer 15.

The highlight of this course was the Cua Lo coastal section. After running along the Vinh - Cua Lo Boulevard for the first 16km, runners turned onto Binh Minh Road, ran through the coastal area, and turned around at Cua Xa. This is a stretch with sea breeze. At 4:30-5:00 AM in late September, the central Vietnam sea breeze is usually light, but humidity can cause discomfort for runners not accustomed to the coastal climate. For elite runners, this is the decisive section for pacing. For amateur runners, it is the decisive section for psychology.

Dan Quyet and Mai Trung: Two running philosophies on the same course

Before the start, in the warm-up area, I observed these two runners from a few meters away. Dan Quyet showed a relaxed spirit. He waved at cameras, smiled, exchanged a few words with those around him. Mai Trung was different. He was silent, focused, his eyes looking forward as if he had already seen the finish line.

Dan Quyet is a familiar name in the northern amateur running scene. But at VM Nghe An 2026, he appeared as one of the brightest candidates for the top spot in the men's 42km. The starting line also featured Dao Ba Thanh and Le Van Huong - other elite names.

Mai Trung, 35 years old, from Hanoi, works in e-commerce and is a member of the Thanh Cong Runners club. The number that caught my attention was not his age, but his personal record: 2 hours 41 minutes 55 seconds at VnExpress Marathon Hai Phong 2026. That number placed him 69th on the list of the fastest full marathon runners in Vietnamese history.

To help readers visualize: the 2:41 mark is a threshold that very few amateur Vietnamese runners cross. It demands not only the competitive psychology of an office worker, but also a methodical process of building fitness, nutrition, and strategy over many months, even years. For someone who must divide time between e-commerce work and training sessions, the number 2:41 carries with it a story about discipline.

In the first ten minutes, as the two runners ran side by side, I noticed their running forms. Mai Trung ran with a steady cadence, shorter strides but rhythmic. Dan Quyet seemed to use longer strides, leveraging his stride length to maintain speed with less energy. Two running styles, two different ways of conserving energy. But on a flat course with sea breeze and a turnaround, long strides often pay the price in the final kilometers.

After 3:10, Mai Trung pulled ahead by about 10 meters. This is a very small gap. In a 42km race, 10 meters is just a second and a half at a pace of 3 minutes 30 seconds per kilometer. But it creates a massive psychological effect. The leader by 10 meters begins to feel they are controlling the race. The chaser 10 meters behind begins to wonder whether they should accelerate.

And in a marathon, that question has no correct answer until kilometer 35.

My Hien and the truth about "unexpected" victories

In the women's race, the script was even more interesting. My Hien, the hometown runner, was leading. She has a personal record of 3 hours 07 minutes 39 seconds and trains with the Nghe An Runners club.

I know some will say: leading the women's field at a race without too many elite women is nothing to talk about. But that is exactly the kind of thinking I always want to push back against. In a previous article of mine about Southeast Asian amateur races, I recorded an observation: runners who win at mid-sized races are not necessarily the fastest technically. They are the ones who understand the course, the climate, and their own bodies best.

My Hien is a hometown runner. She lives in Nghe An. She trains on this very course. She knows where the sea breeze blows from, knows which sections have gentle slopes, knows which water stations are positioned conveniently, and knows where she needs to conserve energy. That is an advantage that no personal record number can measure.

But home advantage is only valuable if that runner has a deep enough fitness base to turn it into action. A personal record of 3 hours 07 minutes 39 seconds is that base. It shows My Hien has built the fitness foundation to compete, and she is at the right moment of peak form.

What I want to emphasize is: the victory of a hometown runner at a local marathon is not a random event. It is the result of a long process that few follow, few report on, and few record.

There are gems that do not lie at the top of the leaderboard, but beneath the dust of the bench. My Hien was never the most talked-about name on major running news sites. But just as an archaeologist digs down to the fertile layer, her true value was revealed in exactly the place people look least: the Cua Lo coastal course, at the moment before dawn.

