The global machinery designed to protect clean sport is broken, and the people running it know it. In a rare moment of unvarnished candor, David Howman, Chair of the Athletics Integrity Unit (AIU), has admitted that the anti-doping system has "stalled," allowing sophisticated elite cheaters to slip through the net while regulators tick boxes.

For Kenya, a nation whose heartbeat is measured in split times and marathon victories, this is not just bureaucratic talk. It is a confirmation of our worst fears: that despite the suspended athletes and the national shame, the biggest thieves of glory may still be running free.

The 'Stalled' Reality

Speaking at the World Conference on Doping in Sport in Busan, South Korea, Howman did not mince words. He dismantled the comforting illusion that increased testing equals increased cleanliness. "Let's be honest and pragmatic," Howman told the delegates. "Intentional dopers at the elite level are evading detection. We are not effective enough nowadays in catching cheats."

The numbers paint a picture of a system running hot but going nowhere. According to AIU reports, international disciplinary cases have surged:

• 2021: 62 international cases
• 2024: 100 international cases
• National Level: Cases jumped from 185 to 305 in the same period

Yet, Howman argues these statistics mask a deeper failure. The system is catching the careless, not the calculated. "We have great education programmes which help, but they don't impact the intentional rule-breakers in elite sport," he noted. The sophisticated doper, armed with medical support and micro-dosing strategies, is currently outpacing the science of detection.

The Kenyan Shadow

This admission hits Nairobi with the force of a hammer. We are currently navigating the wreckage of high-profile bans that have tarnished the legacy of our Rift Valley powerhouses. The most stinging example remains the case of marathon world record-holder Ruth Chepngetich.

Chepngetich was handed a three-year ban after testing positive for a masking agent. However, in a twist that confuses fans and frustrates clean competitors, her world record remains on the books because it was set prior to the positive test. It is exactly this kind of gray area—where a banned athlete holds the crown—that erodes public trust.

When the AIU admits they are "not catching enough" of the elite cheats, every Kenyan podium finish is unfairly subjected to a whisper campaign. The inaction of the system places a tax on our honest champions, who must run not only against the clock but against the skepticism of the world.

Beyond Box-Ticking

Howman’s critique centered on the industry's obsession with "compliance"—the bureaucratic art of ensuring paperwork is filed while the spirit of the law is violated. He urged a pivot toward intelligence-led investigations and better science.

"Our ineffectiveness in dealing with those who are beating the rules is hurting the anti-doping movement's credibility," Howman warned. "The resulting risk is that our clean-sport message falls on deaf ears."

For the Kenyan taxpayer, who funds the Anti-Doping Agency of Kenya (ADAK), and for the corporate sponsors pouring millions into the sport, the message is clear: The current methods are obsolete. Without a radical shift in how we hunt down cheaters, we are simply funding a theatre of illusion.

The race for clean sport is a marathon, not a sprint, but right now, the regulators are running in quicksand.