Meta Description: Join Dr. Jeff Winkle and Dr. David Noe in Ad Navseam Episode 125 as they explore the legendary feats of the ancient Olympic wrestler Milo of Croton. Discover his massive appetite, his bizarre death, and the truth about ancient track and field records. Plus, mastering the Latin language, the Paradox of the Gunslinger, and a Stephen Wright parting shot.
Introduction: Low Expectations and Summer Hikes
Welcome back, classical gourmands, to Episode 125 of the Ad Navseam Podcast! Broadcasting from the familiar depths of the subterranean bunker, your hosts, Dr. Jeff Winkle and Dr. David Noe, kick things off by jokingly setting the bar comfortably low. As Dave astutely notes, education is one of the only services people pay exorbitant amounts for, only to be absolutely thrilled when it is unexpectedly canceled.
Despite their self-proclaimed introversion, both hosts are enjoying an excellent summer. Jeff is feeling invigorated after a morning hike with his boys near Rockford, Michigan, while Dave is eagerly preparing to host twelve scholars for the second annual Colloquium Latinum Aestivum—a five-day, intensive immersion in the Latin language spanning from Seneca to Theodore Beza. After playfully discarding (or accepting?) a terrible working title based on a Kenny Loggins song from Footloose, the hosts turn their attention to the true subject of the episode: ancient Greek athletics.
The Myth and the Muscle: Enter Milo of Croton
To set the academic stage, Jeff reads an opening quote from Jan Bažant’s 1982 article in Folia Philologica, “On the Gluttony of Ancient Greek Athletes”. Bažant points out that early Greek athletes did not rely on advanced sports medicine or scientific dietary training; instead, they modeled themselves directly after the mythic hero Heracles (Hercules). Consequently, the defining characteristic of a 6th-century BC star athlete was sheer, brute physical strength, and the ultimate icon of this era was the legendary wrestler, Milo of Croton.
Milo was a genuine historical figure hailing from the Greek colony of Croton in southern Italy. His athletic resume is utterly staggering: he won the Olympic wrestling title an incredible six times (once as a boy in the 60th Olympiad in 540 BC, and five consecutive times as an adult between the 62nd and 66th Olympiads). Furthermore, ancient sources attest that he claimed seven victories at the Pythian Games, ten at the Isthmian Games, and nine at the Nemean Games.
For listeners trying to keep the ancient athletic circuit straight, Dave offers a highly useful mnemonic for remembering the four major Panhellenic games: P-O-N-I (Pythian, Olympic, Nemean, Isthmian).
Because Milo was so completely dominant in his sport, he essentially became a living myth. The ancient world was fascinated not only by his wrestling victories but also by his massive, borderline superhuman appetite and quirky eccentricities.
The Trencherman: Eating 72 Ounces (and Then Some)
Milo was famously known as an exceptional “trencherman” (a delightfully archaic word describing a heavy eater who effectively digs a trench through his food).
The ancient author Athenaeus records that Milo could routinely consume twenty minae (roughly twenty pounds) of meat, an equal amount of bread, and wash it all down with three choes (about three liters) of wine in a single sitting. Pliny the Elder adds to the mythos by claiming Milo was highly superstitious, wearing the gizzard stones of roosters around his neck to render himself invincible in athletic contests. Pausanias records that Milo could tie a string or ribbon around his forehead and snap it purely by holding his breath and expanding the blood vessels in his temples.
The Roman orator Cicero, in his famous speech Pro Milone, recounts an even more absurd legend. Milo supposedly lifted a fully grown, four-year-old bull, slung it across his massive shoulders, carried it around the entire stadium at Olympia to the astonishment of the crowd, and then proceeded to kill it, grill it, and eat the entire animal in the span of a single day. Dave notes that this myth is rooted in the famous “Sorites paradox”—the folk wisdom that if you begin lifting a calf every day when it is small, your strength will naturally grow alongside the animal until you can magically lift the full-grown bull.
Ancient Feats vs. Modern Records
The towering legends of Milo inevitably lead the hosts to a fascinating discussion: were ancient athletes actually physically superior to modern ones?
Bažant’s article mentions the discovery of a massive stone in Greece weighing nearly 500 kilograms (1,102 pounds) bearing an inscription claiming it was lifted by an ancient strongman. While Dave speculates that deadlifting 1,000 pounds is occasionally achieved in modern strongman competitions (using round “Atlas stones”), Jeff brings up the highly suspicious records surrounding the ancient long jump.
At the ancient Olympic Games, the Greeks used heavy hand weights (called halteres) during the long jump to propel themselves forward. According to ancient records, a jumper named Phayllus of Croton leaped an impossible distance of roughly 55 to 60 feet. To put that in perspective, the modern world record set by Mike Powell in 1991 stands at just 29 feet, 4.5 inches. The hosts theorize that these ancient distances were likely the result of transcription errors, wild exaggeration, or perhaps too much wine on the part of the official scorekeeper.
