CEO Corner: Between the Medals

By Sunny Sumter

I’ve watched the Olympics my whole life, on living room floors with my grandparents, squeezed onto sofas with elders telling stories between routines, and later holding my babies while the world gathered around one stage. To me, it has often felt a little like jazz — improvised dreams on a global bandstand.

Recently, one of my closest friends blessed our home with a visit, arriving with curated treats from DC’s Union Market, and we settled in to watch the Milan Cortina Olympics from the comfort of my sectional. We leaned into the Italian spirit of it all, passing plates of ravioli and meatballs between us, turning our living room into a little trattoria tuned to a global stage.

Before the first event began, she said, “I don’t like the Olympics. It’s not the end all.” She spoke about the politics, the commercial machinery, the immense pressure placed on athletes — how all of it can blur the simple beauty of sport. And I understand that, too. Even the most celebrated institutions can carry a little dissonance.

Then I witnessed Ilia Malinin, the “Quad God” — skating to NF’s “Fear” in a plain sweatshirt, stripping it down to movement and message. No glitter. No grand costume. Just risk. Just courage. Just heart. He wove hidden meanings into the choreography and stood there, visibly overwhelmed — years of discipline distilled into a few electric minutes. That alchemy, where preparation meets vulnerability, feels like jazz.

Athletes like Ilia risking everything on a blade’s edge, Alysa Liu finding her own voice on the ice, and Mikaela Shiffrin carving lines down a mountain with both discipline and daring embody that spirit — structure meeting improvisation in real time. It shows up, too, in the once-in-a-lifetime family poetry of 47-year-old alpine skier Sarah Schleper competing in her seventh Games alongside her 18-year-old son, Lasse Gaxiola; in the USA women’s hockey team defeating Canada in overtime for gold; in Japan’s podium sweep in the men’s halfpipe; and in Jordan Stolz rewriting what we thought speed skating records could be. And when Simone Biles steps back onto the world stage with vulnerability and fire, she reminds us that mastery isn’t only technical — it’s emotional, spiritual, human.

Because the Olympics, at their best moments, are not about the scoreboard. They’re about the solo you’ve practiced in the dark. The backflip of faith. The instant when precision opens into humanity.

I recognize the critiques. I carry them. But I also carry the memories — of family leaning forward together, elders clapping at the improbable, children witnessing what dedication looks like in motion.

Like jazz, it isn’t flawless.

Like jazz, it can still make you believe.