Unveiling the ‘Steroid Olympics’: Decoding Silicon Valley’s Fascination with Peptides

Right now, I’m sweating in the blazing Nevada sun, watching a man fight to lift a barbell overhead. If he is successful, a reward of $250,000 awaits him.

This individual is Boady Santavy, a Canadian weightlifter who has competed in the Olympics, featuring impressive muscles that seem more like a creation from a blockbuster movie than reality: arms so large they belong in a comic book.

Santavy is on a quest to shatter the world record for the men’s snatch, aiming to lift 183 kilograms, or roughly 403 pounds. After intense moments, the barbell crashes down — a clear “no lift” — and he walks away, clearly frustrated and muttering to himself.

He competes among a talented group of 42 athletes, including weightlifters, swimmers, and track competitors, all gathered in Las Vegas for the Enhanced Games—a contentious athletic event where nearly all participants are on performance-enhancing substances.

Often dubbed the “steroid Olympics,” this event has taken the unprecedented step of allowing extensive drug use, including anabolics, testosterone, peptides, and human growth hormones, under the supervision of a medical team. Competitors from various ages, skills, and backgrounds spent 12 weeks in an elite training facility in the United Arab Emirates, tailoring their “protocols” or drug regimens with medical guidance.

Competitors are also offered “appearance fees,” and similar to Santavy, any athlete breaking a world record or finishing first can win additional cash—potentially up to $1 million for events like the 100-meter sprint or 50-meter freestyle.

In essence, Enhanced has disregarded traditional competition guidelines in professional sports.

Why am I, a journalist focused on technology, reporting on this event?

Surprisingly, Silicon Valley heavily influences the creation of Enhanced. This unusual event is the invention of a startup established by veterans of the crypto, AI, and biotech fields, with backing from prominent figures such as Peter Thiel and former Coinbase executive Balaji Srinivasan. Moreover, it stands at the forefront of a burgeoning industry that Silicon Valley is eagerly endorsing—focused on human enhancement through injectable drugs and supplements as both an empowerment path and a profit venture.

However, traditional athletic organizations strongly oppose it. The World Anti-Doping Agency, which manages the Olympics, has condemned the Enhanced Games as “dangerous,” while Travis Tygart, CEO of the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency, dismisses it as a “clown show that prioritizes profit over people.”

For decades, steroids have faced skepticism within the international health community, with even FDA-approved consumer medications raising alarms among health professionals.

Nonetheless, Enhanced’s organizers claim to be the good guys, striving to tackle a long-standing issue in organized sports. They point to the fact that many athletes dope covertly, creating risks linked to inadequate medical oversight. In contrast, the Enhanced model allows athletes to openly employ these substances under medical supervision.

If Enhanced aimed solely at enhancing safety in sports, it might have validity. Yet the reality extends beyond sports; it’s also a commercial enterprise. The games are operated by Enhanced Group, Inc., a recently public company that achieved a $1.2 billion valuation post-IPO. Enhanced offers personalized health treatments, including peptides, GLP-1s for weight loss, testosterone injections, and similar substances. Recently, they teamed up with an AI firm, Rezolve Ai, to roll out a digital telehealth platform.

Their ambition is to transition from Vegas into a global business — a distribution network for consumers seeking to amplify their strength and vitality. Though the FDA has approved the drugs Enhanced provides, concerns are rising that normalizing steroid use might influence broader societal trends, especially encouraging younger consumers to explore less regulated and potentially hazardous substances with dire ramifications. This anxiety looms over Enhanced’s athletic competition, often perceived as a flashy promotion for both their business and the peptide industry.

One nation, under peptides

As one of approximately 200 journalists from around the globe, I arrive in Vegas two days before the games. Enhanced is generous, providing a dedicated workspace, meals, and chances to interact with athletes and executives. However, there’s a sense that we play an essential role in their business strategy. As the skeptical observers of this carnival-like event, our duty is to report back to our audience, spreading awareness of its existence — effectively acting as free promotion for Enhanced.

