Enhanced Games Delivered Records, Doping, and a Glimpse of Silicon Valley's Quest for Eternal Life

The first Enhanced Games – also known as the Doping Games or Steroid Olympics – have been successfully concluded. All 42 athletes survived. That could be a first, somewhat cynical takeaway from Sunday evening's event in Las Vegas. None of the sprinters who had injected themselves with testosterone, growth hormones, and EPO collapsed on the track. The weightlifters did not injure themselves. No swimmer had to be pulled from the pool. Serious medical incidents were absent.

Instead, many participants achieved personal bests. Nearly one-third of the athletes set career-best performances. However, expectations had been set higher before the competition; world records were supposed to fall. American sprint star Fred Kerley remained far below his potential: he won the 100-meter distance, but with a mediocre time of 9.97 seconds. At least Greek swimmer Kristian Gkolomeev covered 50 meters freestyle in 20.81 seconds, finally delivering a world record for the event – at least theoretically.

The significance of the times is debatable. Especially in swimming, Gkolomeev owed his peak performance not only to doping: he wore a high-tech full-body suit that has been banned in competitive sport since 42 world records were set with such suits at the 2009 World Championships. Officially, the top performances will not be recognized anyway.

But the 2,500 invited guests – whose demographic composition resembled an exclusive fitness club – received an entertaining show. Out of consideration for consumption habits in the age of TikTok, the organizers limited themselves to disciplines decided in under two minutes. The result was a fast-paced sequence of competitions as the sun slowly set over the open-air arena on the Las Vegas Strip. Nearby, the Trump Tower glowed in golden light, and the testosterone-driven crowd provided atmosphere. Late in the evening, rock band The Killers sent people home with a best-of hits set.

Despite any reservations one might have had, and even though performances fell short of expectations, it was a spectacle. At most, a few spectators might have suffered sunstroke in Nevada's scorching heat.

That athletes could collapse had been a concern. But only one of many. Before the Games, the debate centered primarily on ethical questions. Critics warned of a devastating signal the competition would send. What would young people think? Would the event encourage drug abuse by motivating amateur athletes to dope? Physicians warned of possible long-term damage that the participating sprinters, swimmers, and weightlifters might suffer. Moreover, the consensus in the media was that chasing world records was pointless since they would not be recognized anyway.

Travis Tygart of the US Anti-Doping Agency called it a "dangerous clown event." Sebastian Coe of World Athletics threatened any sprinter "so stupid" as to compete with a ban from official sport. Other governing bodies sounded similar. Because President's son Donald Trump Jr. and right-libertarian tech entrepreneur Peter Thiel were among the early investors, the event was also described as an ideological offshoot of the MAGA movement. Probably few sporting events have been accompanied by such sharp criticism as these Enhanced Games.

Nevertheless, 42 athletes participated. German swimmer Marius Kusch told the NZZ in Las Vegas that he would not beat around the bush: the financial aspect was one of the decisive reasons. In December 2024, Kusch had ended his active career before being persuaded months later to make a comeback at the controversial spectacle. The appearance fee for athletes is said to be in the six-figure range. Kusch needed it, because the 2019 European champion over 100 meters butterfly apparently could barely make ends meet. Between competitions, he traveled across the US giving swimming lessons to children. He said he had no savings; his bank account was always empty. At 33, he asked himself why he had put himself through all of it. Now, thanks to the Enhanced Games, he would finally be properly compensated. For the first time, he could afford health insurance.

Whether he will need it if long-term damage catches up with him in a few years remains to be seen. At least he was able to top up his appearance fee: on Sunday, Kusch won the 100-meter butterfly and collected a prize of $250,000.

Like the vast majority of athletes, the German had himself pumped with performance-enhancing substances in an eight-week, clinically coordinated procedure at a training camp in Abu Dhabi. He recalled spending an incredible number of days in the hospital. He was meticulously monitored, sometimes receiving 65-page PDFs of data. Everything was really top-notch, he said – the healthiest state he had ever been in.

Participants and organizers did not tire of emphasizing the scientific nature of the Games. According to the organizers, their goal is not only to explore the limits of human performance but also to see the Enhanced Games as a clinically sound testing ground for new health technologies. "Longevity" is the buzzword. They want to slow the aging process. Eternal life.

Christian Angermayer has never smoked in his life and drinks no alcohol. He tried coffee for the first time at age 29. Today, the 48-year-old co-founder of the Enhanced Games may not look ten years younger as some media reports have claimed, but his energy level seems supernatural – and it is. According to the Washington Post, the German billionaire's current wellness routine includes testosterone and growth hormones aimed at reducing deep fat layers and regenerating his cells. "To feel more sociable," the newspaper wrote, "he adds the peptide oxytocin, normally used by doctors to stimulate labor."

When it came to media work in Las Vegas, Angermayer performed like a high-performance athlete. At the press event scheduled for conversations with athletes before the Games, he also faced reporters. He stayed the longest. In conversation, he explained his principles. Technological developments have improved the lives of the vast majority of humanity, he said. But what scares him is the view of history: every time humanity underwent massive technological change, people got scared. He drew a comparison to the fascinating period between 1850 and 1910, when the automobile and telephone were invented. There were the Elon Musks of that time, he said. Jules Verne wanted to fly to the moon. The elite of that era talked about the same things – they didn't want to fly to Mars, but to the moon. Yet 99% of people asked what was in it for them. Very similar fears moved humanity, said the tech entrepreneur, who attributes the rise of Nazism and communism to the fear of change.

The only way to take away people's fears, Angermayer said, is psychedelics. LSD, mushrooms. In 2013, Angermayer was invited to a party and happened to sit next to a well-known German neuroscientist researching the potential of psychedelics to heal trauma. The researcher explained the effects of magic mushrooms. After a self-experiment a year later, Angermayer was a changed person – or so he explains it. He says he has since invested more than €100 million of his own money into psychedelic research. His company Atai Life Sciences is worth over $1.5 billion. His commitment to psychedelics and the Enhanced Games go hand in hand. As a follower of transhumanism, he wants to overcome humanity's biological limits: psychedelics for the mind, "enhancements" for the body.

The ideal backdrop for this techno-futurism was Las Vegas – this oasis of artificiality where human-made spectacle triumphs over the barren desert. An overdose of a city. With its glittering casino worlds, it also invites one to gamble away one's existence. It is a place as unhealthy as few others. People drink, smoke, and gamble excessively. Just a few steps off the Strip, where one practically steps over the homeless, Sin City shows its dystopian side. While athletes administer steroids, addicts here predominantly take fentanyl. How closely bitter poverty and bold dreams of the future can coexist has rarely been so tangible.

For now, the Enhanced Games are over. One world record was set. A third of athletes achieved personal bests. No one died. The critics are appalled. The investors are thrilled. And somewhere in Las Vegas, a German billionaire who takes testosterone and oxytocin is planning the next Games – and maybe, just maybe, a path to immortality. The only question is: at what cost?