Inside the Enhanced Games: The Wild Story of the 'Steroid Olympics'
On February 25, 2025, the air in the Greensboro Aquatics Center in North Carolina crackled with a peculiar tension. Standing on the starting blocks was James Magnussen, an Australian swimmer with a glittering past – a triple Olympic medalist and world champion in the 100-meter freestyle. Yet, his presence here, six years into retirement, felt surreal. He was attempting a comeback not for the traditional Olympic stage, but for something radically different: the Enhanced Games, an event explicitly designed to embrace, rather than prohibit, performance-enhancing drugs.
The premise of the Enhanced Games, scheduled for May 2026 in Las Vegas, is simple yet revolutionary: remove the shackles of drug testing and see how far human potential can be pushed. Its founder, Aron D’Souza, a figure with close ties to billionaire Peter Thiel, champions this vision, believing it will usher in a new era of superhuman achievement. Enhanced, the company behind the Games, has attracted significant investment from Thiel, Donald Trump Jr.’s 1789 Capital, and others, and has garnered attention from prominent voices like Joe Rogan. However, the reaction from the established sporting world has been largely one of alarm, citing severe health risks and questioning the very integrity of competition.
Magnussen was, at the time, the sole athlete who had publicly committed to competing. His presence in Greensboro was for a secret time trial. The stakes were high: a million-dollar prize from Enhanced if he could shatter the world record in the 50-meter freestyle, swimming’s most explosive event. For D’Souza, a successful attempt would be a powerful validation against a chorus of skeptics, demonstrating that a carefully curated cocktail of banned substances could indeed transform a retired elite athlete into the fastest swimmer on the planet.
For four months leading up to this trial, Magnussen had been following “the protocol,” a regimen involving daily injections. While Enhanced remained tight-lipped about the specifics to prevent copycats, Magnussen himself revealed some of the substances to the Sydney Morning Herald. His list included testosterone for muscle mass and bone density, peptides like BPC-157 and thymosin for accelerated recovery, and ipamorelin and CJC-1295 to stimulate growth hormone release. It was a potent mix, designed to maximize physical output.
As Magnussen stood poised on the blocks, his physique was startling. Already powerfully built, the enhancement protocol had pushed his body to an extreme. Veins snaked across his forearms, his shoulders seemed impossibly wide, and his back muscles strained against the fabric of his swimsuit. With his reflective goggles and black cap, he cut an almost alien figure, a stark departure from the familiar image of an Olympic swimmer.
The target was Cesar Cielo’s 2009 world record of 20.91 seconds. But the moment Magnussen hit the water, it was clear something was amiss. He was riding too low, his body fighting the water’s resistance. The 30 pounds of muscle he had gained, intended to propel him faster, were instead hindering his hydrodynamics. The very premise of the Enhanced Games – that more muscle equals more speed – seemed to be faltering. If their marquee athlete, after months of enhancement, couldn’t even approach the record, what future did the Games truly have?
The Genesis of a Controversial Idea
The path to the Enhanced Games began for Aron D’Souza in 2009, during his first week as a law student at Oxford. A phone call from a friend connected him with Peter Thiel, a meeting that D’Souza says opened his eyes to “extraordinary opportunities.” D’Souza, described by his friend Sam Altman as “obsessed with status and power,” quickly forged a connection with the billionaire.
Their relationship deepened, leading to the improbable plan to fund Hulk Hogan’s lawsuit against Gawker, a strategy that ultimately led to the media company’s demise. While D’Souza shares Thiel’s homosexuality, his motivation for targeting Gawker, which had outed Thiel, was less about personal vindication and more, according to Ryan Holiday’s book Conspiracy, “just a way for him to make his mark.”
After the Gawker verdict, D’Souza explored various careers before hitting upon the idea for the Enhanced Games in late 2022. Inspired by the increasingly muscular physiques he observed and a long-held fascination with human potential, he began sketching out a concept for a sports event that celebrated, rather than banned, performance enhancement. He sensed a shift in public perception regarding steroids, moving away from the strict condemnation that followed the doping scandals of the 1980s and 90s.
A key inspiration was a 2004 WIRED article titled ‘Steroids for Everyone!’, which argued for an “Enhanced Olympics” using arguments remarkably similar to D’Souza’s. Other catalysts included perceived “unimpressive” interactions with International Olympic Committee members and a World Anti-Doping Agency study suggesting a high percentage of athletes admitted to doping (a figure D’Souza frequently cites, though one of the study’s authors cautioned it was likely an overestimate and a pilot study).