This venture is part of a sector poised for explosive growth if certain deregulatory shifts occur soon.

In February, U.S. Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. publicly backed peptides on The Joe Rogan Experience, suggesting he would push for making some peptides more accessible. Following his assertion, the FDA plans to gather a pharmaceutical advisory committee in July to discuss potential relaxation of restrictions on previously banned peptides.

Since then, the peptide space has reached an intriguing crossroads, with various startups reportedly creating products based on chemicals in a legal “gray” area, targeting the market if governmental restrictions ease. Others focus solely on FDA-approved products. Silicon Valley has emerged as a hub for this activity, where tech entrepreneurs are not only employing but investing in peptides with fervent enthusiasm. Companies like Superpower, an AI longevity startup promoting FDA-approved peptides, and Noho Labs, a peptide startup backed by Elad Gil, have gained traction, while exclusive venues like AGI House host peptide-injecting “parties” as personal usage increases among the elite.

Peptides are gaining popularity not only in Silicon Valley but across the nation, coinciding with a rise in fitness culture. Recent studies show young people are turning to peptides for “looksmaxing”—an extreme effort to enhance their appearance—while gyms have become cultural centers for the youth. Social media platforms that celebrate superficiality fuel this national drive for self-improvement. A 20-year-old influencer known for popularizing “looksmaxxing,” “Clavicular,” stands out in promoting peptides, alongside prominent voices such as podcasters Joe Rogan and Andrew Huberman.

This is all about “health,” right?

Peptide manufacturers, including executives from Enhanced, assert that consumer “health” is their main priority, even as they seem unconcerned about admitting their profit-driven motivations.

Maximilian Martin, 29, CEO and co-founder of Enhanced, is a composed advocate for the company’s unconventional methods. A former bitcoin mining entrepreneur, Martin presents himself in a sharp suit, radiating charisma during a Saturday press conference, answering questions calmly while detailing plans to profit from a new generation of chemically-enhanced individuals.

Inevitably, the conversation shifts to the X-Men.

“Performance enhancement has been around forever. Think about Hollywood and Marvel superheroes; they’re all enhanced,” Martin notes. “Hugh Jackman doesn’t look as he does at his age solely from clean eating and eight hours of sleep. The peptide market in the U.S. currently encompasses 85 million individuals, much of it driven by unsupervised, unregulated substances. We’re providing a clear path for people to safely achieve their desired benefits with medical oversight.”

Christian Angermayer, Enhanced’s billionaire co-founder and executive chairman, succinctly states, “I’m a capitalist.” He sees no divide between health and profit. “There’s no reason something beneficial shouldn’t also be a business.”

Let the games begin

On May 24, the day of the games, a chaotic whirlwind of activities unfolds within a stunning $50 million open-air stadium rapidly built for this occasion. The venue features a track, swimming pools, and a spacious pavilion for weightlifters, with spectators roaring despite the sweltering heat.

While the ambiance superficially resembles the Olympics, it feels more closely aligned with a blend of America’s Got Talent, WWE, and Gladiator. Trendy influencers occupy the stands, while an announcer narrates the day’s events with a theatrical flair reminiscent of WrestleMania. Later, The Killers will grace the stage to conclude the event.

The athletes move about like deities, their exaggerated muscles glistening under the sun.

Throughout the day, Martin is visible, bustling in his immaculate suit. As the evening progresses, it absorbs moisture from his frequent visits to the pool, where he joyfully greets victorious swimmers. Angermayer strolls through the event, exuding a relaxed energy, casually smiling as he engages with the press.

Other notable tech figures, such as Bryan Johnson, a wealthy biohacker with aspirations for immortality, also make appearances. Despite lacking a noteworthy athletic background, Johnson amusingly comments on the spectacle akin to a retired athlete. He and his girlfriend, frequently featured in his tweets, meander past the media area, with Johnson sporting a rather unusual outfit that recalls a character from a children’s tea brand.

