Inside Vega$: A Billion-Dollar Conspiracy Unraveling Steroids and Swimmers

Under the blistering Nevada sun, I watch a man exert himself, trying to raise a barbell overhead. If he succeeds, the reward is a staggering $250,000.

The spotlight is on Boady Santavy, a two-time Canadian Olympic weightlifter whose body seems crafted for the silver screen; his muscular arms exude the definition one might expect from a superhero rather than an ordinary person.

Santavy’s goal is to establish a world record in the men’s snatch, aiming to lift 183 kilograms, roughly equivalent to 403 pounds. However, after a nail-biting attempt, he must release the bar — a clear sign of a “no lift” — walking away visibly frustrated and mumbling softly.

He stands among 42 fervent contestants — weightlifters, swimmers, and track athletes — who have assembled in Las Vegas this Memorial Day weekend for the Enhanced Games, a groundbreaking (and now infamous) competition where nearly all participants rely on performance-enhancing substances.

Critics have derided the event as the “steroid Olympics,” given that organizers permit numerous athletes to engage in anabolic steroids, testosterone, peptides, human growth hormones, and other performance aids, all under medical supervision. These competitors, representing diverse ages and backgrounds, have dedicated 12 weeks in the UAE refining their skills using tailored “protocols” crafted by medical experts to match their unique requirements.

Competitors also receive “appearance fees” merely for participating, in addition to potential bonuses for breaking records — reaching as much as $1 million in high-stakes events like the 100-meter dash and 50-meter freestyle.

In essence, the Enhanced Games have disrupted traditional sports norms.

So, what drives a tech journalist like me to report on this spectacle?

Interestingly, Silicon Valley is integral to the inception of the Enhanced Games. Founded by a startup comprised of individuals from the crypto, AI, and biotech realms, this event enjoys backing from prominent investors such as Peter Thiel and Balaji Srinivasan, a former Coinbase executive. It represents a growing niche within Silicon Valley: human enhancement, relying on injectable drugs and supplements aimed at achieving physical and financial improvement.

However, traditional sports health organizations vehemently denounce it. The World Anti-Doping Agency has labeled the Enhanced Games as “dangerous,” with Travis Tygart, the CEO of the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency, condemning it as a “clown show prioritizing profit over people.”

The controversy surrounding steroids has persisted among health professionals, often scrutinizing even FDA-approved consumer products.

Nevertheless, the Enhanced Games’ organizers assert their objective is a noble one: to address an ongoing issue in organized sports, where countless athletes already use performance enhancers, albeit in secrecy. This lack of transparency raises risks due to insufficient medical supervision, whereas Enhanced competitors use these substances with strict medical oversight.

Had Enhanced’s focus solely been on achieving safety in sports, the perception might have been different. However, it extends beyond mere athletics — it’s a business endeavor. Enhanced Group, Inc., now publicly traded, recently achieved a valuation of $1.2 billion. The organization offers personalized health treatments, including peptides, weight loss medications, testosterone therapies, and various enhancement drugs. They have also partnered with AI firm Rezolve Ai to create a digital telehealth platform.

Enhanced envisions expanding its Vegas showcase into a global initiative, establishing a distribution network for consumers eager to enhance their physiques while combating aging. Although the drugs endorsed by Enhanced are FDA-approved, concerns linger over the normalization of steroid use, potentially encouraging younger individuals toward unregulated and hazardous substances. This worry casts a shadow over the event, which many perceive as a significant marketing push for Enhanced’s business venture and the broader peptide industry.

One nation, under peptides

I’m one of roughly 200 journalists from around the world who arrived in Vegas two days ahead of the games. Enhanced has graciously provided workspaces, meals, and opportunities to engage with both athletes and executives, although there’s an unspoken sense that our presence is crucial to their commercial strategy. As skeptical observers at this circus-like event, we’re tasked with informing the public while generating interest in the competition — essentially acting as unwitting marketers for Enhanced.

This undertaking falls within an industry gearing up for a potential gold-rush-like boom this year, reliant on specific deregulations.