D’Souza pitched the idea to Thiel on New Year’s Eve, receiving a positive response. He spent the next six months refining the concept, facing initial resistance from investors who felt the topic was too controversial. “Everyone was like, you can’t even talk about this stuff,” D’Souza recalled. “It was outside the Overton window.” Despite this, he launched a website in June 2023 with a provocative 34-second video clip promoting the Games as a libertarian ideal of bodily sovereignty and drug freedom. A modest £4,000 ($5,400) spent on promotion yielded 9 million views in 24 hours, generating significant media buzz and attracting the first investor, venture capitalist Balaji Srinivasan, who reached out via Twitter DM.
A few weeks later, a Sunday lunch at D’Souza’s London home, attended by Thiel and other figures from the gay VC community, solidified the venture. Christian Angermayer, a German biotech billionaire introduced to D’Souza by Thiel years prior, joined as a cofounder after seeing German press coverage. Neither D’Souza, Thiel, nor Angermayer were avid sports fans, but the conversation about human enhancement and longevity resonated. By the end of the meal, both Angermayer and Thiel had committed to investing.
D’Souza proved adept at fundraising, possessing a knack for delivering audacious statements with a straight face – a quality one doping expert likened to “talking to a bar of soap.”
Backlash, Evolution, and the First Athlete
The official announcement of Thiel’s and Angermayer’s investments in January 2024 ignited a firestorm of media attention and fierce criticism from health experts. Concerns centered on the long-term health consequences of steroid use, including risks to the heart, premature aging, and the dangers associated with discontinuing drug use. Many worried that legitimizing performance enhancement through the Enhanced Games could normalize and spread steroid use beyond elite sports, potentially leading to individuals taking excessive doses or counterfeit substances. Thomas Murray, a bioethicist and author of Good Sport: Why Our Games Matter—and How Doping Undermines Them, warned of “enormous ripple effects that will certainly have destructive implications in people.”
Beyond the health risks, critics argued that the Enhanced Games fundamentally misunderstood the essence of sports. Traditional sports, they contended, are defined by limitations and agreed-upon rules – a test of human capability within specific constraints, not a free-for-all leveraging any available technology or substance. Success in events like swimming involves intricate technique and skill, not just raw power. Adding drugs, while potentially providing a boost, wouldn’t automatically create a world champion; it would require finding athletes already operating at the very peak of human performance and convincing them to risk everything.
Which brings us back to the question: Why would an elite athlete sign up? In February 2024, James Magnussen, enjoying a comfortable retirement in Australia, received a call from the Hello Sport podcast. When asked about the Enhanced Games, he made a seemingly flippant remark that would prove pivotal: “If they put up a million dollars for the 50-freestyle world record, I’ll come on board as their first athlete,” he quipped. “I’ll juice to the gills and break the record within six months.” Magnussen missed the competitive thrill, and the million-dollar bounty was a powerful lure.
A month later, meeting D’Souza in London, the Enhanced Games still felt somewhat like a fringe project. The website’s use of LGBTQ+ language (“coming out” as enhanced), a section advocating for covertly editing Wikipedia entries to reframe doping as “fighting for science and bodily sovereignty,” and a Discord channel filled with bodybuilding memes and anti-IOC sentiment contributed to this perception.
However, behind the scenes, the organization was professionalizing. Angermayer brought in experienced personnel like Mike Oakes for communications and Max Martin for execution. More traditional sports figures were hired, including sports scientist Dan Turner to lead a scientific commission, former Team USA chief Rick Adams for logistics, and Tim Phelan from Nike for athlete relations. Magnussen officially joined as the first athlete, receiving a monthly salary. The mission evolved, shifting from pure libertarianism to promoting “the Enhanced Age” and superhumanity for all, while also facing internal dissent. Physician Michael Sagner, brought in for an independent medical commission, grew “incensed” by D’Souza’s public statements, particularly the “anything goes” messaging, though he remained involved.
The initial target date for the Games at the end of 2024 passed without the promised open trials. Magnussen, still the only public athlete, grew restless.
Training in the Wild: Ducks, Dentists, and Difficulties
In October 2024, Magnussen flew from Sydney to Los Angeles. He had proposed a plan: an eight-week intensive training and doping block to attempt the world record as a showcase for the Games. His first challenge was sourcing the drugs and finding reliable advice, as this wasn't standard practice even in the gray areas of sports science. The next hurdle was finding a suitable training environment. Elite pools and coaches in Australia were off-limits due to their adherence to anti-doping rules.
