Haiphong and the New Loop: Former Athletics Athlete Transitions to Multisport Journalist

Every morning in Hai Phong, I wake up and sit before my old laptop on the balcony, where the wind from the Gulf of Tonkin brings the salty smell of the sea and the distant sounds of motorcycle taxis. I am not a journalist born into the profession, but a former track and field athlete who retired from competition long ago. At 25 years old, my body can no longer sprint at 800 meters as it once did, but my soul still craves the race—the race for stories in sports that have not yet been told. I chose the profession of track and field journalism because it is close to bodily memory. When I see a pole vaulter land on the mat, I recall my own feelings when touching the ground after each training session. The painful falls, the bruises, the long nights studying while running—all merged into an indelible part of my memory. But changing careers does not mean giving up. In reality, it is a new loop, a new distance that I must learn to adapt to. I started with strict observation. At every athletics event I cover, I carefully note every detail: the starting posture, the athlete's breathing rhythm, the focused gaze, even the coach's reactions at the edge of the track. These data points are my assets. One unforgettable memory is the final of the women's 1,500 meters at the National Athletics Championship in 2026. Nguyen Thi Oanh, the home team's star runner, entered the final stretch with a slightly hunched posture, arms swinging in steady rhythm. When she crossed the finish line, I saw a smile of satisfaction mixed with exhaustion. In that moment, I realized that sport is not just about winning and losing—it is a story of humans overcoming their own limits. From then on, I decided to build my writing style on the foundation of rigorous verification and deep empathy. I never write about an athlete based solely on achievements or cold statistics. I research their biography, training process, difficulties they have overcome, and especially their true emotions after each season. This job demands intense curiosity. There are late nights when I send messages to veteran coaches to ask for their insights on young athletes' tactics. There are times when I call colleagues in neighboring provinces to collect data on local tournaments. Every piece of information I publish must be verified by at least three sources before being posted. I always believe that an authentic track and field journalist should write as if telling a story about a friend. The language should be rich in imagery, sentence rhythms should be flexible like a sprint, and emotions should be authentic as sweat falling on the track. That is why I always start my articles with a specific moment, a vivid match scene, rather than clichéd opening lines. One article I am most proud of is a portrait of Le Van Duyen, a long jump athlete who suffered a torn knee ligament and underwent three surgeries. In the article, I did not just list records or recovery timelines; I described his feeling of loneliness during those immobile days, his fear of never being able to jump again, and the overwhelming joy when he returned to training. That is exactly how I write—from the heart, from personal experience and deep understanding. Currently, I work for the Vietnamese sports market, focusing on athletics with a multisport perspective. I notice that sport has a universal language across disciplines. Tactics in athletics are similar to tactics in football—they are both games of psychology, preparation, and adaptability. Building cross-sport comparisons helps readers easily relate and understand the essence of the game. I am also seeking to combine modern data analysis with traditional storytelling. In the digital age, sports data analytics platforms are increasingly developed, but we cannot overlook the human element. Data supports the story but does not replace real experience. When analyzing an athlete, I always combine performance statistics with non-linear details—emotions, pressure, relationships with teammates. Since changing careers, I have realized that the role of a sports journalist is not just reporting news, but being a bridge between athletes and the public. I always strive to protect athletes' rights by writing balanced articles that both praise achievements and honestly point out flaws in training or management. This is not easy, as it requires courage and solid professional principles. Another major challenge is time pressure. Modern society operates at a breakneck pace, and sports news needs constant updates. However, I always remind myself: slow does not mean wrong. A quality article needs time to verify, reflect, and refine. I would rather write slowly and correctly than write quickly and cause misunderstanding. Especially during the recent pandemic, I had the opportunity to witness the silent perseverance of athletes when all sports activities were interrupted. They continued training at home, maintained their diet and routine, and still hoped for the day they could return to the field. Those stories inspired me to write many pieces focusing on the human aspect, rather than just concentrating on results. I also learned how to listen better. For a track and field journalist, interview skills are no less important than writing skills. I always prepare in-depth questions, avoid generic ones, and especially respect the privacy of athletes. There are things they are willing to share, but there are also things they wish to keep private—and I accept that. Currently, I am working with a team of young collaborators in northern provinces, together building a more professional network for athletics journalism. We believe that Vietnamese sports need dedicated writers, people who truly love and understand the content they report. That is why I constantly learn, update knowledge, and hone my writing skills every day. Finally, I want to emphasize that the profession of track and field journalist is not just a job, but a mission. A mission to record history, preserve memories, and inspire future generations. Every article I write aims for that goal. And I believe that as long as we persist and are sincere, we will create lasting value for Vietnamese sports. Today, looking out the balcony window, I see a group of children practicing running on a nearby stadium. Their laughter echoes, blending with the sounds of the port city. That moment reminds me that sport never stops—it only changes form, and we must always be ready to adapt. That is also the message I want to convey through each of my articles: sport is life, and writing about sport is writing about life itself.