In an environment where academic excellence is highly valued, the pursuit of athletics is often given short shrift. But on occasion, a few individuals make the necessary sacrifices and rise above the enormous challenges to tell the world that their dreams too are worthwhile.
When the first group of athletes representing Chinese-Taipei arrived in Busan, South Korea, in mid-September for the Asian Games last year, the residents of Taiwan were otherwise preoccupied with the hyped-up campaigns for the December mayoral and city councilor elections in Taipei and Kaohsiung. Thus, with limited media coverage, the 359-strong delegation headed to their respective arenas to compete with members from forty-three other countries in the region.
Not all Asian Games have met with so little fanfare. The games, started in 1951, take place every four years. The Republic of China on Taiwan was one of the founding members of the event, but it missed four games from 1974 to 1986 due to political reasons. It was not until tension between China and Taiwan eased somewhat that the island's athletes returned to the field of competition in 1990, in Beijing.
Although the 2002 Chinese-Taipei delegation did not outperform previous teams representing Taiwan in total number of medals won--fifty-two compared with seventy-seven in 1998--its ten gold finishes represented a wider variety of events. Those who took home gold medals in cycling, shooting, and archery--all individual events--were the first from Taiwan to do so in the Asian Games. Competitors in taekwondo won three gold medals, while those in billiards won two. The remaining two gold medals were won in tennis mixed doubles and team golf.
The medallists have a number of things in common. They are young, aspiring, and devoted. More importantly, they share the same indomitable spirit that has sustained them through the long, toilsome journey from their starting points to triumph. And their victory may be even sweeter as competitive sports in Taiwan are traditionally taken less seriously by the general public than in other countries. Many aspiring athletes must endure exceptional loneliness in addition to the physical toil and demands on one's courage, time, and financial resources.
Twenty-four-year-old Chen Shih-wei, who is an intern primary-school teacher, defeated the best sharpshooters from countries such as Kuwait and China in the battle for top position in the men's individual double-trap shooting. Winning silver in the event was Chen's twenty-six-year-old teammate, Shih Wei-ting. In the end, the three marksmen representing Taiwan brought home three medals after winning a bronze in team shooting. "A reporter from China couldn't help but ask how we did it," Chen says. "The Chinese team had put hundreds of good hands on tight training for the games."
Chen and Shih also trained hard for the games, investing five and six years, respectively, to hone their skills. Chen's training schedule typically begins at eight in the morning and continues until nine at night. He usually fires 300 shots a day, which at NT$11(US$0.32) a shot translates into millions of New Taiwan Dollars over the years. Although both Chen and Shih received government subsidies for a one-year training program to compete in the Asian Games, the amount at NT$8,000 (US$232) a month covers only a quarter of their monthly expenditures. And even though the government offers financial incentives to athletes who bring home medals from the Asian Games--NT$2 million (US$57,971) for gold medallists, NT$1 million (US$28,986) for silver, and NT$600,000 (US$17,391) for bronze --it is the honor of prevailing above all other competitors that propels the country's athletes to excel.
Chen Shih-wei attributes his gold-medal win to his family's support and to his mentor and coach Cheng Mao-sen, who quit his job as a police officer so he could train Chen and Shih full-time, but without pay. Along the way, Chen has learned to conquer the enemy within. "I've failed totally in several big competitions in the past," he says. "I admitted it and brought home the defeat for a thorough review each time. And I asked myself, 'What went wrong? Why did I fail again after intensively examining my previous failure?'"
By "failing totally," Chen actually means not maintaining his usual standard. He shoots an average of 138.139 points from a possible perfect score of 150, and once in 2001 even scored 145 points at the Kungshi shooting range in Taipei County--higher than the Olympic record of 141 points. He failed, however, to perform as well at the World Cup in several tries. With each defeat, the young shooter has learned to keep calm and sharpen his instincts. "Sometimes you really need a bit of good luck to perform well. This is a sport where each competitor gets a 1-percent chance to win. When it's your turn to shoot, the only thing you have total control over is your mind." Chen describes how it is necessary to consider all the uncontrollable variables on the site, such as the weather, wind, ambience, and shooting range, and make them disappear. "There's only you, the gun, and the target."
