Following some singular pressuring and a promise of greater social (media) glory, I’ve decided to permit STRAVA access to my rides.
Strava appears to be the simplest way to track my triumphant return to more regular riding.
- It’s free.
- It’s an app.
- It’s easy to use.
I am a strong proponent of each of these descriptors.
Following but a one and single ride (one that was of the not-stationary variety) I do believe that somewhere, somehow, from deep within mine bowel’ish loins did arise Peter Keiller: STRAVASSHOLE (a phrase coined by TEAM ALCHEMIST – presumably Mr Wu himself).
I reviewed the ride.
I expected to see total time, ride time, distance…possibly maximum and average speeds.
And I did.
There were other things.
Things I was not expecting.
Things I had not signed up for.
Things, I would quickly find, I could not handle.
As I scrolled these accolades, mine heart was immediately filled with joy.
Accomplishment, contentment and (even) happiness would join joy as I reviewed my ride…wow…
Almost as quickly alarms, buzzers, red lights and flames filled my head.
I knew all too well, each of these ‘feelings’ were but a pathetic sickness, a weakness that would be ultimately found and exploited by my enemies.
My mind quickly took hold of the data.
My eyes darted back and forth. Up and down.
My fists clenched in a growing rage.
It was a full body effort.
Calculating, looking and clenching with the speed of three trucks my body worked to expel these feelings of elation.
There it was.
Just like that.
These awards, the awards I had collected (earned even), the numbers brazenly emblazon upon them, they themselves were mocking my efforts.
NOT GOOD ENOUGH.
NOT THE BEST.
I knew that every number preceding the one indicated on MY award, each one represented another man (as in the human-kind man, not the sex specific man).
A man that beat me.
A man that beat me without riding with me.
A man that was now looking down, sniggering, at the pathetic-ness of my efforts.
A man I was determined to destroy.
While I am greatly displeased by these feelings of competitiveness, I certainly find them more comforting than the feelings of satisfaction they displaced.
As such and under these new, more hostile terms, I will continue to permit Strava access to my rides.
Even stationary rides, ALL will be recorded as the remainder of my ‘season’ is documented* ad nauseum.
* That is WHEN I remember to tap the NEW RIDE and/or END RIDE button.
Fact: Cyclists, competitive ones in particular, are dicks.
Vain, self centred, conceited dicks.
Even the female ones.
Note: This is simply a fact, not entirely a criticism.
In a solo sport such as cycling there are few other means to gauge ‘improvements’ then to document them, analyze them and compare them.
And because we achieve each (result) alone, we are tempted to tell-any-all.
Strava not only permits but it promotes social gloating.
Strava encourages you to proudly and publicly display your dick for all to marvel at.
To compare theirs to.
Strava does this without the inevitable social excommunication that would follow a lawn sign or t-shirt reading; “I AM KOM, YOU, ARE NOT“.
Also worthy of psycho-note (and undoubtedly further analysis) is the commentary/kudo aspect of the Strava environ.
Without this comment/kudo system you’d just be (that) dick reviewing everyones results, looking for confirmation of your own excellence.
Instead, you’re there under the guise of leaving praise.
Encouraging fellow cyclists.
Good for you!
Ha. I beat you!
What gets, doesn’t get attention on Strava is also interesting.
My case in points;
From top to bottom;
- Stationary Ride…distance 400m.
0 Medals/Awards, 0 Kudos, 0 Comments
- Albion Ride…distance 49.5km.
7 Medals/Awards, 0 Kudos, 0 Comments
- Stationary Ride…distance 200m.
0 Medals/Awards, 7 Kudos, 3 Comments
The dregs, this entertains people…
I ride a 150lb stationary bike 200 then 400m and no one, NOT A SINGLE SOLITARY DICK, congratulates me?
I rode a wheel-less bike any distance and I’m not a STRAVA-GOD!?
I’d like to see ANY of you do better.
KOM that bitches.