Lance Armstrong-IT'S NOT ABOUT THE BIKE(5)

continued to make steady progress on the bike through the summer, and in August Kik and I
felt secure enough about my future as a rider to buy a house in Nice. While Kik employed her
stumbling French to handle the bankers and buy furniture and move us into the new home, I
went off with the team for the three-week Vuelta a Es-pana (Tour of Spain), one of the most
strenuous races on the face of the earth. There are three grand tours in cycling, of Italy, Spain,
and France.
On October 1, 1998, nearly two years to the day after I was diagnosed, I completed the Vuelta. I
finished fourth, and it was as important an achievement as any race I'd ever won. I rode 2,348
miles over 23 days, and missed making the awards podium by only six seconds. The winner,
Abraham Olano of Spain, had ridden just 2 minutes and 18 seconds faster than I had. What's
more, I nearly won the toughest mountain stage of the race, in gale-force winds and freezing
temperatures. The race was so tough that almost half the field retired before the finish. But I
didn't quit.

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I confided that I was worried about my sponsor, Cofidis, and explained the difficulty I was
having with them. I told her I felt pressured. "I need to stay in shape, I need to stay in shape," I
said over and over again.
"Lance, listen to your body," she said gently. "I know your mind wants to run away. I know it's
saying to you, 'Hey, let's go ride.' But listen to your body. Let it rest."
I described my bike, the elegant high performance of the ultralight tubing and aerodynamic
wheels. I told her how much each piece cost, and weighed, and what its purpose was. I
explained how a bike could be broken down so I could practically carry it in my pocket, and that
I knew every part and bit of it so intimately that I could adjust it in a matter of moments.
I explained that a bike has to fit your body, and that at times I felt melded to it. The lighter the
frame, the more responsive it is, and my racing bike weighed just 18 pounds. Wheels exert
centrifugal force on the bike itself, I told her. The more centrifugal force, the more momentum.
It was the essential building block of speed. "There are 32 spokes in a wheel," I said.
Quick-release levers allow you to pop the wheel out and change it quickly, and my crew could
fix a flat tire in less than 10 seconds.

Lance Armstrong-IT'S NOT ABOUT THE BIKE(3)

THAT AFTERNOON, I WALKED INTO YET ANOTHER NON-descript brown brick
medical building for my first chemotherapy treatment. I was taken aback by how informal it
was: a simple waiting room with some recliners and La-Z-Boys and assorted chairs, a coffee
table, and a TV. It looked like somebody's living room full of guests. It might have been a party,
except for the giveaway–everybody was attached to his or her very own IV drip.
Dr. Youman explained that the standard treatment protocol for tes-ticular cancer was called
BEP, a cocktail of three different drugs, bleomycin, etoposide, and cisplatin, and they were so
toxic that the nurses wore radioactive protection when handling them. The most important
ingredient of the three was cisplatin, which is actually platinum, and its use against testicular
cancer had been pioneered by a man named Dr. Lawrence Einhorn, who practiced at the Indiana
University medical center in Indianapolis. Prior to Einhorn s discovery, testicular cancer was
almost always fatal–25 years earlier it had killed a Chicago Bears football star named Brian
Piccolo, among many others. But the first man who Einhorn had treated with platinum, an
Indianapolis schoolteacher, was still alive.

Lance Armstrong-IT'S NOT ABOUT THE BIKE(2)

My brand-new Raleigh was top-of-the-line and beautiful, but I owned it only a short time before
I wrecked it and almost got myself killed. It happened one afternoon when I was running
stoplights. I was spinning through them one after the other, trying to beat the timers. I got five
of them. Then I came to a giant intersection of two six-lanes, and the light turned yellow.
I kept going anyway–which I did all the time. Still do.
I got across three lanes before the light turned red. As I raced across the fourth lane, I saw a lady
in a Ford Bronco out of the corner of my eye. She didn't see me. She accelerated–and smashed
right into me.
I went flying, headfirst across the intersection. No helmet. Landed on my head, and just kind of
rolled to a stop at the curb.

Lance Armstrong-IT'S NOT ABOUT THE BIKE(1)

LANCE ARMSTRONG
with Sally Jenkins
THIS BOOK IS FOR:
My mother, Linda, who showed me
what a true champion is. Kik, for completing me as a man. Luke, the greatest gift of my life,
who in a split second
made the Tour de France seem very small. All of my doctors and nurses. Jim Ochowicz, for the
fritters . . . every day. My teammates, Kevin, Frankie, Tyler,
George, and Christian. Johan Bruyneel. My sponsors. Chris Carmichael.
Bill Stapleton for always being there. Steve Wolff, my advocate. Bart Knaggs, a man's man.
JT Neal, the toughest patient cancer has ever seen. Kelly Davidson, a very special little lady.
Thorn Weisel. The Jeff Garvey family.