Magnussen reached out to Brett Hawke, a former Australian Olympian and successful coach who had worked extensively in the US. Hawke had coached two of the fastest 50-meter swimmers in history, including Cesar Cielo, whose record Magnussen aimed to break. Both Cielo and Frédérick Bousquet (another Hawke trainee) had achieved their fastest times during the “supersuit” era before the full-body polyurethane suits were banned in 2010, and both had also failed drug tests during their careers. Magnussen hoped California might offer more anonymity and flexibility.
Compared to his Olympic career, where he had a full support team of biomechanicists, sports scientists, strength coaches, physios, and assistants, plus access to state-of-the-art facilities and underwater cameras, the preparation for the Enhanced Games was remarkably rudimentary. The pool manager at Hawke’s usual club in Irvine, California, refused to allow Magnussen to train there. Their solution? The 25-yard swimming pool at Hawke’s apartment complex, open to all residents. This pool lacked lane markings, starting blocks, and proper splash-over areas, meaning Magnussen constantly battled his own wake. “We would get a crowd sometimes. People would walk past and stare in amazement and sit and watch,” Hawke recounted. The only upside was a cold, wet California winter that kept other residents away, though they occasionally had to shoo ducks out of the pool. “The whole process was bizarre to me,” Magnussen admitted.
Magnussen began his daily injections in mid-October, and his body responded dramatically. He believes he is a “super responder” to performance enhancements. “My strength was through the roof,” he said. “I was squatting 250 kilos, which I would say is at least 20 percent stronger than any other swimmer in history. It was insane.” Regular blood tests and heart checks were conducted at a clinic in Los Angeles. He trained intensely, twice a day, seven days a week for the first seven weeks. While the drugs aided muscle recovery, the relentless workload took a toll on his central nervous system, leading to burnout.
In December, just as he should have been peaking, a severe toothache caused his face to swell “like a balloon.” He spent Christmas Day in the hospital, undergoing an abscess drainage and root canal. The record attempt, initially planned for December, was pushed back to February. What was meant to be an eight-week trip turned into five months away from his friends and family, including a solitary New Year’s Eve in an Airbnb.
More Athletes, Political Winds, and Shifting Rules
While Magnussen and Hawke navigated the challenges of training in an apartment complex pool, the Enhanced Games organization continued to build momentum. D’Souza claimed more athletes were expressing interest, though none were yet willing to go public like Magnussen. Estimates of interested parties varied wildly, from hundreds within Enhanced to just 35 according to Michael Sagner.
D’Souza stated that Enhanced was in talks with “every major sports broadcaster” for screening rights, but the focus remained on achieving social media virality. Angermayer worked on attracting investors, while Max Martin and Rick Adams scouted potential host cities globally. By mid-2024, the team decided to await the outcome of the US presidential election. The Biden administration had been openly hostile to the Enhanced Games concept, whereas a Trump victory was seen as potentially opening doors.
Following the election, Enhanced finalized a deal to host the Games in Las Vegas. “A hundred percent the reason they’re happening in the US is because Trump won,” Angermayer asserted. Investment from Donald Trump Jr.’s 1789 Capital followed, positioning Enhanced to potentially align with figures like RFK Jr., who D’Souza claimed was “very pro–human enhancement” and took enhancements himself. Enhanced began planning to relocate its headquarters from London to New York.
In December 2024, D’Souza hosted a conference on human enhancement in Oxford, featuring notable figures like geneticist George Church and longevity entrepreneur Bryan Johnson. The conference concluded with the signing of the “First Declaration on Human Enhancement,” a document outlining tenets for “pioneers” in the field. The 39 signatories represented a diverse group, including longevity enthusiasts, Enhanced staff, and even a bodybuilding influencer.
Crucially, the declaration signaled a significant shift in the Games’ philosophy. Article 2d stated: In competitions, organisers shall establish rigorous safety protocols, scientific testing and medical supervision to ensure that all enhancements are used responsibly. This was a marked departure from D’Souza’s initial libertarian “anything goes” stance. As doping researcher Ask Vest Christiansen noted, “Obviously, as soon as you want to be taken seriously as a contender on the world stage … you can’t have footage of athletes dropping dead.”
The evolving rules stipulated that athletes would be limited to legal drugs prescribed by a doctor in their country of residence, although some substances Magnussen mentioned taking did not appear to have regulatory approval in Australia or the US. (Enhanced maintained that Magnussen passed all required medical screenings.) Athletes would undergo regular blood tests, heart scans, and brain scans, with the independent medical commission having the authority to bar anyone deemed unsafe. The irony was not lost on observers: the Enhanced Games, born out of a rejection of WADA, seemed to be creating its own regulatory body, potentially subjecting athletes to more frequent testing than in clean competition.
