Women, men, adventures – Gender expectations in sports

The adventure cycling community likes to see itself as an open, accepting, and inclusive environment. And it truly is—at least compared to many other sports. Still, a closer look reveals plenty of room for improvement. Putting aside the performance fetishism and the occasional elitism, a fundamental contradiction is striking: while many women are seen cycling in cities, the overwhelming majority of participants in an average Saturday group ride, a one-day gravel event, or at the start line of an ultra-race are still men. Yet, the sport does not require brute muscle strength, is not full-contact, and specifically rewards perseverance and mental focus—qualities in which women are at least as good as men.

However, the reasons for women's distance should not be oversimplified. It's not that men who adventure for ten hours every Saturday intentionally keep their wives at home to stir the wooden spoon instead of the pedals. Nor is it that women don't go cycling because they are afraid of getting dirty or lost. The background is much more complex: the social structure, traditional gender roles, and the invisible expectations that determine what is considered "feminine."

If we examine sport in a historical context, it has been intertwined with masculinity and the image of the ideal man from the outset. In an arena or at an ancient Olympics, in our mind's eye, we see not women but twenty-year-old men with discus-throwing bodies—an image that has been frozen for about two thousand years.

At the dawn of modernism, however, the bicycle was considered a distinctly progressive tool for gender equality. It was not only a form of transport but a guarantor of freedom: it allowed women to wear trousers, move independently, and physically distance themselves from the social sphere assigned to them, the home. As a sport, however, cycling is still rarely among the first suggestions when parents in an average family choose a sport for their daughter.

This is where the issue of sport socialization enters. A community thinking along traditional lines continues to associate women primarily with aesthetic roles, and this is reflected in the choice of sport: girls are typically channeled toward sports where appearance, grace, and "femininity" are more emphasized than performance or risk-taking. It is no coincidence that the parents' education and cultural capital also play a significant role in this: the more open they are to thinking beyond conventional frameworks, the greater the chance they will allow their daughters to deviate from the customary paths.

If we look for a culprit for why the situation of women's sport must be discussed again and again in the 21st century, the media would certainly take a place in the dock. At the end of the 20th century, the view was still widespread that the prestige of women's sport was roughly on par with parasports. The consequences of this are still felt today: significantly fewer women's competitions are broadcast, resulting in lower visibility, fewer sponsors, and lower prize money and salaries. The figure of the national hero still primarily lives in the collective imagination as a man, while in the case of a female athlete, media attention is often linked not to performance but to appearance.

All this, of course, did not develop in a vacuum. The prestige of sport—including women's sport—has always been strongly shaped by historical and political circumstances. During socialism, for example, sport was a tool of competition between the two world systems, where international successes were given paramount importance. We are not saying it was better while Kádár was alive, but in this context, the results of female athletes also became strategically important, which—despite all the contradictions of the system—was explicitly good for the visibility and appreciation of women's sport. The current situation is thus the result of long cultural, historical, and political processes that simultaneously advanced and hindered the development of women's sport.

Of course, women are not the only ones who have to contend with distorted expectations. The narrow frameworks of masculinity also put men under pressure, especially in youth development, where young boys are often subjected to particularly harsh—often emotionally ruthless—treatment. Girls are expected not to get dirty, and boys are expected not to show weakness, not to cry. Although it sounds absurd, research shows that a significant portion of coaches still build on these patterns in their thinking.

This is not unrelated to the fact that the coaching profession continues to be strongly male-dominated. The norms of masculinity are reproduced in this environment, while the professional credibility of female coaches is often questioned—often regardless of their previous results or experience. Interestingly, this same standard suddenly shifts around children: as parents become more sensitive to empathy, communication, and emotional security, the soft skills of female coaches gain value. This duality clearly shows how inconsistent—and how deeply embedded—are the expectations by which the world of sport still operates today.

From here, it is less surprising that women and men seek different things in sport. Although the basics are the same: health, well-being, fitness, and for women, the fight against aging and weight control is also important, for men, sport is often also a social event. They close a deal between two golf swings, or they have a beer after football. This is rarely heard among women. Furthermore, men are often competitive, women are less so; they rarely meet like, "Hi girls, and three seconds later, 300 watts and full throttle."

When a woman becomes a mother, not only does her body naturally change, but so does her attitude towards risk and responsibility. Few can carve out eight to ten hours a week to maintain serious cycling endurance. And even fewer are willing to risk a broken collarbone or a serious injury. Not because they are less brave, but because the stakes are simply higher.

This, of course, does not mean that men crave accidents. However, they typically feel the risks of cycling are smaller—even if statistics show they have more accidents. The difference is not in the danger but in who feels they can afford what.

The extent to which women stand up against the discrimination they face is not a matter of individual courage but stems from deeply embedded social patterns. In Hungary, after the regime change, a strong feminist community did not emerge that would have consistently kept the issue of women's sport on the agenda and formed movements—in contrast to many Western countries, where these movements made the problem visible. It is no coincidence that the first researchers to examine sport from a gender perspective also came from a feminist background: they were the ones who first stated that the issue was not about women's "deficiencies" but about the functioning of the system.

The adventure cycling world is no exception to this. If it truly wants to operate as an open and inclusive environment, it is not enough to be well-intentioned—nor is it enough to wait for "more women to come in time." It is not women who are missing from cycling, but factors that support women's integration are missing from the system. The question is, therefore, what stories we tell, whom we elevate to a pedestal, and what conditions we create in coeducational situations. Because currently, it is not the women who lack the spirit of adventure, but the adventure that lacks women. 

If you are interested in the topic in more detail and would like to learn more about sports socialization and the relationship between gender and sport, then listen to our podcast episode with Dr. Andrea Gál, associate professor and sociologist-researcher at the Department of Social Sciences, Hungarian University of Physical Education and Sport Sciences.

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