The 1904 St. Louis Olympic marathon race data

The 1904 St. Louis marathon wasn't a race; it was a disorganized attempt at accidental manslaughter. With only two water stops on a 90-degree day, the "data" we have is basically a survival log of people hallucinating in the dirt.

The winner was literally carried across the finish line after being fed brandy and strychnine—actual rat poison—as a "stimulant." Another runner took a nap mid-race after eating rotten apples, while others were chased a mile off-course by wild dogs.

It’s not a record of peak human performance. It’s a hilarious, terrifying reminder that early sports science was just "let’s see if this poison makes him run faster."

Wait, why did they think rat poison was a good idea for a marathon?

Back then, "science" was basically just guessing and hoping for the best. Doctors believed small doses of strychnine acted like a high-voltage jumpstart for the nerves, keeping muscles firing when they should have collapsed.

They paired it with brandy because alcohol was thought to dull the pain and "fortify" the heart. It was essentially the world's most lethal pre-workout cocktail.

The reality check? It didn't make him a super-athlete; it just kept his nervous system screaming long enough to finish before his organs shut down. He couldn't even stand up to receive his medal.

So, did he actually survive that 'cocktail' or just drop dead later?

Surprisingly, Thomas Hicks lived, though "living" is a generous term for his state. It took four doctors and hours of intensive care just to get him stable enough to leave the stadium.

He lost eight pounds during the race, a great weight-loss strategy if you don't mind your heart nearly exploding. He was so physically wrecked that he retired from racing immediately after.

The kicker? He only won because the first finisher was caught cheating in a car. In 1904, you either committed fraud or survived a poisoning to get a medal.

Hold on, did he actually cross the finish line and pretend he ran it?

Oh, he didn't just pretend; he fully leaned into the bit. Fred Lorz hopped into his manager’s car after nine miles because he was exhausted. When the car broke down at mile 19, he figured he’d just jog the rest of the way to get his clothes.

He entered the stadium to thunderous applause and was seconds away from a photo op with Alice Roosevelt, the President's daughter. He only admitted it was a "joke" after spectators pointed out they'd seen him waving from a passenger seat.

The reality check? This wasn't some master heist. It was just a guy who was bored, took a lift, and decided to see how far the lie would go. He was banned for life, though they let him back in a year later.

Seriously, how does a 'lifetime ban' only last for a single year?

Well, actually, 'lifetime' was just a suggestion. Lorz sent a formal apology claiming the car ride was a 'practical joke' that got out of hand, and the Amateur Athletic Union just shrugged and reinstated him after six months. It was the historical equivalent of getting a 'get out of jail free' card for a crime everyone saw you commit.

The reality check? He actually won the 1905 Boston Marathon for real right after. It’s a hilarious reminder that back then, the line between 'disgraced fraud' and 'national hero' was thinner than the dust on that St. Louis road.