A Kangaroo Flat man has finally admitted what most of his neighbours suspected all along: he didn’t take up cycling for the fitness, the freedom, or the carbon-fibre status symbols. He did it for the Lycra—tight, shiny, ego-hugging Lycra.
“I never cared about bikes,” Trent Delaney confessed, adjusting his Oakleys and slapping his visibly cold moose knuckle. “It was always about the Lycra. The way it cups. The way it lifts. The way it says, ‘Hey, I’m sterile now, but I look fast as hell.’”
Trent’s wardrobe now consists of 70% Lycra, 20% high-vis Lycra, and 10% tear-away trackies for “emergencies.” His Strava account is entirely empty, but his Instagram is full of thirst traps featuring dramatic tyre-pump poses and suspiciously oiled thighs.
His partner, Mandy, hasn’t seen his real legs in over three years.
“I think they fused with the fabric. He sleeps in it. Showers in it. I once caught him ironing it—while wearing it.”
Experts say this kind of behaviour is not uncommon among middle-aged men experiencing a midlife crisis with a budget under $1600.
“Men used to buy sports cars or get tattoos,” said psychologist Dr. Leanne Heaps. “Now, they shove their nuts into a carbon-fibre hammock and pretend that wearing a $500 skinsuit to get almond milk is totally normal.”
In response to the growing epidemic of middle-aged men treating local cafés like stage five of the Giro d’Italia, Cr Andrea Metcalf has called for the introduction of Lycra-Free Zones across select public spaces.
In unrelated news, local physios report a surge in groin numbness, pelvic compression, and men asking whether it’s “normal for the Lycra to squeak when I clench.”