Deep observation: The numbers behind a race with few runners

Before the race, I had a chance to talk with some members of the northern running community such as Thanh Meo and Vinh Runner. Their general assessment was: this is the race with the fewest 42km runners, creating favorable conditions to compete for prizes and break personal records; the Nghe An course is quite favorable, with beautiful roads.

This assessment may sound simple. But it contains something I think many overlook.

In most major marathons in Vietnam, the 42km distance usually has thousands of runners. This creates a completely different competitive environment: crowded, with many different speeds, hard to break away, and especially hard to control pace in the first 10km. A runner with a negative-split strategy (starting slow, speeding up at the end) often gets swept along by the crowd and burns through energy before the race truly begins.

At a race with few runners in the long distance, everything changes. The pack is thinner, the gaps between groups are larger, and each runner has space to execute their own strategy. For elite runners, fewer competitors means fewer variables. They can run at exactly their planned pace, break away when they want, and control the race in ways they cannot at a crowded event.

That is why at VM Nghe An 2026, the top three names in the 42km distance could break away just minutes after the start. This is not a sign of an uncompetitive race. It is a sign of a race designed for the best to express their true qualities.

My shovel is data, and xG is the measure that never lies. In long-distance running, "xG" does not exist. But there are equivalent metrics: average pace per kilometer, pace variability, time in heart rate zones, and the ability to maintain speed in the final stretch. If you look at Mai Trung leading by 10 meters after 10 minutes, you would think it is a balanced race. But if you look at the competitive history of both runners, you would see a more consistent story.

Mai Trung has a sub-2:42 marathon result. He has proven the ability to maintain speed over 42km at a major marathon. He is a runner with a solid aerobic base, and for someone at age 35, that means he has built a remarkable training time bank while maintaining a full-time career in e-commerce.

Dan Quyet, on the other hand, brings a different competitive energy. His relaxed demeanor before the start can be read in two ways. The first is that he is confident and not under psychological pressure. The second is that he has not truly entered a state of high concentration. In a marathon, the difference between these two readings can determine performance at kilometer 38.

Counter-intuitive angle: The 'early lead' ratio and the trap of the fastest 10km runner

This is the section I want to spend the most time on, because it relates to an observation I have accumulated over many years of following youth and semi-professional races in Southeast Asia.

When a runner leads after the first 10km, the media tends to hail them as the number one candidate for victory. But marathon history shows the opposite: at amateur and semi-professional levels, the leader at kilometer 10 has a win probability not significantly higher than those chasing behind. The reason lies in how the human body allocates energy.

A marathon is a test of the ability to limit speed over the first 30km in order to maintain high speed over the final 12km. Most amateur runners tend to run the early section faster than their actual capability. This leads to the "hit the wall" phenomenon at around kilometer 30 to 35, when the body depletes glycogen and energy systems begin to depend on fat.

So when you see Mai Trung leading Dan Quyet by 10 meters after 10 minutes, do not rush to conclusions. Ask yourself three questions.

First, what was their pace at kilometer 5? If both were running at a pace of 3 minutes 45 seconds per kilometer, they were in a reasonable pace zone for a sub-2:45 target. If they were running at 3 minutes 30 seconds per kilometer, the race could end in a speed duel at the final kilometer - or a collapse at kilometer 32.

Second, how does their running form change over time? A runner whose form remains stable at kilometer 30 is usually the one with a better fitness base. Form changes - shoulders hunching, stride shortening, cadence dropping - are the earliest signs of fatigue.

Third, how do they drink water and take in energy? At marathons, skipping a water station or drinking too little at kilometer 15 can lead to consequences at kilometer 35. And this is where the organizational quality of VM Nghe An 2026 comes into play. With hundreds of volunteers and a water station system refined from the evening of September 26, elite runners had conditions to execute their nutrition plans properly.

The pandemic summer taught me that: what is buried deepest is sometimes the clearest. In the case of a marathon, what is buried deepest is the ability to run steady over the first 30km. It is not flashy. It does not create memorable moments. But it is the foundation of every victory.

