Eight Crowns, One Broken Throne: The Most Brutal Story in Bodybuilding

Lee Haney set the standard of greatness: eight consecutive victories at the Mr. Olympia, the most prestigious competition in the bodybuilding world. Neither Sergio Oliva nor even Arnold Schwarzenegger managed to match that record. Haney became the living symbol of excellence and perseverance. In a sport without physical contact, he stayed on top for eight years. But calm never lasts.

The challenge came with a first and last name: Dorian Yates. In 1993, Yates redefined the game with a physique that combined sheer mass and conditioning so extreme many called it “revolutionary.” But reaching those heights came at a steep cost: injuries to his quads, triceps, and biceps forced him to retire in 1997, with six titles in hand—unable to tie Haney’s eight. Even so, Yates left his mark: he opened the door to the era of the mass monsters. Nasser El Sonbaty, Paul Dillett, and Jean Pierre Fux followed in his footsteps, pushing their bodies to unimaginable levels of lean muscle. Meanwhile, figures like Flex Wheeler, Shawn Ray, and Kevin Levrone saw Yates’s exit as a chance to bring back harmony and aesthetics. But nothing prepared them for what came next.

In 1997, Ronnie Coleman barely managed to place ninth. No one bet on him. Yet in 1998, he stunned the world: adding size, maturity, and definition that catapulted him to the title. Coleman realized that staying at the top required more than discipline; it demanded absolute sacrifice. In 1999, he returned even more impressive, defeating elite rivals like Flex Wheeler, Chris Cormier, and Kevin Levrone with apparent ease. By 2001, he ruled the sport almost tyrannically, becoming the first athlete ever to win both the Arnold Classic and the Mr. Olympia in the same year. Not bad for someone who, just years earlier, had been making pizzas at Domino's and dreaming of joining the police force.

In 2003, Jay Cutler emerged as the great challenger. He trained for an entire year to dethrone Coleman… but it wasn’t enough. Those who saw it described Coleman’s physique as “inhuman.” That year, Ronnie displayed the best body ever seen in bodybuilding. His training was legendary: monstrous weights, brutal routines, and an indestructible will. In 2005, Coleman secured his eighth victory, tying Haney’s record. But glory has a price. In 2007, he began a series of hip and back surgeries to repair the damage from years taken to the extreme. Not even the operations could ease the pain. In the end, the man who had reigned for nearly a decade ended up confined to a wheelchair.

And so “the king” said farewell—not just to the stage, but to the gym itself. His body forever marked by greatness and absolute sacrifice, after pushing it, like no one before, to the very edge of the impossible.

Has bodybuilding, over the last three decades, turned into an extreme ritual where even its greatest legends end up sacrificing their health and well-being for the sake of an impossible physique?

Are today’s top stars doomed to become once-in-a-lifetime bodies, paying a price that borders on the inhuman?

Has being the best stopped being a glorious dream… and become a sentence that, in the long run, few can truly afford?