The competitions promise excitement, showcasing different categories of athletes competing for success.

Some participants, like James Magnussen, a former Olympic swimmer, view the games as a chance to reconnect with competition. Magnussen gained viral fame this year for his impressive physique and has publicly endorsed the peptide industry, even claiming it made him feel “18 again.” However, he finishes last in two races without setting any records.

In sharp contrast, athletes such as Hafthor “Thor” Bjornsson—a towering Nordic bodybuilder and previous weightlifter—are candid about their steroid use and see this event as a chance to use these substances with greater safety.

Bjornsson, known for his role as Ser Gregor Clegane in Game of Thrones, humorously engages with the press after a journalist jokingly asks if he would crush her skull, to which he playfully agrees. At the games, he attempts an impressive world record deadlift of 1,135.4 pounds but ultimately does not succeed.

Additionally, some competitors, like American swimmer Hunter Armstrong, opt for a clean slate. Armstrong’s motivation for participating is purely financial. With Olympic ambitions, he aims to keep his record pure, avoiding any association with doping.

“The Olympic movement means a lot to me,” he expresses. “Participating in any kind of protocol would compromise that opportunity.”

Armstrong is among several athletes who succeed in their events, such as the 50-meter backstroke, without resorting to enhancements.

As the day unfolds, it progresses steadily; however, despite the organizers’ claims of showcasing extraordinary human potential, the event, while entertaining, lacks the thrill of the Olympics or even an exciting football game. It concludes on a notable high: the final event of the day—the men’s 50-meter freestyle—sees Enhanced’s inaugural world record set. Kristian Gkolomeev, a towering athlete from Greece (standing six feet, eight inches), zips across the pool in 20.81 seconds, surpassing the previous record by 0.07 seconds. The crowd erupts in cheers, with lights flashing in celebration. Fellow swimmers raise their fists in victorious joy, and Martin once again rushes onto the field to embrace the drenched Gkolomeev.

The future is enhanced?

Critics argue that the Enhanced Games prioritize profit over health. Yet, this event appears to mirror a broader aesthetic concern—reflecting not only American attitudes but also those of its organizers. Historically, America’s fitness culture has intertwined health with self-promotion, and the Enhanced Games may signify the onset of a new chapter in this narrative. The choice of Las Vegas as a venue—a city synonymous with indulgence and spectacle—highlights the prevailing ethos of immediate gratification over pursuing long-term wellness. The event could have taken place in rejuvenating settings like the Swiss countryside, but organizers chose a locale where individuals frequently gamble their futures for fleeting successes.

Furthermore, injecting substances to enhance one’s appearance seems less about long-term health and more focused on immediate aesthetics—ignoring potential future consequences.

The real advantage for organizers lies in their ability to pioneer a new industry, celebrating it with an elaborate ritual that, according to their claims, signals imminent “scientific breakthroughs” and “human enhancement” (along with revenue generation). Their gamble rests on whether this emerging industry will thrive in the coming months; currently, akin to the consumers of their products, they seem to be living for the moment.

As Enhanced’s three-day spectacle draws to a close, the press corps feels the weight of fatigue. Around midnight, as the games conclude and the crowd disperses, our tired group heads back to the media center—a fluorescent space in the nearby Resorts World hotel. As I prepare to leave, I quickly step into the restroom, where I unexpectedly bump into Martin. Sporting a potentially new suit (or perhaps his earlier outfit is just now dry), he admires his reflection in the mirror, likely prepping for an upcoming late-night press briefing.

Having yet to chat with him, I’m at a loss for small talk. What could two strangers talk about in a public restroom at this hour? As my weary mind hits upon a brief phrase, I mutter, “Congratulations,” before moving towards the exit.

“Thank you,” he replies, nodding slightly, then returns to his reflection.