Last year, when we sat down with the CEO of the 2026 Special Olympics USA Games, Christy Sovereign. She made one thing perfectly clear: The 2026 Special Olympics USA Games were never just about a week of competition. They were about building something that would last—an experience rooted in inclusion, visibility, and lasting change.
Now, as that vision moves closer to reality, the scale is coming into focus. There are certain events that arrive with spectacle—big crowds, national attention, the kind of momentum you can feel building months in advance. And then there are events that arrive with something quieter, but far more lasting: a shift in perspective.
This June, Minnesota will host the 2026 Special Olympics USA Games, welcoming more than 3,000 athletes, 1,500 coaches, and thousands of volunteers and spectators from across the country. On paper, it’s a massive undertaking—a weeklong event spanning multiple venues, dozens of sports, and a logistical footprint that rivals any major national competition.
Courtesy of Special Olympics USA Games
More Than a Moment
For Victoria Russell, Director of Sports for the 2026 Special Olympics USA Games, that perspective has been shaped over more than a decade inside the Special Olympics movement—first at the state level, and now on one of its biggest stages.
Her role is deeply operational. She oversees competition planning, supports sport leads, manages volunteers, and ensures every venue runs the way it should. But ask her what matters most, and she doesn’t start with logistics. She starts with people.
“At the end of the day, if this is an athlete’s biggest opportunity to shine—whether it’s one time or five—we want to put on the best experience we possibly can for them,” she says. “We want to set the stage and let them show their talents and abilities, because just like everybody else, they have them.”
Courtesy of Victoria Russell
It’s a mindset shaped not just by her professional role, but by years of witnessing what these moments mean. She’s seen athletes arrive at Games like this—sometimes for the first time—and leave changed. Not because of the medals, but because of what it feels like to be fully seen.
“These are moments where athletes get to shine,” she says. “And they naturally do.”
Minnesota, she adds, has proven to be the right place for that kind of moment. In the months leading up to the Games, she’s watched the energy build—through volunteers, through community interest, through people who may not yet know exactly what Special Olympics is but know they want to be part of it. “Every time I meet people, they just want to know more and get involved,” she says. “That’s been really exciting to see.”
And for many of those people, that first exposure is what changes everything. “I started as a volunteer in college,” she says. “And once you’re in it—once you’re meeting athletes and experiencing it—you’re kind of hooked.”
For Russell, the legacy of the USA Games isn’t measured in attendance or even in outcomes. It’s measured in what people take with them—and whether they choose to stay connected after the final event wraps. “We’re a weeklong event,” she says. “But there are opportunities in your local community almost 365 days a year to be involved—whether that’s coaching, volunteering, or becoming a Unified partner.”
Beyond the 13 Unified sports, they’re also hosting the ESPN Unified Sports Challenge, a high-energy skills competition featuring 16 teams of professional athletes, celebrities, and Special Olympics pairs competing to champion global inclusion.
The Model That Changes Everything
At the heart of that legacy is something many people are still just beginning to understand: Unified Sports. The concept is disarmingly simple—teams made up of athletes with and without intellectual disabilities, training and competing together. But the impact is anything but simple.
When you share a field, a court, or a course, something shifts. Labels fall away. Assumptions get challenged. And what’s left is the thing that matters most: the team.
“It breaks down stereotypes in a really fun way,” says Lexxi O’Brien, a Unified partner who has competed in golf alongside her teammate, Krista Dahlke, for the past five years.
Courtesy of Lexxi O'Brien
Their partnership doesn’t look like a traditional sports dynamic—and that’s exactly the point. In Unified golf, the two compete as a team, alternating shots rather than playing independently. It requires communication, trust, and a willingness to adapt—not just to the course, but to each other. Over time, those skills become something deeper.
“I’ve learned more about communication through this than almost anything else,” O’Brien says, noting that the experience has reshaped how she listens, responds, and connects—not just in sport, but in life.
For Dahlke, the impact is just as tangible—confidence, consistency, and the simple but powerful understanding that she belongs exactly where she is. Together, they’ve built something that extends far beyond the game: a friendship rooted in shared effort, mutual respect, and a lot of time spent figuring it out together. That’s the model. And it works. (Read Krista and Lexxi’s full Q&A.)
Why It Matters Now
It’s easy to frame the Special Olympics as inspirational—and it is—but that framing can sometimes miss the point. These athletes aren’t here to inspire. They’re here to compete. They train. They improve. They care about outcomes. And in many cases, they’re performing at a level that surprises people who have never seen the movement up close. That moment of surprise—the realization that expectations were too limited—is where the real impact begins.
Russell sees it happen all the time. “A lot of people don’t realize the level of talent,” she says. “Sometimes you might not even know it’s Special Olympics when you’re watching.”
And then there’s the environment itself—something she describes less as an event and more as a feeling. “It’s like a warm embrace,” she says. “Everyone has a place. Everyone belongs.”
In a moment where division often feels louder than connection, that kind of environment doesn’t just feel refreshing. It feels necessary.
Courtesy of Special Olympics USA Games
A Week—and What Comes After
From June 20-26, the Twin Cities will host competitions across 16 sports, with venues anchored at the University of Minnesota and the National Sports Center in Blaine. There will be opening ceremonies, fan zones, community events—the kind of infrastructure expected of a national-scale competition.
But what will matter most won’t be confined to that week. It will be the volunteer who signs up for a single shift and comes back the next season. The spectator who shows up out of curiosity and leaves with a different understanding. The athlete who competes once—and carries that confidence into every other part of their life. And maybe most importantly, the relationships that don’t end when the Games do.
Special Olympics USA Games
What You Take With You
If you ask the athletes and partners what keeps them coming back, the answer isn’t complicated. It’s the competition, yes—but also the connection. It’s the shared experience of showing up, trying, improving, and doing it together.
“Sports create natural friendships,” O’Brien says. “You build trust, communication, respect—and those are the same things you want in any friendship.”
That’s the part that sticks. The moments on the course or court are real, but it’s what forms around them that lasts—the inside jokes, the small wins, the trust built over time. It’s the understanding that you’re part of something, and that your presence matters.
And it’s not limited to the athletes. Volunteers, coaches, families, even first-time spectators often walk away with that same feeling—a shift in how they see ability, competition, and each other.
It’s also what turns a weeklong event into something much bigger. From the energy of the Fan Zones—spread across the University of Minnesota, the National Sports Center, and the Mall of America—to the thousands of volunteers helping bring the Games to life, the experience extends far beyond the field of play. It becomes something you’re part of, not just something you watch. That’s the part Minnesota is about to experience at scale.
The Invitation
For those who have never attended a Special Olympics event, there’s a tendency to wonder what it will be like. The better question might be, what will you take from it?
Because once you see it—really see it—it’s hard to walk away unchanged. Russell knows that firsthand. It’s how she got involved years ago, as a volunteer. It’s what kept her in the movement. And it’s what she hopes happens here. “That first experience hooks people,” she says.
And in Minnesota, there will be countless entry points. You can show up to a competition, spend time in one of the Fan Zones, or step in as a volunteer—helping with everything from athlete support to event operations. However you choose to engage, the invitation is the same: be part of it.
Because this isn’t just about a single week in June. It’s about what happens after—who stays connected, who comes back, who decides to get involved in their own community. The Games may end, but the impact doesn’t. And for many, it starts with simply showing up.
