Nguyen Thi Anh Vien and the Search for a 'Successor' in the New Era of Vietnamese Women's Swimming

The pool at the Da Nang National Sports Training Center was unusually quiet on a Tuesday morning in early March. No coach's whistle, no final sprint laps. Just the gentle sound of water lapping against the pool edge from a group of young swimmers moving slowly, as if listening to something within the water itself. Above the stands, an electronic scoreboard still displayed the old national record for the women's 400m freestyle - 4 minutes 07.07 seconds, set in 2026. No one has turned that board off. Perhaps that is this center's way of reminding future generations of a standard still waiting to be broken.

After Nguyen Thi Anh Vien officially retired from competitive swimming in 2026, Vietnamese women's swimming entered a transition period unprecedented in its history. For a full decade, Anh Vien was the center of attention, the representative image of Vietnamese sport's ambition to reach continental standards. But when the spotlight dimmed, the biggest question was not who would replace her, but whether our training system could truly produce a successor generation.

Based on my years of experience following matches and swimming competitions, I have noticed a sobering reality: we often confuse having a star with having a system. Anh Vien was not the product of a systematic training process, but an exceptional individual refined through a long-term training stint in the United States. This raises the question: when such a special talent is no longer present, do the remaining athletes have adequate conditions to develop?

Looking at the current women's swimming team, I see a young generation full of potential but lacking stability in performance. At SEA Games 32 held in Cambodia in 2026, Vietnamese female swimmers won 3 gold medals, a modest number compared to the 7 gold medals Anh Vien once brought home in a single SEA Games. But what is noteworthy is not the number of medals. What is noteworthy is the performance gap between the top athletes and the rest of the team - a gap that reflects a shortage of depth rather than a lack of talent.

The story of generational transition in Vietnamese women's swimming is not just a story about performance. It is a story about how we define success in sport. For many years, we have been accustomed to celebrating exceptional individuals - those who rise above circumstances to achieve extraordinary results. But we rarely ask: what happens after the hero leaves? Does the system continue to function or not?

At the national youth team training sessions, I witnessed 16 and 17-year-old athletes training at very high intensity. They swim 8-10 kilometers daily, adhering to strict training plans from coaches who once worked with Anh Vien. But there is a fundamental difference: while Anh Vien had a long-term training program in the United States with world-class experts, the current young athletes primarily train domestically with limited resources. That is not the fault of any individual, but a systemic limitation.

Behind the locker room door, there are stories never told. I spent months talking with young athletes, and I realized that their greatest pressure does not come from having to achieve results, but from having to live in the shadow of a legend. Every time they step into the pool, they are aware that they are being compared to Anh Vien. Every time they fail to meet expectations, they hear whispers that "the era of Vietnamese swimming is over."

The truth is, Vietnamese women's swimming is not weakening. It is undergoing a restructuring process that any sport must go through after losing a major star. The issue is not whether we can find a new Anh Vien, but whether we can build a system that can produce multiple international-level athletes. That is a much harder question, and a much more important one.

Voices from the locker room resonate through the sharing of young athletes. They do not want to become a second Anh Vien. They want to become themselves. They want to be judged based on their own efforts and achievements, not on comparison with a glorious past. That seems obvious, but in reality, the pressure of this comparison has caused many young athletes to lose confidence and joy in their sport.

One of the athletes I follow most closely is a 19-year-old girl from Quang Binh who won a bronze medal at last year's national championship. She did not want me to name her in this article, but she shared something with me that made me think deeply: "We are not afraid of failure. We are afraid that no matter how hard we try, people will only see what we are not, rather than what we are becoming."

That statement haunted me for months. It made me realize that, in the search for a successor to Anh Vien, we might be inadvertently creating a generation of athletes carrying the fear of never being good enough. And that, in the long run, is far more dangerous than lacking medals.

Look at other countries in the region. Singapore, with a population only a fraction of Vietnam's, has built a swimming system with remarkable depth. They do not have an Anh Vien, but they have a team of athletes who are evenly matched, continuously improving, and creating healthy competitive pressure on each other. That is exactly what Vietnamese women's swimming lacks: not a new star, but a collective strong enough to create internal competition.

I went to Russia to find answers, and only found more questions. But I did not need to go that far to realize that the answer to the generational transition of Vietnamese women's swimming lies right in our domestic pools. It lies in how we train, how we invest, and most importantly, how we view success.

