Lance Armstrong, Barry Bonds and Our Future


In 50 years, the hysteria over steroids and other PEDs in sports will seem quaint if not unintelligible.  At present, the idea of transforming your body with the aid of chemical injections still seems alien and vaguely sinister—like the first 27 minutes of a Twilight Zone episode.  Many of us are still waiting for the strains of creepy music and the voice of Rod Serling to offer deadpan commentary about what was gained and what was lost from the prick of a needle. 

In time, however, I suspect that we all will waiting in a doctor’s office for an appointment with the syringe.  I took my own leap into the great medical unknown last year when I went for plasma infusion therapy—getting an injection of my own platelets into a chronically painful elbow.  The procedure is still considered experimental and cost me almost as much as the arm I wanted repaired.  Within six months of the procedure, my damaged tendons—which had been resistant to ibuprofen, cortisone and physical therapy—were completely healed. 

My doctor told me that a cure for arthritis of the knees is next on the horizon.  Who knows what comes after that?  It may become routine to regenerate sagging skin and weary muscle fibers.  Damaged livers and dysfunctional colons may be coaxed into growing healthy new tissue.  Cancer cells may be genetically deprogrammed.  Once we reach the point that drug regimens such as these are a standardized part of middle class life, once chemicals become a means for living longer and staying healthier, the notion that athletes should avoid performance enhancers will seem archaic.  We will all be living on performance enhancing drugs.  And all the better for it.

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