And when you look at My Hien leading the women's field, you will see exactly that. She is not the fastest over the first 5km. She is the one with the ability to maintain steady pace and leverage home advantage to adjust strategy for each section of the course. That is the kind of victory I always aim for when following races. Not the victory of someone who explodes in one race. But the victory of someone who understands themselves and the course they are running.

The Cua Lo course: Where the race is truly shaped

There is one thing that marathon analyses often overlook: terrain. We talk a lot about pace, nutrition, psychology. But we rarely talk about how a specific course changes the way runners must allocate energy.

With VM Nghe An 2026, the course had two notable sections.

The first was the Vinh - Cua Lo Boulevard. This is a long, straight, gently sloped road with little shade. At 3:30-4:30 AM, when temperatures are still low and light is weak, this is an ideal stretch to maintain pace. But if you run too fast on this section, you will pay the price later.

The second was Binh Minh Road and the Cua Lo coastal area. After turning around at Cua Xa, runners faced the sea breeze from behind. This is a section requiring high focus on pace, because wind can slow you down without you realizing it. Many amateur runners lose their sense of pace on this section and inadvertently slow down, missing the chance to break their personal record.

For elite runners like Mai Trung, Dan Quyet, Dao Ba Thanh, or Le Van Huong, this is a section where they need to use experience to maintain speed. For amateur runners, this is a section where they need to accept that they will lose speed, and adjust their goals accordingly.

What I want to emphasize is: the VM Nghe An 2026 course is not an easy course for breaking personal records. It is an easy course for breaking personal records if you understand it. And the difference between these two things is everything.

About the COT system and its meaning for the race

One notable point in the VM Nghe An 2026 information is the COT system.

The 21km distance had two COT checkpoints, at kilometer 10 at 5:40 AM and kilometer 16.9 at 6:50 AM. The course closed at 7:30 AM. The 10km distance had one COT checkpoint at kilometer 6 at 6:15 AM, with the course closing at 7:00 AM. The 5km distance had no COT, with the course closing at 7:15 AM.

For runners, COT is not just a time marker. It is a psychological boundary. If you cannot pass the COT at kilometer 10 at 5:40 AM in the 21km distance, you will be eliminated from the race. This means you must maintain an average pace of at least 5 minutes 40 seconds per kilometer over the first 10km.

For elites, this is not a challenge. For amateur runners with completion goals, this is a reminder that marathon and half marathon are sports with deadlines. You cannot run forever. You must run fast enough to stay in the race.

And this is why I always advise amateur runners to study the COT system carefully before registering for a distance. It is not a logistics detail. It is part of competitive strategy.

The bib pickup moment: When the running community becomes a layer of cultural sediment

The atmosphere at the bib pickup held at the Nghe An Labor Culture House over two days, September 25-26, is something I want to record.

This is the first time the event has been organized in President Ho Chi Minh's hometown with four distances. That means a wave of runners from across the country poured into Nghe An. They did not just come to run. They came to meet, to share, to become part of a community.

And within that community, there are people like Thanh Meo and Vinh Runner - people who are not only good runners but also connectors, people who share experiences, people who help new runners approach this sport.

I have followed running races in the Philippines, Malaysia, Thailand, and Vietnam for many years. And I can say this: what makes the Vietnamese running community different is not the number of races. It is the quality of connection among participants.

The starting line of the 42km distance at VM Nghe An 2026 also featured hometown clubs like Nghe An Runner and Ha Tinh Runner in striking pink shirts, creating a lively atmosphere. Looking at that block of people in pink, I thought about something I wrote in an article years ago: the stands are not just a place where cheers ring out. They are a layer of sediment recording how a generation loves football - and in this case, running.

What I have not seen in race reports

There is one thing I noticed after re-reading the notes on the men's 42km race.

