Mindset
We Are the Ultimate Winners
“Who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs . . . who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if they fail, at least fails while daring greatly . . .”
– Teddie Roosevelt
I recently experienced my first, and probably my last, viral post.
What struck me was not the reach, but the reason. It was not provocative. It was not critical. It did not assign blame. It simply gave language to something many people were already feeling but had not expressed. Sometimes resonance happens not because you say something bold, but because you say something true at the right moment.
It came after the Olympics, when I found myself reflecting on how we often treat losing gold instead of winning silver.
Here is what I wrote:
There will be no outrage from me.
No second guessing.
No dissecting line changes or overtime decisions.
What I witnessed over these Olympic hockey tournaments was something far more important.
In more than thirty years in high performance sport, I have watched women’s hockey and women’s sport in general rise from the margins to the main stage. What we are seeing now would have been unimaginable a generation ago.
One moment crystallized that truth for me.
When Mikaël Kingsbury earned his 100th World Cup victory in January, the congratulatory video he received came from two captains: Sidney Crosby and Marie-Philippe Poulin.
Two leaders.
Two equals.
One country.
Thirty years ago, that symbolism would have been rare. Today, it feels exactly right. Captains’ Canada. Side by side. We have come a long way.
The second perspective?
Silver is not failure.
Both finals were decided in overtime. Three on three. Razor thin margins between glory and heartbreak. That is the nature of elite sport. It demands everything and often gives nothing back but the knowledge that you dared greatly.
Gold is celebrated.
Silver is scrutinized.
But both require excellence beyond comprehension.
We, the audience, were the real winners.
We witnessed perhaps the finest men’s and women’s hockey ever played. Two weeks of speed, skill, courage, and sacrifice. Sometimes rewarded with a medal, often not, but extraordinary regardless.
Our captains and their teams gave us effort worthy of the Maple Leaf. Red. Black. Worn with pride.
Silver is not a consolation. It is proof of belonging on the highest stage in the world.
Thank you to every athlete who represented Team Canada and Équipe Canada.
What an exhibition of excellence.
The message resonated with millions. The overwhelming majority of those who commented said the same thing. It felt like someone had read their mind.
There was another moment that deserves equal recognition.
In victory, the US men’s team carried the jersey of the late Johnny Gaudreau around the arena. They did not allow the celebration to become self absorbed. They made space for memory. They made space for loss. They honored one of their own.
Then they brought his children into the team photo.
That is character.
That is leadership.
That is legacy.
Medals tarnish. Records are eventually broken. Banners come down. But how you carry yourself, how you honor your teammates, how you treat family in moments of triumph, that endures.
In that act, they reminded us that the true measure of a program is not only what it wins, but what it stands for.
We speak often about culture in high performance environments. Culture is not a slogan on a wall. It is revealed in moments like that. In how you win. In who you elevate. In whether you remember that the game is played by human beings whose lives extend far beyond the rink.
That moment will be remembered longer than the final score.
There is something strange about the silver medal, especially in tournament play.
You win silver by losing to the gold medalist.
You win bronze by defeating someone else.
You finish with a win when you earn bronze.
You finish with a loss when you earn silver.
Strange, but true.
Silver is rarely viewed as a surprise achievement. More often it is framed as a consolation for almost reaching the summit. Many athletes wrestle with that image. Only weeks, months, or even years later does the pride settle in.
The larger truth is that winning any Olympic medal is almost improbable and often feels nearly impossible.
I recently shared a parable on an Olympic broadcast about what it really means to become an Olympic champion and what it means to strive for that objective.
Imagine walking into your first year of medical school. The professor steps to the podium, welcomes the class, and calmly says to the one hundred plus students in the room:
Only one of you will graduate in four years with a license to practice medicine.
Most of us would quietly gather our books and begin looking for another degree.
That is the statistical reality of becoming an Olympic gold medalist.
And more importantly, it is the reality of not becoming one.
You still train relentlessly.
You still overcome setbacks.
You still rehab injuries, sacrifice comfort, and organize your life around a dream.
For most, the podium never comes.
That is what it means to be an Olympian.
So when we look up in inspiration at what the Olympics represent, think of the Theodore Roosevelt quote:
“Who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs… who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if they fail, at least fails while daring greatly…”
When you watch the Olympics, let the stories move you. Let the triumphs inspire you. Let those who dare greatly remind you to pursue something worthy in your own life.
That is the ultimate gift of the Olympic Games for all of us who witness.
