10 km a day in €12 trainers: the low cost of sport

€12 trainers and a 2001 bike: the daily sport that doesn't go through the shop

There is a way of doing sport that requires no subscription, no €200 trainers, no bike with disc brakes. A cyclist and mountain walker sums it up with a figure that throws you off: more than 10 kilometres a day in €12 trainers bought at a large sports store, or 20 kilometres by bike on a machine from 2001. No gym, no technical clothing, no helmet on most outings. The approach raises an uncomfortable question: if the body holds up, why does everyone else pay?

The author of the initial message doesn't ask permission. He says he goes out at night, that by 8:30 he's back home, that his legs are still hairy and that he doesn't wear a helmet. He admits that on the two road sections of his route he does put it on, but that on gravel it gives him anxiety. And he adds a detail that throws anyone who has been through a bike shop: he found a wheel of the same brand for €15 in his village, the only difference being the shifters.

Cheap footwear and the real wear and tear on feet

The first response the approach receives doesn't argue the substance, but the material. One participant defends that the bike, with maintenance, is almost eternal, but draws a red line on footwear: something that protects the foot, has grip and lasts doesn't cost €10. His argument is not aesthetic. It's that a badly shod foot takes its toll.

Another contributor takes it to his own ground: he does walks of the same type and wouldn't recommend those trainers to his worst enemy, because he has had problems even with expensive ones. The author's response is direct: if he doesn't cycle, he walks a minimum of 10 kilometres every day and has not a single rub or pain. His track record, he says, goes back a long way: climbing the mountain in boots from the 80s, going mushroom picking, going hunting with the shotgun and six boxes of cartridges on his back.

The discussion drifts towards maintenance. One participant points out that any footwear deforms with use and that, although there's nothing wrong with squeezing it, it should be changed every 600 kilometres or so. The bike, with greasing and changing tyres when they harden, can last a century. It is the thesis of responsible consumption applied to sport: the expense is not in the object, it is in the consistency.

How much free time does it take to walk 13 kilometres?

The point that generates the most friction is not the price, it's the clock. The author publishes a route of 13 kilometres in three hours and the thread comes down on him. One participant calculates that that is crawling and that walking you go faster. Another points out that, at that pace, either he stopped a lot or the distance doesn't add up.

The protagonist's explanation is that he is not a runner. He stops to smoke a cigarette, to watch birds, to take photos, to have coffee in a village, to go past the bank, to buy sardines at the market and to visit his sister. He doesn't pause the app. I go in observation mode, he says, and he attacks running as a discipline of blank mind and monitored heart rate.

Here the other side's strongest argument appears: time. One participant lists the drawbacks of long walks and bike routes: they require a lot of free time, depend on the weather, force you to rest and more volume doesn't miccionan more improvement. His conclusion is that an ordinary person with a family can't devote three hours a day to this. The author responds with his situation: 46 years old, house paid off in a mountain neighbourhood, views of a ravine and no mortgage. At 46 having somewhere to drop dead seems like a victory to me, he declares.

The 2001 bike and the cost of maintaining it

The second pillar of the approach is the bicycle. A machine from 2001, with a wheel aligned for €15, tyres changed when needed and little more. The comparison with the car appears on its own in the thread: while some boast about engines and disabling the EGR valve, the author champions his Daewoo Lanos parked in front of the house in a neighbourhood where everyone knows each other.

The reply comes from the other side of the handlebars. One participant who says he competed for six years, from cadets to amateurs, and coincided in the peloton with riders who made it to the Tour, maintains that averages of 42 and 43 kilometres per hour were the norm at that time. His conclusion is that the material matters less than the legs, although today, at 47 and twenty kilos heavier, his times are no longer those.

The thread gets tangled in the estimulante ilegal comparison. One participant calculates that 23 kilometres in three and a quarter hours comes out at less than 9 kilometres per hour and asks if that is strolling. The author responds that he stops in a village, goes through the market and returns home. The discussion is not resolved: everyone measures sport with their own yardstick.

The helmet, safety and the point where the thread gets stuck

The only point where there is uncomfortable consensus is the helmet. One participant says it bluntly: for him it is non-negotiable. The author admits that he wears it on road sections, but not on gravel, and cites anxiety. The thread's response is harsh: the helmet gives him anxiety but he hands out labels about other people's lives.

There the conversation breaks. The thread drifts towards personal insults, towards the sedentary life attributed to others, towards physical appearance and towards the family situation of some and others. The usable part remains buried under a layer of disqualifications that contributes no data on trainers, bicycles or kilometres.

The balance, however, leaves an uncomfortable conclusion for sports consumption: expensive equipment does not guarantee consistency, and consistency does not require expensive equipment. What it does require is time, a good that the thread fails to distribute. The author is 46 years old, has the house paid off and free mornings. Most of those who answer him have a mortgage, family and barely an hour a day. The debate about €12 trainers is, in reality, a debate about who has time to spare.