MAMILs’ evolution takes an appy turn
IF ever proof was needed that cyclists are knobs, Strava has proven it. Strava? I hear you ask. Oh yes, MAMILs (middle aged men in Lycra) now have their very own social media network.
According to the company promo, it’s designed to “enhance the experience of sport and connect millions of athletes from around the world”.
Not only that, but “the Strava feed is full of inspiring activities, crazy adventures and interesting new routes – all the best athletic content, none of the junk posts you find on other social networks”.
Alas, the reality is that Strava is much the same as the other socials – you post your highlights (in this case exercise highlights) and improve your self-worth through “likes” (in this case, called “kudos”. *gag*)
While Strava caters to many sports, cyclists are its bread and butter. I guess it wasn’t enough for them to take over our roads and cafes, now they’re coming for our cyberspace. So popular is this social fitness app that both diehard and try-hard athletes alike have been known to ditch their workout if the network is down. As the memes say (yes, Strava-slaves have their own memes): “If it’s not on Strava it didn’t happen.”
There’s even a pub in London where the only currency accepted is miles logged on Strava. The Runaway pub on Charing Cross Road is run (geddit?) by the app, in conjunction with sports brand New Balance, as a means of inspiring would-be runners for the upcoming London Marathon.
While we’re yet to see that on the GC (although give it a few weeks and I’m sure we will), my own MAMIL husband – who has long both disdained and abstained from Facebook, Insta and Twitter … and who thinks Snapchat is the millennial name for Scissors, Paper, Rock – has now joined the network.
He’ll ride through our front gate at 6am, sweating profusely through his Lycra onesie, shivering in excitement to see if he earned any PBs from the app, or “kudos” from his followers.
While I dearly love to give him a hard time for his exercise regime, and especially his activewear, I will grudgingly admit that this network has some offline benefits. Interestingly, unlike other socials, he is actually making new friends IRL from this online network.
Twice last week he had early morning dates with other MAMIL dads, pedalling through the Hinterland before dawn while their collective 10 children slept.
It’s also allowed him to reconnect with that competitive spark that drove him through adolescence, through manhood, pretty much right up until he met me and I demanded he devoted his extra time and attention. And then, of course, as soon as I laid off, along came the kids. Such is life.
But now, using age and weight filters – which a Strava designer actually described as “dad filters” – he can compete with his Lycra-clad ilk, without ever really being in competition. Much like Facebook friendships can provide social connection without being real “friends”.
But the true turning point of my relationship to this fitness network came when my husband exposed me to “Strava Art”.
Now, much of this is highbrow beauty … riders and runners who have designed an exercise route in such a way that when it is mapped by the app it shows a literal work of art by the likes of Da Vinci or Michelangelo.
Although that’s not quite how our Gold Coast artistes roll. A friend of a friend has proudly been posting his own phallic routes to Strava, proving that at least one MAMIL really does have balls.
It’s good to know that, even in this most actively inspirational social network, dick pics still rule. So if you see middle aged men running or cycling in ridiculous patterns around local ovals and parks, don’t worry – they’re just being knobs.
It’s OK, I’m not being mean … it’s a running joke.
Read Ann Wason Moore every Tuesday and Saturday in the