Chen has dedicated his latest win to his supportive father, who initially did not approve of the "dangerous" sport. The elder Chen reconsidered after the marksman showed his determination and talent by winning a series of medals. But after the glorious honor of coming home with the Asian Games gold, Chen now faces a dilemma over whether to continue training for the 2004 Olympic Games or to remain an amateur shooter and earn a living as a teacher. Whether he decides to compete again or not, Chen will not likely give it all up to become a shooting coach, as the rewards are minimal. Most coaches hold on to a day job as salaried coaching posts are rare. To make matters worse, earlier last year legislators cut the government's NT$300,000 (US$8,700) bonus for coaches whose trainees have won a medal at the Asian Games.
On the other hand, the National Council on Physical Fitness and Sports has unveiled a new training scheme for those hoping to compete in the Olympics. Competitors and their coaches from twenty-eight sporting events are invited to submit their training plans to the National Training Center in Kaohsiung for review. The center will select candidates they feel are legitimate contenders to begin training and allocate a budget for each sport. Once individuals qualify for the program, a chief coach will be selected for each sport and more rigorous training will begin.
Olympic Ambitions
Although Chen Shih-wei is a likely candidate to represent the country in the next Olympics, he is concerned that the subsidies offered would not cover the expensive training process to even qualify for the Olympic Games, which would put another heavy burden on his father's shoulders. The shooter, however, says that he will jump at the chance to compete in the Olympics if the government decides to fully support his training.
Chen is not alone in the pursuit of Olympic dreams. Lin Chih-hsun, a twenty-two-year-old sophomore at the Chinese Culture University in Taipei, reduced his Japanese archrival to tears at the Asian Games by winning the 1,000-meter individual track-cycling event with a winning time of 1:547. Lin has overcome difficulties to excel in his chosen sport. The product of a single-parent home in rural Taichung, in central Taiwan, Lin did not have the easiest childhood. He was often kicked off school teams such as swimming, golf, volleyball, and track and field for being too mischievous. All that changed once he settled on the cycling team. The turning point for Lin came during a chance meeting with Hsu Jui-te, who in 1988 made it to the Olympic finals and later won a silver medal in the 1990 Asian Games.
The young Lin improved his cycling skills by leaps and bounds and began to collect medals after training alongside the high school team that Hsu was coaching. "Lin's muscles have outstanding strength, endurance, and explosive power," Hsu says. "Ergometer tests show that his muscle strength is above average. He's also put much effort into perfecting his skills. What's more, he has quick reflexes and excellent mental balance during competition."
Lin sees himself as benefiting from being in the right place at the right time as the Taichung County Government has promoted itself as Taiwan's "cycling hometown." Of the five cycling stadiums along the west coast of the island, only the one in Chingshui Township in Taichung County has wooden tracks, which is one of four in Asia. In addition, the stadium that houses the 333.3-meter track has been recognized by the international head of the cycling union, Union de Creditos Inmobiliarios, which means that any record made there would be officially acknowledged.
Merely providing a venue for international competition is not enough, asserts Hsu. The coach, armed with considerable information and examples, urges that the government learn from Japan and Korea and develop a professional cycling league to further popularize the sport. He acknowledges, however, that the idea has met with resistance from legislators who are concerned that it may lead to rampant gambling.
Hsu, meanwhile, is concentrating on helping Lin qualify for the Olympics. "Gold is good inspiration," the coach says. "It tells us that nothing is impossible in the world of sports, and that as long as we do our homework thoroughly, we can march forward without fearing how well others might do." Lin has long practiced with two other young cyclists as a team, but the trio was broken up and another cyclist was placed on the team specifically to compete in the 2002 Asian Games. This new team earned the bronze medal, but now the original three cyclists are back together to train for the next competition.
Riding On Their Own
One difficulty the team faces is that even the island's best cyclists receive roughly one-tenth the financial support their Japanese and Korean peers get. Lin has even had to pay his own travel expenses to compete in other countries. "Come to think of it, we should be more confident of our capability in the future because we've been able to match other countries' heavy investments," Lin says in reference to the professional training, state-of-the-art training equipment, and financial support of other teams.