By January 2025, the Enhanced Games had secured a venue, funding, and a more favorable political climate. The final piece needed was tangible proof that the enhancement protocols could deliver world-record-breaking performances.
Rivalry and Record: The Greensboro Trials
After recovering from his dental ordeal, Magnussen and Hawke focused on mitigating the negative effects of the enhancement program on his swimming form. The increased muscle mass, while boosting strength, was making him heavier and less buoyant, increasing drag. They implemented a diet plan to try and shed some weight. Despite Magnussen’s competitive drive, it was becoming apparent to both athlete and coach that achieving world-record form in the short timeframe was increasingly unlikely.
During this period, Tim Phelan from Enhanced contacted Hawke. Another swimmer had expressed interest: Kristian Gkolomeev, a 31-year-old Greek-Bulgarian who had just finished fifth in the 50-meter freestyle at the Paris Olympics. Gkolomeev, like many professional swimmers, struggled with the financial realities of the sport. His father, an Olympic swimmer for Bulgaria, had moved their family to Greece seeking stable work. Now with his own young family, Gkolomeev felt financially, mentally, and emotionally drained after missing an Olympic medal for the second consecutive Games. The million-dollar prize offered by Enhanced was a powerful incentive. “One successful year in the Enhanced Games and I could make as much as I would have made in almost 10 careers,” he explained.
In early December 2024, Gkolomeev and his family moved from Houston to California, ostensibly for him to train alongside Magnussen. However, a couple of weeks later, Gkolomeev informed Hawke that he would also be starting an enhancement protocol and aiming for the world record. “That’s when all hell broke loose,” Hawke recalled. Magnussen, who had uprooted his life for this attempt, was “dead against” sharing the spotlight and resources. “I wasn’t thrilled about the prospect of having to share resources,” Magnussen admitted, though he acknowledged the need for *someone* to break the record to validate the Games. A compromise was reached: Magnussen would have the first attempt in February, followed by Gkolomeev a few months later.
Hawke’s role expanded to managing the egos of two elite athletes now competing not just against the clock, but against each other. He had to keep them separated during speed work to prevent direct comparisons. “Kristian’s progression was a lot faster,” Hawke observed, which “created a little bit of tension.”
Within weeks, Gkolomeev was swimming faster than Magnussen. Within a month, he had matched his speed from the Paris Olympics. In early February, Gkolomeev began his enhancement program, taking a different approach than Magnussen. While cagey about the specifics, he described it as “microdosed, like baby doses.” He felt the effects quickly: “I could feel it within the first two weeks. I started feeling better—healthier, the energy levels, the confidence that I got.” The goal was to avoid the excessive weight gain that had hampered Magnussen.
In the final week of February, Gkolomeev, Magnussen, and Hawke traveled to North Carolina, joined by the Enhanced team and a documentary crew. The Enhanced team had scoured the country for 2009-era supersuits, paying thousands for old gear. They found four, but Magnussen’s increased muscle mass proved problematic. The night before his attempt, he tried on two suits, and both ripped. A furious discussion ensued between Magnussen, Hawke, and Max Martin from Enhanced. Magnussen wanted Gkolomeev’s promised suit, but Gkolomeev, who had swum a personal best in a time trial that morning and felt close to the record, was reluctant to give it up. “Kristian was a little pissed off at that stage,” Hawke noted, suggesting the tension between the swimmers might have played a role in what followed.
On February 25, Magnussen made his final attempt. He touched the wall in 22.73 seconds, nearly two seconds off Cielo’s world record and significantly slower than his own clean personal best. His attempt had failed. As Magnussen received a massage nearby, Gkolomeev stepped up for his own trial. The atmosphere was low-key; most of the film crew were on a break. Only Hawke, Martin, and the timekeepers were poolside. Gkolomeev had slipped on his first two starts, but his third was perfect. He glided into the water, his powerful dolphin kicks propelling him forward. He felt strong and relaxed.
Hawke, jogging alongside the pool, tracked the split times. At the 35-meter mark, he realized history was about to be made. Gkolomeev touched the wall and turned to the screen in disbelief: 20.89 seconds. A new world record. His mouth fell open, his hands went to his cap in genuine shock. Max Martin, overcome with excitement, jumped into the pool. “I felt like a Labrador who just couldn’t help himself,” he said. Hawke sat with his head in his hands, processing the moment. “It was a beautiful day,” Martin recalled. “Brett was crying. One of the officials was crying.”
