Light-hearted tease on taking up cycling during a mid-life crisis

The last time our man had ridden a cycle was when he was 8. While this is not a skill you ever lose, let’s just say you get a bit rusty.

BHPian Secretariat recently shared this with other enthusiasts:

Statutory Warning: This thread is just for a little fun. The forum is way too serious and occasionally a light-hearted and irreverent thread would add some spice. Cyclists - please don't take offence. I am one of you and we are the best in laughing at our own expense.

Full Disclosure: Yours truly is a card-carrying member of the species Homo Sapiens MAMILensis.

Life on earth is constantly evolving, Right? Species come and species go. Have you ever wondered what comes after human beings? Well, here is news for you. The next species has already arrived. It is called Homo Sapiens MAMILensis. It is now evolving so rapidly that it can even be found on Team-BHP!

If you really must know right away, instead of reading through the whole post, MAMIL stands for “Middle-Aged Man in Lycra”. This BHPian was not entirely truthful when he disclosed in the beginning that he was a MAMIL. He is an OAMIL - if MA is middle-aged in the acronym, you can figure out what OA is!

You see, something happens to the average human male about 5 days short of his 35th birthday. Until now, he was a strapping young man. But the good lady at home had recently pointed out to him that maybe there were signs of prosperity showing in his middle. When his face fell, the lady trying to placate him, said that she was happy there was more of him to love. Ladies please note - this does not do much to improve a man’s feelings. But the coup de grace had come just yesterday when he very courteously had held the lift door open for the lovely, pretty young thing in the apartment complex. She smiled at him and said, “Thank you, uncle”. UNCLE? WHAT?

He couldn’t sleep that night. Had he reached the end of his youthful days? Had he become an “uncle”? Even his soulmate is hinting that his middle is expanding. No, that cannot be. No way is this to happen. Got to fight it. Action will be taken. TOMORROW.

The next morning our man announces to the lady – we are going to Decathlon. Junior needs his Tricycle/skateboard/football/add any excuse for going to Decathlon.

The family piles onto their giant SUV to make the 3.4 km drive to Decathlon. The man makes a beeline for the Cycling section. He is here to get a cycle for himself. You see, yesterday when he couldn’t sleep, he decided that the route to regaining his lost youth was to take up cycling and become a lean, mean, young machine.

Eminent sociologists may point out that he could very well have decided to go to the Gym or take up running marathons. Very true. But we are not concerned with those since they continue to remain members of the Homo Sapiens species. It is the prospective cyclist who transforms into Homo Sapiens MAMILensis.

Our man has no clue about cycles and he sees a whole array of them in the shop. Here is where his Team-BHP training kicks in. He opts for the most rugged-looking mountain bike with extremely fat tyres. Words like "manly", “presence on the road" and the like, flash through his mind (a common BHP disease). Huge mistake. In cycling you plump for the slim, thin, sleek thing, if you will pardon the pun. BHP then causes even more problems for him. You don’t buy anything without doing a test ride, right? So, in his most authoritative voice, he announces that he needs a test ride. The sales guy says he can ride up and down the aisle if he wants. That’s all that is possible when you buy a cycle in Decathlon. The man sheepishly agrees. He tries to mount the cycle and promptly falls smack on his posterior. The sales guy helps him to get up. He sees this happening every day and he knows.

The last time our man had cycled was when he was 8. While this is not a skill you ever lose, let’s just say you get a bit rusty. Now the man tries again and realises that he has almost forgotten how to balance. Decathlon is crowded and why is everyone looking at him? Even his wife has an amused smile. This is heading into disaster territory. Better stop. After a hair-raising ride of 10 metres, he stops and pronounces that he is satisfied. Never mind the Team-BHP PDI checklist.

The bike is bought. The sales guy has convinced him that he should get a helmet (yes of course) and also cycling shorts and a vest to go. These garments are alarmingly sheer and tight, but the sales guy assures him that they are the appropriate cycling attire. These are made of Lycra. Now you can understand the L in MAMIL.

The next morning the alarm goes off at 5.00 AM. With great difficulty, our man gets up at 6.00 and dons his gear. Clothed in sheer Lycra he presents an unflattering sight. But he does take off on his first cycle ride in 27 years. After a little while he manages to keep the cycle going approximately straight. He goes for about 2 kms inside his apartment complex and pronounces that’s enough for Day 1. He is immensely satisfied that he has “taken action” 3 days before his 35th birthday.

The key moment when it is decided whether he stays as a member of the normal human race or becomes a MAMIL comes the next morning. When he wakes up, he realises that each of the 2433 muscles in his body is agonisingly aching. Does he go back to sleep or does he get up? That’s the inflection point.

If he goes back to sleep, he will remain within his species. The cycle he bought yesterday will be “Rust in Peace” in the basement. If you don’t believe what I am saying, just walk down to your basement parking and you will see a graveyard of rusting cycles - lots of evidence of men “rescued” from becoming MAMILs.

But if he gets up despite the pain and sets off on a ride, he is lost forever. He has left the human race and has become a MAMIL. No redemption is possible.

Continue BHPian Secretariat's tease for more insights and information.