Chapter 35 — Medals Are Not For You

*[Completing a comprehensive recovery cycle after heel reconstruction surgery for a national-level athlete, supporting the return to the national championship track.]* Patient name hidden. Only work remains. After the award ceremony, I met Luc Thua Da again in the parking lot. He was able to run slowly again, but did not participate in this year's Asian Championships. The information given by the club is that athletes proactively prolong recovery time to prioritize ensuring long-term performance. He was wearing a normal workout outfit, with no reporters around. Seeing me, he stopped walking. “Congratulations.” "Thank you." “Did you watch Trinh Da's match?” “He performed not bad.” “He's quite obedient.” “If you have tasted suffering once, you will be much more obedient.” Luc Thua Da smiled softly. “Now you know how to obey.” He said, his left foot gently tapping the ground twice. "Whenever it hurts, stop. Whenever you're tired, stop. Coach Chu said it's like you've become a different person." “That's good.” “Next year maybe I will take the audition again.” “Wish you all the best.” There's not much more to talk about between us. He took two steps forward, then turned around again. “Kieu Tranh.” "Yes?" “That gold medal still hangs on the wall.” “I know.” “Sometimes when I see it, I remember the day I won the championship.” I didn't reply. Luc Thua Da stood at the parking lot exit, backlit. “I used to think that if I just won that match, everything I lost would come back.” “Your achievements are back.” "YES." He nodded. “There are only achievements.” In the distance, someone called him. Luc Thua Da turned around and left, his steps very steady. Never looked back again. The third day after Trinh Da won the trophy, the office received a golden plaque of gratitude sent by the tournament organizing committee. On it are listed the names of all members of the athlete team. My name is at the top of the medical recovery team list. Du Kieu happily asked where it should be hung. The walls of the office were covered with exercise plans and human anatomy diagrams, leaving only a blank space at the entrance. “Hang it on the door.” She stood up on the ladder, fixing the sign right under the sign. Sunlight shines through the glass door. The words “Kieu Tranh Sports Rehabilitation Room” are clearly silhouetted on the floor. A new patient pushed the door open, raised his head to confirm once again. “Excuse me, is Ms. Kieu Tranh here?” I walked out of the treatment area. "I'm here." He gave me the medical records. I accepted it, in the treating doctor section on the evaluation form, I filled in my own name. RUN OUT OF