In February, U.S. Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. expressed enthusiasm for peptides during a guest appearance on The Joe Rogan Experience, hinting at his intention to advocate easing FDA regulations for certain peptides. It appears he is following through, with the FDA set to hold an advisory committee meeting in July to reconsider previously banned peptides.

The peptide sector stands at an intriguing intersection, with several startups reportedly exploring products derived from chemicals existing in a legal “gray” area, aiming to be the first to market should regulations shift. Others prefer to champion FDA-approved options. This burgeoning market has transformed Silicon Valley into a hotspot, with tech enthusiasts eagerly leveraging and investing in peptides. Startups like Superpower, an AI longevity firm offering FDA-compliant peptides, and Noho Labs, a peptide startup backed by Elad Gil, are gaining traction, while niche gatherings like AGI House are hosting peptide-injecting “parties” amidst a rising trend of personal use among the affluent.

The allure of peptides isn’t limited to the Bay Area; they are gaining traction nationwide as an emerging fitness culture gains prominence. Recent reports suggest younger demographics are increasingly turning to peptides as part of “looksmaxing” — a term for extreme efforts to enhance one’s appearance — with gyms evolving into cultural hubs for this population. This trend has been further amplified by social media, which accentuates superficial aesthetics. The face of “looksmaxxing,” a 20-year-old influencer dubbed “Clavicular,” has emerged as a controversial figure advocating for peptides, alongside popular podcasters like Joe Rogan and Andrew Huberman who have recently discussed the trend.

This is all about “health,” right?

Peptide manufacturers — including those at Enhanced — assert that their focus is consumer “health.” Simultaneously, their profit motivation is evident.

Maximilian Martin, the 29-year-old CEO and co-founder of Enhanced, makes a compelling case for the company’s unconventional methodologies. Dressed sharply in a suit, Martin addresses journalists at a Saturday press conference, responding to inquiries and outlining plans to monetize a new era of chemically-enhanced individuals.

The parallels to X-Men are hard to ignore.

“Performance enhancement has been prevalent for decades. Just observe Hollywood’s Marvel superheroes; they’re all enhanced to some extent,” Martin remarks. “For instance, Hugh Jackman doesn’t achieve his physique solely through diet and sleep. The U.S. peptide market caters to about 85 million individuals, many of whom opt for unsupervised and unregulated avenues. Our aim is to provide a safe, medical pathway for those seeking benefits.”

Christian Angermayer, Enhanced’s billionaire co-founder and executive chairman, succinctly states, “I’m a capitalist.” He sees no contradiction between health and business, asserting, “Why shouldn’t something beneficial also offer a business opportunity?”

Let the games begin

On competition day, May 24, the atmosphere is a vibrant whirlwind — all centered around a $50 million open-air stadium that appeared almost overnight for this occasion. This venue boasts tracks, swimming pools, and extensive weightlifting areas. Spectators cheer enthusiastically, unperturbed by the scorching heat.

While the ambiance may superficially resemble the Olympics, the vibe is considerably lighter, akin to America’s Got Talent, WWE, or Gladiator. Fashionable influencers congregate in colorful clusters, while an energetic announcer narrates events with the flair of a WrestleMania commentator. Adding to the excitement, The Killers, a band renowned for their Vegas performances, is set to deliver a brief concert later.

Meanwhile, the athletes parade around like icons, their impressive physiques gleaming under the sun.

Throughout the day, Martin is a familiar sight, dashing around in his crisp suit, which gradually shows signs of perspiration as he races to congratulate winning swimmers. Angermayer mingles effortlessly with the crowd, wearing a relaxed smile and occasionally stopping by the media tent to converse with journalists.

Tech personalities, including Bryan Johnson — a wealthy biohacker in pursuit of immortality — are also in attendance. Despite lacking any athletic background, Johnson positions himself on the sidelines, delivering commentary akin to that of a retired athlete. Shortly thereafter, he and his girlfriend, popular on social media, stroll by the media tent, Johnson wearing an outfit reminiscent of the Sleepytime Bear from Celestial Seasonings.

