The Enhanced Games arrived as an experiment testing a simple proposition: what happens when elite competitors are allowed to use performance-enhancing drugs openly, under medical oversight? The format moves doping out of the shadows and into a controlled environment where participants live at a resort, train with top facilities and follow individualized drug protocols designed by physicians. That change of setting is meant to normalize and monitor enhancement rather than ban it—an idea that has attracted decorated athletes, fierce critics and a swirl of ethical, medical and legal questions.
One of the most compelling narratives from that scene involves Canadian lifter Boady Santavy. A two-time Olympian from Sarnia, Ontario, Santavy had long competed without pharmaceutical enhancement, claiming a proud, drug-free record that included a near-podium finish at Tokyo, where he placed fourth by a single kilogram. Confronted with the Enhanced Games offer, he accepted supervised treatment and took his first dose of testosterone, after medical screening and careful training planning. Santavy chose to administer each compound separately as a personal safety measure, and later reported rapid recovery and measurable gains in bodyweight and training resilience.
How the programs work and what athletes took
The event advertised that every athlete would be guided by doctors and that substances in use were limited to products approved for human consumption by major regulators. Participants followed tailored regimens rather than a universal formula; still, clinical data released by organizers indicated that common choices included testosterone, human growth hormone and, for some, erythropoietin—the blood-boosting hormone. Event staff emphasized that certain agents familiar to online gym culture, such as Trenbolone and Cardarine, plus experimental non-FDA peptides, were explicitly banned.
Examples from the field
High-profile competitors illustrated how varied protocols could be. Strongman champion Mitchell Hooper publicly disclosed a regimen that included specific weekly and daily dosages of hormones and stimulants; his program listed testosterone and nandrolone alongside other compounds. Some track athletes signed on as traditional, drug-free entrants—including a prominent sprinter who opted to compete without enhancement—while other swimmers and lifters verified they would use prescribed drugs. Organizers said regimens were confidential to prevent unsafe imitation, yet summary statistics showed widespread use of several core agents.
Safety, oversight and the resort model
Participants were housed at a luxury resort and subjected to frequent medical checks, daily meals, supervised training and ongoing monitoring. Organizers framed the setup as an extended clinical trial: athletes earned a salary, agreed to follow-up health surveillance and submitted to weekly screenings to identify unsanctioned substances. The idea behind this model was to replace clandestine use with documented, monitored regimes so that short-term effects could be recorded and long-term health tracked—an approach supporters describe as harm reduction applied to elite performance.
Limits and transparency
Despite promises of openness, the project drew scrutiny over what it would and would not reveal. Organizers discouraged publishing precise stacks for each athlete to ward off dangerous mimicry, even while releasing aggregated trial results. They also pledged that competition measurements would be legitimate—tracks from recognized manufacturers, official weigh-ins for lifters and standard wind-gauge checks for sprints—so that any record attempts would stand up to scrutiny independent of drug use.
Controversy, commerce and governing bodies
The Enhanced Games has been framed by opponents as a marketing-driven spectacle that conflates medical oversight with product promotion. Critics note the event’s ties to supplement brands and the sizeable financial incentives for record-breaking performances—bonuses of hundreds of thousands to a million dollars for certain world marks. Traditional federations reacted predictably: some warned athletes against participation, while others imposed competitive bans. In turn, organizers pushed back with legal challenges and public statements defending their model as a legitimate, alternative competition format.
Debate will likely continue. Supporters argue the Games legitimise supervision and could reduce harms associated with clandestine doping, while detractors worry about the cultural message and implications for sport integrity. For athletes such as Boady Santavy and Mitchell Hooper, the experiment offered a chance to test physical limits under different rules. For the wider sports world, it poses a question: if a parallel system with medical oversight exists, how will that reshape expectations about fairness, health and what elite performance should represent?
