By now it's widely known that Lance Armstrong finally admitted to doping in an interview with Oprah Winfrey that will air tonight and tomorrow. Armstrong's confession is notable in part because no athlete has fought charges of doping as hard as he has, from public denials to libel suits as well as informal intimidation of teammates, rivals, co-conspirators, and outsiders. But although the two-part interview, spanning two and a half hours, is advertised as having no restrictions, it's unlikely that Winfrey and Armstrong will spend much time explaining the science and technology behind sports doping to the world. This is a shame. With the US Postal Service Cycling Team, Armstrong led what appears to be the most sophisticated doping program ever documented. This may be an ignominious achievement, but it is a remarkable one.
Athletic doping in the 21st century, whether in cycling or any other sport, is part of an athletic enhancement regimen as scientific as nutrition and weight training. It is systematic, both in its programmatic nature and its pervasive reach. In the 1990s and 2000s, these systems may have reached their peaks: besides cycling, baseball is grappling with doping's legacy, as sportswriters pass up giant stars for the Hall of Fame because of suspicion about their use of banned substances.
Doping is thoroughly part of our culture's established obsession with overachievement and competition, and its emerging obsession with posthumanity and biohacking. Both genealogically and philosophically, doping is part of the legacy of Silicon Valley, as are the machines used to test for doping. This isn't cheating in the narrow sense of running a red light or lying on a resumé. This is the credit default swap of cheating. This is the Stuxnet worm. But since it may also be our future, it helps to understand how it works.
