I didn’t know what to expect as I approached the shimmering facade of the United States Olympic & Paralympic Museum in Colorado Springs. But I didn’t expect to cry. It turns out my relationship with the Games runs deeper than I realized. With the Winter Olympics approaching in Italy, I may need a fresh box of tissues near the television. The triumph of the human spirit still gets me every time.

That feeling hit me, again, when I stepped into the soaring lobby of the USOPM, which USA Today recently declared to be one of the top 10 attractions for sports fans in the U.S. With three floors and a dozen galleries of exhilarating interactive exhibits, it deserves a medal itself. And Coloradans can visit for just $10 on Saturdays, starting at 3 p.m. through Memorial Day.

Colorado Springs isn’t a random home for this museum. For nearly half a century, the city has been the center of the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic movement. The ruling athletic powers relocated their headquarters here in 1978, drawn by altitude, geography and a city eager to anchor itself to sport. Over time, an ecosystem grew: a flagship training center, dozens of national governing bodies and generations of athletes passing through on their way to the world’s biggest stages. The city’s exclusive right to call itself Olympic City USA reflects that history.  

A towering, 40-foot screen dominates the entrance, flashing larger-than-life images of Olympians and Paralympians. The footage has been processed through what the museum calls the “Neimanizer,” a program that renders images in the expressive style of artist LeRoy Neiman, who captured five Summer Games on canvas. When a small, airborne figure appeared, rotating and defying gravity, I recognized her instantly. Nobody else moves quite like Simone Biles.

Moments later, another athlete appeared, one I hadn’t known by name. Oksana Masters’ head and torso filled the screen as the camera slowly pulled back, revealing her poling toward a silver medal at the 2014 Sochi Paralympics. Masters, a double amputee, was born in Ukraine near the time of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster and adopted by her American mother as a child. After years of surgeries and treatment, she went on to become one of the most decorated Paralympians in history, winning medals in rowing, cycling and skiing.

That story alone would justify the museum’s existence.

The exhibits don’t rush past moments like that. They let visitors sit with them. And if inspiration strikes closer to home, there’s a photo booth where guests can have themselves “Neimanized” in the sport of their choice.

Elsewhere, the museum invites a more humbling kind of participation. One gallery features a 20-yard sprint track designed to give visitors a sense of just how fast elite athletes really are. An RFID-enabled credential, issued at the front desk, recognizes visitors by name and tracks their interactions. I chose to race Carmelita Jeter, the 2012 Olympic silver medalist once known as the “fastest woman alive.” What was I thinking? After a 3-2-1 countdown, the video image of Carmelita burst from the starting blocks next to me, and I duck-waddled after her to the finish line in 15.29 seconds. Jeter’s time: 3.21 seconds.

How is that even possible?

You’ll find out how they do it in other galleries, which detail Olympic history, training regimens and technology. One section explores the Games’ cultural impact, including Jesse Owens’ four gold medals at the 1936 Berlin Olympics, a powerful rebuke to the ideology of Aryan supremacy. Nearby, an entire wall of Wheaties boxes honors Olympic champions who once stared out from breakfast tables across the country.

Michelle Dusserre Farrell understands that power firsthand. She competed on the U.S. gymnastics team at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics, earning a silver medal in the team competition. While Mary Lou Retton captured headlines, Dusserre Farrell served as the team’s leadoff competitor, setting a tone that helped carry her teammates.

“I was proud to represent my country,” she said, “and compete on the same level as my idol, Nadia Comaneci. I knew I had an opportunity to make my mark.”

She later helped shape the museum itself, joining the planning process in 2015 and 2016. Her role involved working with athletes to collect stories and artifacts – from Eric Heiden’s speed skates to uniforms, medals and equipment that carry personal histories alongside national ones.

Few objects carry more emotional weight than the scoreboard from the Lake Placid hockey rink, preserved from the 1980 “Miracle on Ice.” This is the one – the scoreboard that nearly 200 million Americans stared at as the final seconds ticked down on a 4-3 victory over the heavily favored Soviet team. In the exhibit, footage from those last moments loops continuously, and with it comes Al Michaels’ call, etched into sports history: “Do you believe in miracles?” The moment resonates decades later even for visitors like me who don’t follow hockey. It’s a reminder of how deeply these events lodge themselves in collective memory.

For Dusserre Farrell, another gallery hits even closer to home. A wraparound exhibit recreates the opening ceremony, giving visitors the experience of the parade of nations. “When you get there with athletes from other sports and other countries,” she said, “you realize you’re just a speck on the map of what this really means.”

Before the Tokyo Games, a mother wrote to the museum about her 3-year-old son, born with spina bifida. Visiting the museum, she said, changed her sense of what might be possible for him.

“Her note was almost like reading my own life,” Dusserre Farrell said. She has an older daughter with spina bifida and invited the family to visit. “It gave her hope,” she said. “That’s why we have this museum. You leave walking on air.”

The final galleries return to innovation: speed skating suits, Paralympic prosthetics and, improbably, the hand-sewn dress Peggy Fleming wore when she won gold in 1968. A group of wheelchair athletes navigated the space alongside me, studying the engineering with focused attention. The message was unmistakable: human potential takes many forms.

By the time I reached the parking lot, the feeling lingered. In a city that formally calls itself Olympic City USA, it made sense. Excellence has been part of the local weather here for decades. The museum doesn’t just commemorate past victories. It invites visitors to reconsider what excellence, perseverance and possibility look like, then sends them back out into the world a little lighter than when they arrived.