The competitions themselves are riveting, showcasing a wide range of athletes.

Competitors like James Magnussen, a retired Australian swimmer and Olympic medalist, view these games as an opportunity to revive their competitive spirits. Known for a viral photo of his impressive physique, Magnussen advocates for the peptide industry, claiming that these substances, alongside testosterone, make him feel “18 again.” However, he struggles to set records, finishing last in two events.

Similarly, Hafthor “Thor” Bjornsson, a towering figure in bodybuilding and competitive weightlifting, candidly acknowledges his past use of steroids. He sees this event as a chance to use performance enhancers under adequate medical supervision.

Bjornsson, famous for portraying Gregor Clegane in Game of Thrones, known for fierce confrontations, humorously responds when a reporter asks if he’ll crush her skull; he playfully mimics the action. At the games, he attempts an ambitious world record deadlift of 1,135.4 pounds but ultimately falls short.

Conversely, American swimmer Hunter Armstrong opts to shun enhancements. When asked about his involvement, Armstrong cites the prize money as a significant factor. He harbors Olympic aspirations and wishes to maintain his eligibility, rejecting doping for personal reasons.

“The Olympic movement carries immense significance for me,” Armstrong remarks to reporters. “Besides personal ethics, engaging in any protocol would jeopardize my opportunities.”

Armstrong, along with a few others, secures victory in his races (particularly the 50-meter backstroke) without resorting to “enhancements.”

As the events unfold, organizers tout a groundbreaking showcase of human capability, yet the competitions, while captivating, ultimately lack the excitement that would arise from the Olympics or even a thrilling football game. The climax builds to an extraordinary finale: the men’s 50-meter freestyle ends with the first and only world record of the event. Kristian Gkolomeev, a formidable six-foot-eight competitor from Greece, finishes the race in a dazzling 20.81 seconds, breaking the previous record by 0.07 seconds. The crowd erupts in cheers, with lights flashing in a celebratory display similar to that of a game show. Other swimmers join in joyful congratulations, while Martin rushes forward to embrace the soaking wet Gkolomeev.

The future is enhanced?

Critics of the Enhanced Games argue that the emphasis appears to prioritize profit over true health. Yet, there remains an unmistakable air of vanity surrounding both the event and its creators. The U.S. has a deep-rooted fitness culture that transcends health, merging with self-admiration, propelling the Enhanced Games into more than a sporting occasion; it symbolizes a new chapter in American self-importance. Selecting Las Vegas, a city characterized by excess, as the event’s venue enhances this impression. This is a locale where individuals frequently jeopardize their futures for ephemeral glory.

Moreover, the act of self-administering drugs for muscle enhancement underscores a preference for short-term visual gratification over long-term well-being — neglecting possible health hazards.

In the meantime, the ultimate triumph for the event’s founders lies in their ability to forge a new industry. They take pride in their endeavors, showcasing a grand event that they argue signifies forthcoming “scientific advancements” and “human evolution,” all while aiming for financial success. The real uncertainty lies in whether this industry will thrive or falter in the coming months; yet, akin to their consumers, the organizers seem predominantly preoccupied with the here and now.

As the three-day extravaganza draws to a close, the press contingent experiences an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. At midnight, following the conclusion of the games, our fatigued group heads back to the media center — a brightly lit workspace within the nearby Resorts World hotel. As I prepare to leave, I pause by the restroom and, upon exiting, unexpectedly encounter Martin once again. He appears to be in a new suit (or perhaps his prior one is simply dry now) and is adjusting his appearance in the mirror, likely getting ready for the upcoming late-night press conference.

Having not yet engaged with him, I’m initially unsure how to approach. What could two unfamiliar individuals discuss in a public restroom at this hour? Reflecting on the past 72 hours, I simply say, “Congratulations” as I make my way towards the exit.

“Thank you,” he replies, offering a brief nod before returning to his reflection.