Talk about Max Naumov. He’s about to hit the ice at the 2026 Winter Olympics in Milan, and no cap, his journey there has been nothing short of inspiring, bordering on heartbreaking. Just four weeks ago, after a stellar performance in St. Louis that secured his Olympic spot, cameras caught him holding a cherished family photo, shoulders heavy with emotion. It was a poignant moment, a stark reminder that while he stood on the precipice of his dreams, his parents, Vadim Naumov and Evgenia Shishkova, weren’t there to share it, gone just a year prior in a devastating plane crash. This dude is carrying a heavy torch, for real.
That crash, American Airlines Flight 5342, wasn’t just another news story; it sent shockwaves through the entire figure skating community, leaving a void that still echoes today. Max rededicated himself to his craft, channeling his grief into a powerful drive. Every single skater heading to Milan carries the trauma of that night, but for Max Naumov, it’s personal. His parents, both revered figures in the skating world, were among the many lives cut short, turning a path to the Olympics into a profound pilgrimage of remembrance and resilience.
Let’s rewind a bit to understand the magnitude of this tragedy. Flying into Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport is notoriously tricky, even on a clear day. The runways practically hug the Potomac River, and pilots have to navigate some seriously congested and restricted airspace around D.C. It’s like a high-stakes game of Tetris with planes and helicopters from multiple airports constantly in close proximity. Precision and seamless communication between pilots and air traffic control are absolutely key to keeping things on point.
On January 29, 2025, that intricate system failed catastrophically. American Airlines Flight 5342, en route from Wichita, was on its final approach to Reagan National just before 9 p.m. The city lights were dazzling, but as the plane descended over the Potomac, it collided mid-air with an Army Black Hawk helicopter. Both aircraft plunged nearly 300 feet into the icy river below. The sheer horror of it is still hard to process, even a year later. It was a scene straight out of a nightmare, and the ramifications were just devastating.
Tragically, 28 members of the skating community were on that flight. We’re talking promising young skaters, dedicated coaches, and supportive parents from the Washington Figure Skating Club and the Skating Club of Boston. They had all stayed in Wichita after the U.S. Figure Skating Championships for extra training clinics, trying to sharpen their skills. Doug Zeghibe, the CEO of the Skating Club of Boston, recalls getting his phone blown up that night, a frantic scramble as the community tried to figure out who was on the flight and who was safe. The anxiety was through the roof, a real gut punch.
Slowly, the awful truth emerged: all 64 passengers and crew on Flight 5342 perished, along with the three crewmembers on the Black Hawk. This wasn’t just a local tragedy; it was the deadliest aviation accident on American soil since November 2001. For the figure skating world, it felt like a horrific echo of the past. Back in February 1961, the entire U.S. figure skating team, including many from the Skating Club of Boston, died in a plane crash near Brussels en route to the World Championships. That event cast a long, dark shadow over the sport for decades, and this latest catastrophe ripped open old wounds. “They were family,” Zeghibe lamented, speaking about the lost members who spent countless hours at the rink, becoming integral parts of their clubs.
In the immediate aftermath, the skating community showcased its incredible resilience and tight-knit spirit. The Washington Figure Skating Club opened its rinks, providing a safe space for skaters to grieve on the ice, setting up memorials, and offering guest books for remembrances. U.S. Figure Skating and the United States Olympic and Paralympic Committee stepped up big time, arranging for mental health support and grief counseling, even bringing in therapy dogs to help kids process the trauma. Events like “Legacy on Ice” in Washington, featuring Olympians like Alysa Liu, Amber Glenn, and Ilia Malinin, raised funds for families and first responders. And the “Skaters’ Cookbook,” a project honoring two sisters lost on Flight 5342, became a tangible symbol of remembrance at the 2026 U.S. Figure Skating Championships. It was a powerful demonstration of a community coming together when things were, no lie, totally broken.
Just days before the Milano Cortina Olympics, the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) released its bombshell report on the crash, and it was a tough read. They declared it the result of “systemic failures in airspace design, safety oversight and risk management by the Federal Aviation Administration and the U.S. Army.” Straight up, the report highlighted longstanding issues in the D.C. airways, including sketchy pathways for helicopters and a serious lack of clear communication between ground controllers, helicopters, and fixed-wing aircraft. The NTSB, whose mission is to investigate civil aviation accidents and make safety recommendations, pulled no punches, emphasizing how these long-ignored problems created a recipe for disaster.
They also slammed air traffic control, noting a “high workload during a period of elevated traffic reduced air traffic control’s ability to monitor developing conflicts and provide safety alerts.” Can you believe only one flight controller was managing both helicopter and plane traffic in that complex area? The most agonizing revelation? The NTSB determined the crash was 100 percent preventable. A simple, $400 GPS device could have given pilots nearly a full minute’s warning before impact. As Doug Zeghibe put it, “It was just, it turns out, a needless and avoidable accident.” That’s a gut punch of information, for real.
Despite the immense grief and anger surrounding the report, the human spirit, especially in sports, can be truly remarkable. Max Naumov’s triumph in qualifying for the Olympics is a testament to that. One of his last conversations with his parents was about his Olympic chances, and he’s carried that ambition, and their memory, all the way to Milan. He told reporters in St. Louis, “I find that in times of really difficult emotional stress, if you can just push yourself a little bit more and almost think, What if I can do it? What if, despite everything that happened to me, I can still go out there and do it? That’s where you find strength, and that’s where you grow as a person. And that’s exactly what’s been getting me through every day.” Talk about some serious grit.
His training partner, Jimmy Ma, who skates with Naumov in Boston, echoed that sentiment. “Being able to see him push through even the thoughts of whether or not he wanted to continue skating, that was inspirational,” Ma shared. “I’m very proud of him. Max has always been a hardworking kid, but you see him reapproach his training and his commitment to the Olympic team… It was always about him and his parents working together for him to make the team. They were a unit. To watch Max continue that effort as a team, but with both of his parents having to be there with him in spirit and not physically, I’m just thrilled for him.” It’s a powerful narrative of carrying a legacy forward, even when it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders.
On Tuesday, in his first moment on Olympic ice, skating to the somber, yet beautiful melodies of Chopin’s Nocturne No. 20 – a piece often chosen for its profound emotional depth – Max was legit. His expression was focused, resolute, every movement on point. He nailed his quad salchow, triple axel, triple lutz, and more. When he finished, he looked heavenward, a silent tribute, as the audience rose in a standing ovation. His final score, 85.65, was his season’s best and more than enough to qualify him for Friday’s free skate. It was a performance for the ages, a real tear-jerker.
Afterward, Max shared a feeling that resonated deep. “I felt almost like a hand on my back pushing me forward, feeling my parents guiding me from one element to another, and just kind of keeping me grounded,” he said. “Almost like a chess piece on a chessboard, from one element to another. Unlike any other feeling I’ve ever felt before.” It’s clear their spirit is right there with him, making his Olympic journey not just about personal achievement, but a profound tribute to those he loved. This whole thing is just dope.
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