Winter 2026

When the Olympics roll around, like many people, I find myself completely pulled in. I still remember the weight of an old atlas in my middle-school-aged hands as I looked up Nagano, Japan, trying to understand the world that produced athletes with that perfect combination of grace and grit. Who were these individuals so willing to launch themselves down an icy mountain and stick a landing on skates no wider than a blade?

The wonder of that “Nagano feeling” I felt 30 years ago still feels familiar, and a similar sensation returns with every college application cycle. Our students are powerhouses who know the grind, but like any downhill skier, they eventually have to face an unfamiliar course. In competition, there are factors out of your control: the weather changes. The ice isn’t perfect. The judges bring their own perspectives, and their “scores” are often determined by factors unrelated to a student’s worth or level of preparation. And in the spring, college decisions are determined by a combination of talent and context with a sprinkle of luck. It can feel baffling, especially for students who have done “everything right.”

Perhaps this is why I find myself watching the finish line more closely than the medal ceremony these days. Personal bests, comeback stories, moments of elation—many of these athletes walk away proud and grateful, even without hardware around their necks. It evokes the same feelings we champion here at Menlo: there is no single “gold-medal” college, but many places where a student can grow into the next best version of themselves.

At The Games, no two journeys look the same. Some athletes peak early. Others break through unexpectedly. Some stumble, recalibrate, and come back stronger. (I’m looking at you, Hermann Maier. Nagano strikes again!) Remember to trust your training. This moment is not the finish line—it’s the start of a more meaningful and fulfilling quest.