The pursuit of Olympic gold is also an uphill battle for Yuan Shu-chi, a high-school sophomore and an Asian Games gold medallist in archery. Her experience at the games was unprecedented and out of this world, she says. "It was like I was transported to another space," the archer recalls. "Nothing else existed except for the target as I pulled the bowstring. It felt wonderful, but I have no idea when that fleeting moment of extreme quietness will come again or if it ever will." Yuan believes that the experience was a product of the subtle balance of immense pressure and mental resistance.
The pressure came from her desire to honor her parents and reward her own efforts over the years. Yuan began archery in her first year of junior high school, and the Asian Games was only the second international contest she had ever entered. "Yuan possesses a great sense of heroism," says Shih Ya-ping, who coaches Yuan at school. "Her mind seems to work faster than that of many others. And she tends to hold herself responsible for the failure of the whole team." During the two years that Shih has coached Yuan, she has helped the young girl believe in her own ability, calm her mental state, and improve her technique. "I told her to hold on to the very end of each game until the last arrow is discharged," Shih says. "Under her strong physique lies a delicate, aspiring heart. She needs to be encouraged, not pushed. My only demand is that she never give up."
Yuan led her Korean rival, who had never lost an international game, by six points with a final score of 113 points. "Yuan didn't have the same level of experience, but she won because of her strong will," Shih observes. The difference between the Taiwanese and Korean teams is mostly in budgets, the coach points out. Shih's archery team receives a total of between NT$20,000 and $30,000 (US$580 to $870) a year from the Taipei County Government, but it costs at least NT$60,000 (US$1,740) for a bow and NT$10,000 (US$290) for a pack of twelve arrows. Yuan uses three to four packs of arrows a year.
Gold-Medal Yearning
When it comes to the cost of equipment, taekwondo competitors are relatively less concerned. Selena Chen, a junior at the National College of Physical Education and Sports, has been a consistent winner since junior high school. She has collected seven gold medals at various international games, including the 2002 World Cup. "My father planted the idea in my head that winning anything less than gold is losing," Chen says. "He also taught me that all I need to do is practice well at normal times and keep a normal heart during competitive bouts." She attributes her gold-medal win to the psychological and technical support of her father, who is an experienced taekwondo master and gives lessons at home, and to the training provided by the government prior to the games.
Chen believes that her ambitious heart gives her a strong competitive edge. Her school coach, Chin Yu-fang, a gold medallist in the 1988 Olympics when taekwondo was a demonstration event, concurs and further points out that Chen has superior physical strength, good speed, endurance, as well as a sound mental state. Chen entered the Asian Games in the under-forty-seven-kilogram category, but the weight category for the Olympic Games is forty-nine kilograms. This means if Chen qualifies for the Olympics, she will have to compete with those with stronger builds.
Coach Chin suggests that Chen adopt a more delicate and flexible strategy to face huskier opponents. "She needs to be firm and decisive," she adds. With her eyes fixed on the Olympics, Chin also urges the government to focus its investments on those events that Taiwanese athletes are likely to win medals in because "spreading the budget equally won't achieve much."
Whereas all of the gold medallists featured are first-time winners at the Asian Games, billiards competitor Yang Ching-shun is a second-time champion. The twenty-four-year-old started playing at thirteen and turned pro at fifteen. He has been winning at least one gold medal in an international competition every year since he was eighteen.
Yang's sharp eyes, devoted heart, good comprehension, and immunity to distractions are his strongest attributes. "I have my heart set on winning," he says. "Billiards is the one thing that I've dedicated all I have to do well in. I play golf for fun but I play billiards as my profession. Winning is about how you adjust your mental state."
The young billiards player even dropped out of school for a time to pursue his passion, something most parents in Taiwan would find unacceptable. But Yang proved himself by standing out among Taiwan's seventy or so male professional players. The champion now plans to hire an agent to arrange for more appearances at international competitions. "A good player must seek to constantly improve himself," he asserts. "I take billiards very seriously, and I want to be the best. To stay where you are is the same as falling behind. The day I find myself no longer going forward is the day I quit competing."