Why Losing KG Classic Hurts Philippine Bodybuilding

When I first read Kerwin’s post about 2026 being the last KG Classic, my stomach sank. I had to read it twice to make sure I understood right. One final show. One final “last dance.” And then, silence.

As an active bodybuilding competitor who has stepped on stage numerous times here in the Philippines—and as someone who has sat in the audience for well over two dozen more—I’ve seen the good, the bad, and the downright ugly when it comes to bodybuilding shows. I don’t say that lightly. I’ve experienced the excitement of prep and the crushing lows of mishandled productions. But when KG Classic came into the picture, I finally thought: This is what bodybuilding in the Philippines could and should be.

The Benchmark of Excellence

Kerwin and his team raised the bar in ways most athletes could only dream of. From unexpected food venues backstage, to impressive cash prizes far beyond what other shows have offered, KG Classic always showed us that the athletes come first. You felt it in the way the show was run, you saw it in the production value, and you knew it in the way competitors were treated.

And as someone competing in a division most shows don't include, I envied those who had the chance to take that stage. Every year, I’d wait and hope that they might add my division. Because KG wasn’t just another show—it was the show. The one everyone whispered about, the one people traveled for, the one that left you thinking, “This is next level.” The proof? It always sold out the morning of the show.

The Unspoken Ugly Side

But here’s the thing that makes this news so maddening: it’s not Kerwin’s show that failed us. It’s the athletes, the critics, the peanut gallery that never let him breathe.

In his recent post, Kerwin wrote about the weight he’s been carrying. Even before a single show began, he was bombarded with doubts—questions about prize money, jabs at how things were run, cheap shots about his decisions. And after? Instead of celebrating what was done right, he had to stand in defense mode, justifying every move he made.

Let me state the obvious: bodybuilding is a subjective sport. If you can’t handle the possibility of not winning, maybe you shouldn’t be competing. Maybe you should find another sport. And if you think you can do better, then do it—create your own show and prove it. What you don’t get to do is tear down the one man and one team that have consistently done what no one else has managed to replicate.

A Reality Check from Experience

To give perspective, at my very first bodybuilding show I was told I’d be on stage by 4 p.m. but didn’t step out until 11, with the show dragging past midnight after starting at 10 a.m.—hungry, drained, and questioning why I was there. At another show, the women’s tanning area was crammed into a corner with men peering down from a catwalk, the power blew mid-session leaving us to be tanned by hand, and the one air conditioner the female competitors had was taken away for the judges. And then at yet another hyped-up event, despite all the publicity, the seats were embarrassingly empty with more athletes and staff backstage than actual audience members watching.

Now compare that to KG Classic, where every detail—athlete comfort, athlete dignity, athlete experience—was considered. That’s the difference.

Spoiled, and Now Paying the Price

Maybe Kerwin and Team KG treated us too well. Maybe we became spoiled. Because when someone sets the bar that high, we forget how low it can actually go. And now, with this decision, I can’t help but think it’s going to be a rude awakening for a lot of competitors who’ve only known the KG standard.

Yes, there are other great shows. AGP Regionals last year ran impressively well. MTG just the other month pulled off an exceptional production. But you’d be hard pressed to find another show that consistently topped what KG Classic has delivered year after year.

A Plea to Reconsider

Kerwin said in his post that he longs for peace—the quiet life he had before bodybuilding shows. And I get it. After years of defending himself against bashers, I understand the exhaustion. But selfishly, as an athlete, I can’t help but hope he reconsiders.

Maybe instead of shutting down, it’s time to ban the haters. Because the truth is, no matter what you do, you can’t please everyone. As my mom used to say, “You can’t make everyone happy; you’re not ice cream.” And even if you were ice cream, the lactose intolerant would still complain—proof that no matter how good something is, there will always be someone who finds a reason not to be satisfied.

Kerwin, you’ve given us something no one else has been able to. You built shows that athletes dreamed of, and you gave us standards we didn’t even know we should demand. Please don’t let the noise of a few ruin the symphony you’ve created.

If this really is the last dance, then we, the athletes, need to own up to the fact that we let one of the best stages in Philippine bodybuilding slip through our fingers—not because it failed us, but because we failed to respect it.