Gkolomeev immediately called his wife to share the news: they were millionaires. The planned giant check presentation, unfortunately, had been made out to James Magnussen, so the official footage had to wait until the next day, complete with staged champagne spraying. The optics were always a consideration, and news of the record was kept secret for the time being.
Seven weeks later, Gkolomeev returned to North Carolina to attempt another record: the fastest time in “jammers,” the knee-length shorts worn by elite swimmers since the supersuit ban. This attempt proved more challenging. He had been on the enhancement protocol longer, and although he hadn’t gained as much weight as Magnussen, he had to adjust his technique. It took him five attempts to shave one-hundredth of a second off Caeleb Dressel’s 2019 record of 21.04.
Gkolomeev’s apparent slowing the longer he was on the protocol raised questions about the true impact of the enhancements. Could he have broken the record clean? “I would like to think yes,” said Hawke. Gkolomeev agreed it might have been possible but would have taken much longer, perhaps six months of training. Magnussen, perhaps predictably, attributed the success to the drugs. He pointed to Gkolomeev’s start in the Paris Olympics, where he was eighth at the 15-meter mark. “He was last because he didn’t quite have that explosive strength and power that you get on the performance enhancement protocol,” Magnussen argued. “I think that gave him that last 1 percent—that last cherry on top to break the world record.”
The Vegas Launch and the Red Bull Model
In May, Enhanced held what they internally dubbed an “Apple-style launch event” at Resorts World in Las Vegas. This was the moment many doubters believed would never arrive. Six months prior, the prospect seemed remote, but the shifting political landscape and Gkolomeev’s record had changed perceptions. The event, streamed online, also hosted about a hundred people in Zouk nightclub, a mix of VIPs, longevity doctors, Enhanced staff, and transhumanists like Zoltan Istvan.
After a dramatic introduction, D’Souza, looking uncharacteristically nervous, announced the date and venue: Resorts World, Las Vegas, Memorial Day weekend, May 2026. The announcement itself was somewhat anticlimactic, but Christian Angermayer delivered the “one more thing” moment, unveiling the video of Gkolomeev breaking the 50-meter freestyle world record. A stunned silence gave way to applause, with some attendees, including a man with visible forehead veins, rising for a standing ovation.
The vision presented was for a smaller, safer event than the initial free-for-all – an exhibition featuring a six-lane athletics track, a weightlifting arena, and a pool where Gkolomeev and Magnussen would compete again. Magnussen, with a refined enhancement program and the right suit, remained confident he could still break the record.
But perhaps the sporting event itself was never the primary goal. The question of investor motivation – why billionaires with no apparent interest in sports were backing this controversial venture – became clearer during the presentation. D’Souza announced the launch of Enhanced Performance Products, a line of supplements inspired by the protocols used by the athletes. The business model clicked into place: it wasn’t the Olympics they were emulating, but Red Bull.
“They buy sporting assets to sell an energy drink,” D’Souza explained, referring to Red Bull. “That energy drink is 90 percent gross margin. They don’t do the bottling or manufacturing, that’s all done by outsourced service providers. And Red Bull is a multibillion-dollar company owned by two families. And so our business model is very similar.” The athletes and the Games serve as marketing for the supplement line: This pill helped a swimmer break a world record; now you can buy something like it.
Hours after the launch, D’Souza was triumphant. Despite the livestream having only 4,000 views at the time, the press coverage had amplified the message exponentially. The sporting establishment, which had tried to ignore Enhanced, was now reacting forcefully. USA Swimming warned athletes against participating, and World Aquatics stated that competing in the Enhanced Games, even clean (which Enhanced claims is an option), could still result in bans. The World Anti-Doping Agency called for US authorities to shut down the event. If the goal was marketing and disruption, D’Souza had succeeded.
Gesturing towards the Las Vegas skyline, a city built on spectacle and illusion, D’Souza painted a picture of the future. “In a year’s time we’re going to look out of that window and say wow—we built a track, we built a pool, we built a weightlifting arena, and we smashed a whole bunch of world records, and we did it safely and the world watched,” he proclaimed. In his mind, this moment was akin to the launch of the space race, a pivotal step into the “Enhanced Age.” From a concept dismissed as a “crazy joke,” the Enhanced Games, fueled by controversial ideas, venture capital, and the willingness of a few athletes to push the boundaries, is inching closer to becoming a reality, forcing the world to confront uncomfortable questions about the limits of human performance, the ethics of enhancement, and the future of sport.
This article appears in the September issue.
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