Atanaria
Alright, buckle up — because Olympo is the gloriously overcaffeinated, unapologetically shirtless fever dream you didn’t know your Netflix queue needed.
Imagine Elite ditching the prep school blazers for swim caps, track spikes, and rugby scrums… then tripling the hormones, throwing in a doping scandal, and relocating to a High-Performance Centre perched dramatically in the Pyrenees. The result? A hyper-glossy, hilariously heightened soap opera where every conversation feels like it’s about to turn into either a vicious betrayal or a slow-motion makeout session — sometimes both within the same scene.
Welcome to the HPC : A Cage Full of Beautiful Sharks
The setup is intoxicatingly simple: the best young athletes in Spain — synchronized swimmers, track stars, and rugby players with suspiciously perfect abs — are brought together under one roof to train for glory. In theory, they’re there to prepare for European finals and Olympic dreams. In practice, they’re mostly there to party, plot, sleep with each other, and perfect the art of throwing shade in Lycra.
Overseeing it all is the shadowy sportswear giant Olympo, an all-powerful corporate overlord that dangles three lucrative sponsorships like carrots in front of these highly competitive bunnies. The show flirts with the idea of Olympo as a sleek, sinister Big Brother of sport — a moral black hole wrapped in a marketing budget — but wisely never lets the corporate subplot smother the main attraction: messy, gorgeous young people making bad decisions in the name of ambition.
The Characters : Flawed, Fierce, and Occasionally Completely Bonkers
Our primary guide into this glossy madness is Zoe (Nira Oshaia), a heptathlete haunted by a past tragedy and a hairstyle that screams “I don’t play by your rules.” She’s joined by Amaia (Clara Galle), a synchronized swimmer whose athletic grace is matched only by her nuclear-level intensity, and who has the emotional bandwidth of a grenade with the pin halfway out.
Then there’s Nuria (María Romanillos), the sweet soul who serves as the moral compass until competitive pressure threatens to spin her into the deep end — literally. Amaia’s rugby-playing boyfriend Cristian (Nuno Gallego) gets booted from the team, only to return days later with a body that raises serious “what’s in that protein shake?” questions. And stealing the entire show? Roque (Agustín Della Corte), a real-life former rugby pro whose combination of talent, vulnerability, and smoldering intensity makes him the emotional anchor in a cast otherwise powered by adrenaline and questionable decision-making.
The Sports : Yes, They Exist… Sort Of
Don’t expect Olympo to give you a rigorous insider’s view of elite training schedules — you’ll see more bedroom cardio than stadium drills. But when the athletic moments do arrive, they’re spectacular. Slow-motion hurdle leaps glisten with sweat and drama, underwater synchronized swimming shots feel like liquid ballet, and rugby tackles carry just enough homoerotic tension to make you wonder if this is still technically a sports show.
The show even manages to make the stakes of synchronized swimming feel as high as a World Cup final — at one point, a “10 flying leg spin” nearly leads to disaster, and it’s delivered with such breathless gravitas you’d think someone was defusing a bomb.
The Style : A Fever Dream of Flesh and Flash
If you’ve read this far thinking, “Sure, but how sexy is it really?” — the answer is: Olympo is practically hydrating itself with pheromones. Every scene looks like it was lit by a photographer for a luxury swimwear catalog. Muscles ripple, abs gleam, and sweat beads are granted their own dramatic close-ups. There’s even a whispered rumor that no cast member was allowed to appear on camera without first being lightly misted in Evian.
And yes, the sex scenes are frequent, steamy, and just shy of gratuitous — though the show cheekily argues they’re integral to character development. Somehow, they often are.
Why It Works (Even When It Shouldn’t)
On paper, Olympo is absurd: erratic character motivations, plot holes large enough to drive a team bus through, and an utter disregard for realistic sports culture. But that’s part of the magic. It knows it’s ridiculous, leans into it with total commitment, and layers it with just enough genuine drama to keep you hooked.
There are moments when the show grazes genuinely sharp social commentary — on doping scandals, toxic competitiveness, homophobia in sport, and the impossible expectations placed on young athletes. A throwaway line like “When has sport ever been fair?” could have been the beating heart of a more serious series. Here, it’s a flash of depth before we’re back to poolside flirting and corporate scheming.
Anyway, Binge Without Shame
Olympo isn’t just a sports drama. It’s a high-altitude, high-stakes, high-glam soap opera with the energy of a double espresso and the self-awareness of a catwalk model. You watch it for the eye candy, stay for the spiraling betrayals, and end up unexpectedly invested in the fate of a synchronized swimming rivalry.
It’s messy, magnetic, and far more addictive than it has any right to be. And if the twist ending is anything to go by, Season 2 could take this beautifully bonkers ride to even wilder heights.
In short: Olympo is the kind of show that makes you wish your gym had a scandalous corporate overlord, just so your life could feel this dangerous in spandex.
