Nghe An 2026: Mai Trung and Dan Quyet Force Each Other to Run Faster as My Hien Quietly Leads the Women's 42km

At exactly 3:00 a.m. on 27 September 2026, at Ho Chi Minh Square in Vinh City, the 42km field of the VnExpress Marathon Grand Tour Nghe An left the start line. No packed grandstand. No confetti. Only the sound of shoes scraping damp asphalt and the steady breathing of a few hundred runners. Within the first metres, three vests broke clear: Dan Quyet, Dao Ba Thanh and Nguyen Mai Trung.

Ten minutes later the lead group was down to two. Mai Trung, 35, and Dan Quyet ran shoulder to shoulder, trading the front, never more than ten metres apart. Two different temperaments on the same stretch of road: Mai Trung with his head down, locking his cadence; Dan Quyet waving at the cameras as he passed Ho Tung Mau. Same start time, same distance, two entirely different ways of facing 42 kilometres.

People saw a race; I saw lives running forward.

This was the first time the VnExpress Marathon Grand Tour set foot on the homeland of President Ho Chi Minh. The event covers four distances: 5km, 10km, 21km and 42km. Every runner starts at Ho Chi Minh Square and finishes on Truong Thi Street, at the junction with Le Van Huu. Bibs were handed out on 25 and 26 September at the Nghe An Labour Culture House.

The 42km starts at 3:00 a.m. From the square, runners pass Ho Tung Mau, Truong Thi and Le Nin Avenue before joining the Vinh - Cua Lo Avenue. After roughly 16km the course turns onto Binh Minh, runs along the Cua Lo coastline, turns around at Cua Xa and heads back to the city centre. The 21km starts at 4:00 a.m. along Ho Tung Mau, Truong Thi and Le Nin Avenue, straight onto Vinh - Cua Lo Avenue, turning around near km 11. It has two cut-off points: km 10 at 5:40 a.m. and km 16.9 at 6:50 a.m., with the course closing at 7:30 a.m. The 10km starts at 5:00 a.m., turns near km 5, has one cut-off at km 6 at 6:15 a.m. and closes at 7:00 a.m. The 5km starts at 6:00 a.m., stays inside the city centre, has no cut-off and closes at 7:15 a.m.

COT, short for cut-off time, is the checkpoint at which organisers require runners to have passed. Anyone who arrives late is taken off the course by rescue vehicle. For a race in Nghe An in late September, heat and humidity are variables that can swing a race faster than any rival.

The coastal stretch after km 16 is the cruellest part of the course. The Binh Minh road is exposed, with no cover, and the sea wind blows against runners on the turnaround at Cua Xa. That section takes a runner 12 to 18 minutes, and it is also where the lead group genuinely begins to split.

To run four distances in a single morning, the organisers deployed hundreds of volunteers alongside police, traffic police and local medical staff. From the evening of 26 September they gathered at the start area for briefings, then spread out along the course, installing infrastructure, finishing water stations and spectator zones.

The start line also featured the two host clubs, Nghe An Runners and Ha Tinh Runners, in their pink kits. Before the gun, Thanh Meo and Vinh Runner noted this was the race with the fewest 42km runners, making it easier to chase placings and personal bests; the Nghe An course was rated favourable, with good road surfaces.

The men's duel was the centrepiece. Mai Trung works in e-commerce and is a member of Thanh Cong Runners. He caught attention in Hanoi running circles with 2 hours 41 minutes 55 seconds at the VnExpress Marathon Hai Phong 2026, 69th on the list of the fastest full marathon runners in Vietnamese history.

That mark needs to be placed in proportion. 2:41:55 is the ceiling most Vietnamese amateur runners hit after ten years of training. To run it, someone working eight hours a day in e-commerce must hold roughly 90 to 120km a week, plus two quality sessions and one strength session. That budget of time does not come from passion; it comes from cutting away almost everything else in a life.

Mai Trung did not run alone. For the first ten minutes he had Dan Quyet beside him. For a distance runner, an equal opponent early on is a gift: it lifts the heart rate into the right zone, keeps the stride from collapsing, and, most importantly, it stops the brain from negotiating with itself.

In the women's race the surprise came from a local. My Hien leads with a personal best of 3 hours 7 minutes 39 seconds and runs for Nghe An Runners. Set 3:07:39 beside 2:41:55 and the gap is 25 minutes 44 seconds. On the road, that is a wide margin. Within the structure of Vietnamese running, it is a positive signal: a female host runner performing at a level only a handful of male amateurs reached a decade ago.

The first call from Huynh Nhu tore down the house of words I had built. Since that day I have dropped the habit of calling female athletes "the girls" and started calling them by their results.

From years of watching amateur races, I always notice one detail: over 42km, the leading woman often finishes around the time organisers have begun dismantling the spectator zone. Fewer fans. Fewer cameras. Thinner applause.

The depth gap between women's and men's fields at Vietnamese amateur races is not a matter of physiology; it is a matter of how many people are allowed to start together each weekend.

One line was repeated before the gun: this is the race with the fewest 42km runners, so placings are open and personal bests are within reach. It sounds reasonable. It asks the wrong question.

An empty course gives you a placing. It does not make you faster. Those are two different things, and confusing them is shaping how many Vietnamese runners pick their races. A quality marathon is measured by the density of rivals between km 25 and km 35, when the body starts burning fat and the mind starts negotiating. A hungry stretch with nobody beside you is the longest stretch of any race.

Without company, you do not break a record. You only break the record inside the entry list.

I do not read this emptiness as the race's fault. It is the outcome of a market that is stratifying. The big events in Hanoi, Da Nang and Ho Chi Minh City absorb most fast 42km runners, because that is where rivals, crowds and a breakaway that looks worth something can be found. Provincial races, however beautiful the course and however polished the operations, get what is left.

That is also where sponsorship enters. A global sponsor does not pick a race out of affection for a region. It picks on reach and return on investment. Logos on bibs, logos on inflatable arches, logos on backdrops, and the budget line flows where the crowds are. For Nghe An the real value sits elsewhere: two host clubs in pink kits, hundreds of volunteers awake since the night before, and a local woman leading the longest distance. None of that appears in a sponsor report, yet it is what keeps the movement alive into the next season.

In women's racing I am not looking for victory; I am looking for liberation. Every time a host female runner leads over 42km, a prejudice cracks.

I am old, but every time a local club fills the start line, I feel younger.

Whether My Hien finishes first or not, how Mai Trung and Dan Quyet are separated on the results sheet, those numbers will sit in a table and be forgotten within weeks. What lasts longer is a small detail: a race staged in Vinh that pulled hundreds of residents onto Truong Thi Street at six in the morning, and a female host athlete running the longest distance in her home club's colours.

People ask why I still sit watching races like this at 63. The answer sits in the first ten minutes of the 42km, when two men had no idea where they would finish, and both chose to run beside each other rather than leave the other behind.