Van Trang wins Y Ty 42km women's title: 'I run with my legs, not with the gossip of others'

The Y Ty course forgives no one. On September 6, the 42km trail route snaked through the slopes of Lao Than mountain, where steep climbs can force even male runners to use their hands. Thin air at high altitude, slippery ground and more than 1,300m of cumulative elevation gain turned the race into a brutal test of both physical strength and mental endurance. Yet Van Trang, a mother of four born in 2026, finished as the winner: 1st among women, 2nd overall, losing to only one male runner. Her time of 4 hours 26 minutes is not just a personal milestone. It is a powerful statement about discipline, perseverance and the endurance of women in trail running. It is even more remarkable because she had just spent days facing negative comments about her body, after a clip of her finish was picked apart by a segment of social media users. Van Trang, also known by her nickname Jang Doll, did not stay silent. After stepping off the podium, she posted a sharp reply: "I dare anyone to carry two grapefruits while running 42km or 55km of mountain trails! I run with my legs, not with my appearance. Stop dragging me into gossip groups." Her words quickly spread beyond the original chat groups. They touched a long-standing problem in Vietnamese grassroots sports: women achieve professional results, but are still judged by their looks before their achievements are mentioned. The real story of Van Trang's victory began long before race day. She did not talk about spectacular long runs or luck. Instead, she talked about months of quiet accumulation: "This endurance comes from consistency and discipline. Besides running, I combine gym, swimming and supplementary exercises to build up my fitness every day." Her answer reflects the true nature of trail marathon. A 42km course with more than 1,300m of elevation gain is no place for momentary bursts of speed. On the steep sections where the body nearly runs out of energy, the winner is not the fastest runner in the first five kilometers, but the one who knows how to preserve energy before deciding to accelerate. She described her tactics: "I focused only on the road ahead, kept my breathing steady, managed my energy and fueled at the right time. I kept telling myself: ‘Stay calm, as long as you still have strength, you still have a chance.’" It is not hard to see why she finished second overall. In a race featuring many male runners with strong physical condition, a 34-year-old mother of four surpassing almost all male competitors is proof of smart tactics and meticulous preparation. This was not a lucky run. It was the product of years of training, combining endurance running, gym sessions and swimming. Unfortunately, not everyone sees it that way. Shortly after images of Van Trang crossing the finish line appeared online, some running groups chose to make rude comments about her chest under her tight athletic wear. The phrase "carrying two grapefruits while running" was used to mock a woman who had just completed a distance many healthy people would abandon. Her response turned the story into something bigger than sport. She flipped the question: if carrying extra natural weight on her body while climbing more than 1,300m of elevation gain is still possible, then the problem lies not with the runner, but with those who stare at her. She said: "People see pressure, I see it as motivation, as vitamin C for my spirit. What matters is that I still finished, still healthy. Judge all you want. I run with my legs, not with the mouths of others." As someone who has followed high-performance sport for many years, I see that Van Trang's story is not simply about one runner reacting to body shaming. It reflects a persistent prejudice: women who play sports are seen in one of two ways, either praised too much for their appearance or criticized for it. In between those extremes, the true value of effort is easily lost. Van Trang understands this better than most. When asked whether she would choose looser, more conservative clothing to avoid judgmental stares, she firmly refused: "Sports clothing must first be comfortable and safe. If I change myself only because I am afraid of people talking, then I will always live under other people's eyes. I choose to focus on the road and my goals." That mindset is very similar to what ultra marathon runners learn on brutal courses: you cannot control external conditions, only your own reactions. On the trail, rain, steep hills, insects and sudden weather changes are all unpredictable. Van Trang chose to adapt rather than hide, and that is exactly how she handles rude comments. After Y Ty Mua Vang, her journey continues. She confirmed that she will take on the 70km distance at the VMM event, a much harder challenge than 42km, before targeting a 100km race at the end of the year. Anyone who has run ultra trail knows that moving from 42km to 70km is not just about adding distance. It requires changes in nutrition strategy, sleep management, the ability to self-manage injuries during the race, and a strong enough mentality to face hours without a finish line in sight. If Y Ty 42km was a test of physical fitness and discipline, VMM 70km will be a test of patience and mental toughness, the very qualities Van Trang showed when confronting online criticism. At 34, with four children and a demanding training schedule, Van Trang no longer runs to prove anything to anyone. Her message is simple: "Let achievements speak for themselves. I don't need to become the version others want to see. Just becoming a better version of myself every day is enough." I have followed many Vietnamese female runners shining in trail events, from young athletes full of ambition to mothers who returned to running after giving birth. What keeps them going is not a body that meets mainstream standards, but an understanding of what their bodies need to perform well. Van Trang is a perfect example: she does not chase a standard imposed by others. She runs the way her body has been trained. Her story raises an important question for the Vietnamese running community: what should we use to judge a female athlete? If a woman finishes near the top of a 42km trail race, passing hundreds of men, should her value be measured by the watch on her wrist, by the elevation she conquered, by the persistence shown during months of training, or by a part of her body that has nothing to do with her results? Y Ty will have more golden seasons. More women will conquer Lao Than, and new records will be set. The question is whether those judgmental eyes will still be waiting for them at the finish line. Van Trang has chosen not to care. She knows that on the course, only her legs determine who gets to cross the line.