When Records Fall — and Doubt Rises
When world records fall, we want to believe. Yet when I first saw Ruth Chepngetich’s 2:09:56 marathon in Chicago, my reaction wasn’t celebration. It was doubt — followed quickly by guilt for even thinking that way. Records get broken. Improvements in training, nutrition, footwear, and data analytics have changed what athletes can achieve. But after decades around sport, you learn that when a performance looks that far beyond expectation, a small note of scepticism is healthy, not cynical.
Her 2:09:56 in Chicago was, quite simply, astonishing. It shattered Tigst Assefa’s 2023 world record of 2:11:53 by nearly two minutes — a margin almost unheard of at that level — and made Chepngetich the first woman ever to average under five minutes per mile for the marathon. Led by two pacemakers, she went out fast and never faded, finishing more than six minutes ahead of the field. The performance was described by commentators as “generation-defining” and “jaw-dropping.” Even Chepngetich acknowledged the scepticism it sparked, telling reporters afterwards, “I know how people who don’t know me might doubt this performance.”
My instinct was sadly proved right. This week the Athletics Integrity Unit (AIU) ruled against Chepngetich, imposing a three-year ban after a positive test for hydrochlorothiazide, a prohibited diuretic. What would have been a four-year ban was reduced to three by virtue of her early admission. Her world-record time still stands in the record books because there is no evidence linking the substance to that 2024 performance.
It’s worth understanding what she has admitted to in practical terms. Hydrochlorothiazide is not itself a performance-enhancing drug; it’s a diuretic — a medication that increases the production of urine and reduces fluid retention. On the surface it might seem harmless, even ordinary, because it’s used medically for conditions such as high blood pressure.
In sport, however, diuretics are strictly prohibited because they can mask the presence of other substances by diluting urine or accelerating their excretion. They can also be used to aid rapid weight loss, which brings its own unfair advantage in endurance disciplines. That’s why the World Anti-Doping Code lists them as “specified substances”: agents that may have innocent explanations but also genuine potential to hide more serious violations. When a diuretic appears in an athlete’s sample, it triggers a duty to investigate whether there is more behind it.
None of this is new. Ben Johnson’s 9.79 seconds in Seoul once looked superhuman until the truth emerged. And if you study the all-time list of 100-metre world-record holders, a striking number have since been disqualified for doping. Usain Bolt remains the great exception — a once-in-a-generation athlete never found to have breached any rule. It’s a reminder that while most performances are earned honestly, the history of sport makes vigilance both necessary and fair.
My own perspective on this comes from experience, not judgement. I completed Ironman UK in 2006. When I first started training for that long-distance triathlon, I drew huge inspiration from Lance Armstrong. During painfully long turbo sessions I’d watch his Tour de France DVDs and Spinervals training videos, wearing my yellow Livestrong band with pride. He stood for resilience and the triumph of will. Learning the truth behind those victories was crushing — not just because a hero fell, but because it broke the bond of trust that makes sport meaningful.
That sense of betrayal is part of what drives my interest in integrity and regulation today. I’ve seen how fragile trust can be, and how important it is to protect it. Vigilance is not cynicism; it is care. Scrutiny is what ensures that the next extraordinary moment we witness is one we can truly believe in.
Because when something looks too good to be true, we shouldn’t rush to doubt — but we must be willing to check. And when it proves to be true, it shines all the brighter for having been tested.