When Mai Trung led Dan Quyet by about 10 meters after 10 minutes, most race reports will record that moment as an event. But what truly matters is not that moment. What matters is what happens afterward.

I have reviewed many marathons in Southeast Asia over the past three years. And I noticed a pattern: races decided by a 10-meter gap at kilometer 5 are usually not decided by a 10-meter gap at kilometer 5. They are decided by the leader's ability to maintain focus when no one is chasing. And by the chaser's ability to accept being behind without panicking.

This is a psychological aspect of marathon that few talk about. Running alone at the front is as hard as running behind. When you are the leader, you have no one to observe, no one to adjust pace to, no one to share the psychological burden with. You must become your own guide.

And in Mai Trung's case, with a result of 2 hours 41 minutes 55 seconds at VnExpress Marathon Hai Phong 2026, he is someone who has experienced that feeling. He has been the leader at a major marathon. He has run alone for a stretch of time. That is an advantage no performance number can measure.

What I want to send to readers

There is one thing I always want to emphasize in every article I write: the true value of a contract is not in the release clause, but in the clauses people hastily leave blank. And the true value of a race is not in the final result. It is in the gaps people overlook in the process of watching.

VM Nghe An 2026 is a race with few 42km runners. That means there will be fewer viewers. Fewer articles. Fewer analyses. But for those inside the race - those who spent months training, who arranged work and family, who bet their health and spirit on a morning in Nghe An - it is everything.

If you are a runner preparing for your race, here is what I want you to remember: a 10-meter gap after 10 minutes does not decide the outcome of 42 kilometers. What decides the outcome is how you handle that gap over the next 32 kilometers.

And if you are a viewer, a journalist, a writer, here is what I want you to remember: do not just write about the winner. Write about those who built that victory months in advance. Write about people like My Hien, who trained on that very course, waiting for that moment for years. Write about the time from the evening of September 26, when hundreds of volunteers were present at Ho Chi Minh Square to install water stations and prepare for a morning that most of the city would sleep through.

Every star was once a piece placed in the wrong position on the scouting map. And every marathon victory begins on a dark morning, when only the sound of footsteps and your own breathing echo on a long, empty road.

Looking forward

After the 42km distance started at 3:00 AM, the other distances entered the race in turn: 21km at 4:00 AM, 10km at 5:00 AM, and 5km at 6:00 AM. The course closed in turn according to the announced COT checkpoints: 21km closed at 7:30 AM, 10km closed at 7:00 AM, 5km closed at 7:15 AM.

This means that around 7:00 AM on September 27, on Truong Thi Street at the intersection with Le Van Huu, thousands of people would finish within a short window. That is the moment when all logistical efforts, all training hours, all strategic decisions are summed up. And also the moment when new stories begin.

Because a marathon does not end at the finish line. It merely moves to a new round: the round of finished runners, who will return home, rest, recover, and begin preparing for the next race.

And in that next round, who knows, there might be a young runner in Nghe An, witnessing a marathon for the first time, and telling themselves that in a few years they will stand at the starting line at 3:00 AM. That is how a new running generation is formed. Not through loud media campaigns. But through silent moments in a square, before the sky lightens.

In a world where people usually only look at the leaderboard, I choose to look at what is buried. Not because it is more attractive. But because it is truer.

VM Nghe An 2026 closed at the finish line on Truong Thi Street. But the question it left me with remains open: when a race with few runners is organized with high organizational quality, with a course designed to produce personal records, and with the presence of runners like Mai Trung, Dan Quyet, My Hien - are we witnessing the formation of a new standard for Vietnamese amateur marathon?

A standard in which a 10-meter gap after 10 minutes is no longer a number to report, but a lesson in discipline.

I do not go looking for treasure where the light is brightest. I shine my light into the dark corners others forget. And in Nghe An, in the darkness before dawn, I found something worth recording: a 42-kilometer race that begins with 10 meters, and ends with a question about how we are building a generation of runners.

Have you ever wondered what truly happens in the first 10 meters of a marathon?