From a tactical perspective, I have noticed a concerning issue in the approach of current coaches. Many of them still apply training plans designed specifically for Anh Vien - an athlete with a completely different physique and ability compared to current young athletes. This creates a mismatch between training methodology and the actual capabilities of each individual. Instead of building training plans based on each athlete's characteristics, many coaches are still trying to create "copies" of Anh Vien - an approach that is both unscientific and creates unnecessary pressure.

Another issue I have noticed is the shortage in talent identification and development at the grassroots level. While Anh Vien was discovered and trained somewhat by chance, we still do not have a systematic selection system to find potential talents from provinces. Many young athletes with aptitude do not have access to professional training environments, which means we might be missing out on many real talents.

From a data perspective, I want to provide a specific number to illustrate this issue. At SEA Games 32, the average time of Vietnamese female swimmers in the 200m freestyle event was 2 minutes 05 seconds. In comparison, the average time of Singaporean swimmers in the same event was 2 minutes 01 second. This 4-second gap is not a gap in talent, but a gap in training systems. It reflects differences in investment, methodology, and approach to athlete development.

The stands are empty, but the voices from the locker room never stop. In recent months, I have had the opportunity to speak with many coaches, experts, and athletes about the future of Vietnamese women's swimming. I have noticed a remarkable consensus: everyone recognizes that it is time to change the approach, but no one really knows where to start.

One of the most notable proposals came from a Vietnamese sports expert working in Australia. He proposed that Vietnam should build a centralized swimming training center where young athletes can train together under the guidance of international experts. This model has been successfully applied in many Asian countries such as Japan, South Korea, and China, and has produced world-class generations of athletes.

But I believe that, before thinking about building a large training center, we need to address a more fundamental issue: how we view the role of female athletes in sport. For many years, Vietnamese women's swimming has been viewed as "Anh Vien's sport" - a view that is both unfair to other athletes and creates undue pressure. It is time to change this view.

Where are the women? This question applies not only to swimming, but to all of Vietnamese women's sport. We often talk about supporting women's sport, but we rarely ask whether female athletes are truly given the conditions to develop their full potential. Are they invested in proportion to their male counterparts? Are they given opportunities to compete internationally on a regular basis? Are they listened to and understood?

During the research for this article, I had the opportunity to interview a former female swimmer who competed in the same era as Anh Vien. She shared that, throughout her career, she was never asked about her feelings, her difficulties, or her personal dreams. All she received were questions about performance, medals, and whether she could break records. "I felt like a machine that produces achievements," she told me, "no one really cared about the person inside that machine."

In Nha Trang that year, I didn't just open a channel — I opened a door. That door led me to untold stories about Vietnamese women's sport. And the story of generational transition in women's swimming is one of the most important stories I have ever witnessed.

I believe that the future of Vietnamese women's swimming does not lie in finding a new Anh Vien. It lies in building a system that can produce multiple international-level athletes, people who do not need to be legends to be recognized. It lies in changing how we view success, the role of female athletes, and the value of persistent effort.

Looking ahead, I see hopeful signs. The current generation of young athletes has something that Anh Vien's generation did not have: they have each other. They train together, share difficulties and successes, and create a cohesive community. That may not produce breakthrough results immediately, but it creates a solid foundation for sustainable development.

When there are no more spectators, we truly listen to athletes. And when we truly listen, we will realize that what they need is not a role model to follow, but a system to develop. They need to be invested in, trusted, and given the opportunity to become themselves.

Vietnamese women's swimming stands at an important crossroads. We can continue searching for a new hero, or we can start building a new system. That choice will shape the future of this sport for decades to come. And I believe that the right answer lies not in finding an exceptional individual, but in building a strong collective.

As I left the Da Nang training center late that morning, I saw the young athletes still training hard. They did not know I had been watching them from the stands. They only knew that they needed to try harder, swim faster, to achieve the goals they and their coaches had set. On the electronic board above, the number 4 minutes 07.07 seconds still displayed - a national record still waiting to be broken.

Perhaps, one day, one of those young women will break that record. But more importantly, I hope she will do so not because of the pressure to become a new Anh Vien, but because of genuine passion for this sport. And when that happens, we will know that Vietnamese women's swimming has truly turned a new page - not as a continuation of a legend, but as the beginning of a new generation.

That is the story I want to tell. That is the story of transition, of hope, and of the belief that the future of Vietnamese women's sport lies in the hands of Vietnamese women themselves.