On a beautiful fall Friday in Denver, someone named Wyatt stole my Local Legend crown. “There it goes!” chirped an email informing me of the loss of a title I had never cared about until then. I wanted to destroy him.
I didn’t. Instead, I followed him — though not literally. I am one of the more than 150 million runners, cyclists and hikers who use Strava, an app that logs your exercise activity and lets you compare it with that of other people.
I began running in March 2020, when cities closed rec centers and eerily removed the outdoor basketball hoops that had been my preferred form of exercise since I was a teenager. To keep in shape, I ran a mile, then three, then five, 10, 13. It was a peaceful escape from the ferocity of team sports. I prioritized isolation in the pandemic, running solo past tent cities and train tracks. Strava helpfully logged my speed, distance and route, displaying curvy orange lines on tiny maps, often flashing personal-record emoji medals and “nicely done!” messages. In lieu of human contact, these robotic adrenaline boosts became addictive.
At first, I used Strava’s social features sparingly, limiting followers to a few real-life friends (like Max, who cycles 6.79 miles to work each day and is generous with the “kudos,” Strava’s version of “likes”). But the more I ran, the more inspiration I found in following strangers — like Greg, a Ukrainian runner braving the threat of Russian bombs, and Keira, an elite Utah marathoner racing around the world.
When the pandemic let up, I started on a new path around Sloan’s Lake, a flat, 2.6-mile paved loop in view of Denver’s downtown skyline and the Rocky Mountain foothills. It was bustling with families, dog-walkers, cyclists. Craving community, I ran a 10K around the lake each Monday and a half-marathon each Saturday, using the app’s performance analytics to improve both my stamina and speed.
“Nicely done! You’re the Local Legend!” Strava told me one day in an unsolicited email. This designation, it turned out, rewards users who run the same route most frequently over the course of 90 days. It didn’t mean I was particularly fast. Or durable. But I was great at routine. I puffed up my chest around Sloan’s Lake. Hello, I imagined telling the poodle on the long leash. I’m your Local Legend.
Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.
Thank you for your patience while we verify access.
Already a subscriber? Log in.
Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
The Social-Media Platform That Makes You Tell the Truth
