Obviously, it's impossible to talk about sprinting records and human potentiality without mentioning steroids. It's more than the rhino in the room; it's possibly the reason the WR in the 100 didn't move for 15 years and then started falling like an air conditioner shoved out an open window. But for the sake of this specific discussion, PEDs don't really matter. It isn't a moral (or even competitive) issue. The question is not what speed a man should run; the question is how fast a man could run, through any means necessary. Steroids tend to be a secondary issue for track fans, principally for two reasons:
1. Though nobody will ever talk about it on the record, PEDs have become an integral part of sprinting. It's pretty much like cycling: There's just an unspoken "everybody does it" concession. There are sanctioned rules, and athletes get penalized if they get caught breaking them. But nobody really worries about this, simply because …
2. People who love track want to see guys run fast. That's the whole game. There is nothing else. The sport is not built on personal rivalries or constructed purity or nationalism or the import of tradition; the sport is solely driven by the excitement of people doing what no one has done before. In this one specific instance, the ends truly do justify the means. And unlike other sports, there's no rhetoric or concern about steroids warping statistics, because the only stat that matters is who's fastest right now. Once a record has been broken, it instantly becomes meaningless. Not even track historians use comparative times as a way to establish greatness. Easy example: Which of these men was the greatest sprinter — Jesse Owens (who won the 1936 Olympics with a time of 10.3), Carl Lewis (whose career best in the 100 was 9.86), or Leroy Burrell (who ran a 9.85)? Track and field is about running fast today. It's a bottom-line endeavor.
This is not to say that steroids don't make debates about human speed complex, because they do. Around the same time Ben Johnson ran his (then unthinkable) 9.83, Florence Griffith-Joyner destroyed the women's 100-meter mark with a 10.49, and that record has not been seriously challenged in the 23 years since. Was something happening with PEDs in the late 1980s that has since been removed from the sport? Why do men keep getting faster, but women do not? These are questions that science cannot seem to answer (or even guess at).