We have a deep desire to relate to our athletes. Jeff points out that in modern sports documentaries, like those about baseball legend Nolan Ryan, the narrative arc always tries to paint the athlete as a “normal dude” off the field. We want our heroes to be exceptional on the track but perfectly relatable at home. Yet, ultimately, while modern athletes possess superior training and technology, the sheer architectural and cultural achievements of the ancients (like constructing the Parthenon without modern lasers or cranes) remain deeply humbling.
The Paradox of the Gunslinger
As Milo aged, he stubbornly refused to retire, clinging desperately to his athletic identity long after his prime. Jeff connects this tragic reality to a concept he teaches in his film classes: the “Paradox of the Gunslinger”.
In classic American Westerns, a wild town frequently brings in a violent, rule-breaking gunslinger (like a character played by John Wayne) to restore law and order. However, once the town is civilized, the gunslinger no longer fits into the peaceful society he helped create. He operates above the law, and therefore, he is alienated by his own exceptionalism and must ride off alone into the sunset. Milo, like the gunslinger, was celebrated for his raw physical power, but that same singular, obsessive focus left him completely unequipped for normal, civilized life once his strength began to fade.
De Senectute and the Bicep Basket
The Roman philosopher Cicero, in his essay De Senectute (On Old Age), uses the aging Milo as a pathetic cautionary tale. Cicero describes an elderly Milo standing on the sidelines, watching young athletes train. Looking down at his own flabby, aged arms, Milo weeps and cries out, “And these indeed are now dead”.
Cicero brutally remarks that it was actually Milo’s soul that was dead. Because he had foolishly put “all his eggs in the bicep basket” (as Jeff humorously coins it), he entirely neglected to develop his mind or character. The physician Galen echoes this harsh critique, noting that when Milo was carrying the bull, the bull’s mind was completely worthless—which made it virtually indistinguishable from Milo’s own mind. Milo had completely ignored the famous classical maxim: mens sana in corpore sano (a sound mind in a sound body). Unfortunately for Milo, the Roman satirist Juvenal was born too late for him to learn this phrase (nor did Milo speak Latin!)
A Grisly End: The Tree and the Wolves
This tragic trajectory culminates in Milo’s bizarre, gruesome, and highly moralistic death.
According to tradition, an elderly Milo was walking alone through the countryside near Croton when he encountered a withered tree trunk that had been partially split by wooden wedges. Attempting to prove to himself that he still possessed his legendary, god-like strength, Milo shoved his hands into the cleft to tear the tree completely apart. However, as he pulled, the wedges slipped out, and the massive trunk snapped shut like a vice, trapping his hands in an unbreakable grip.
Unable to escape, the greatest athlete of the ancient world was left completely defenseless. He was slowly eaten alive by a pack of wolves that roamed the area.
For centuries, this pathetic, agonizing death was a favorite subject for Renaissance and Enlightenment artists, who frequently painted Milo contorted in agony, serving as a dark, moral warning against the sin of physical hubris.
Sponsors: Fuel for the Classical Renaissance
Before they get eaten by wolves in the Vomitorium, the hosts thank the loyal sponsors keeping the podcast alive:
- Ratio Coffee: Stop buying cheap, squirty plastic coffee machines that break after a year. Invest in a beautiful “heirloom” machine like the Ratio 8 (which Jeff just upgraded with a thermal metal carafe) or the Ratio 6. The machine flawlessly executes the bloom and brew stages, and it was recently glowing reviewed in the Wall Street Journal! Go to ratiocoffee.com and use the code ANCO6B for 15% off your entire order.
- Hackett Publishing: Celebrating over 50 years of publishing excellence, Hackett offers incredible, highly affordable translations of essential texts, including Stanley Lombardo’s masterful translations of the Aeneid and Metamorphoses. Go to hackettpublishing.com and use the code AN2023 for 20% off your entire order and free shipping.
- MossMethod & LatinPerDiem: Want to skip the translations entirely? Learn ancient Greek from “neophyte to erudite” at mossmethod.com. Or, join Dr. Noe’s online course to master the Latin language using Hans Ørberg’s Lingua Latina Per Se Illustrata at latinperdiem.com/llpsi.
The Gustatory Parting Shot
To conclude Episode 125, Jeff delivers a brilliant, highly laconic Gustatory Parting Shot from the legendary deadpan comedian, Steven Wright:
“I went to a restaurant that serves breakfast at any time. So I ordered French toast during the Renaissance.”
Eat your protein, stretch your hamstrings, and keep taking in the classics. Valete!1
