Here was a guy who had the whole world eating out of the palm of his hand. It was the fairytale story. Married, children, the comeback from cancer to win cycling’s biggest stage race a record seven times in a row. Cycling had never seen anything like it before and Armstrong transcended the sport to become a global icon. Not only that, he retired and then came back three years later to achieve another podium finish at the Tour de France in what was arguably the greatest sporting comeback ever seen. The man was incredible, probably the most successful sportsperson ever. And then bang …. 2013 and the bubble burst. Speaking on Oprah Winfrey he openly admitted that his entire career had been built on lies, deceit and the most sophisticated performance enhancing drug programme ever seen. Words can’t even begin to describe how angry I felt when I watched that interview, let’s just say that our television is very lucky to still be in one piece!
Why was I so bothered about Lance Armstrong’s admission to cheating you might ask? Surely it was obvious that he couldn’t have done what he did without using drugs? Well, here’s the thing. Everyone who knows me will know that I have a huge interest in professional cycling. Running is my sport, but cycling is my passion. Every race from March through to October is on the television in our house to my wife’s great displeasure. The way Armstrong rode his bike was like nothing we’d seen before. He was strong, aggressive and in full flight was the image of man and machine in perfect harmony. His attacks on the mountains of the Tour de France were devastating and he could blow a race to pieces for fun. I loved the excitement of watching him race and he fast became my ultimate sporting hero for his total domination of what is an incredibly hard sport.
In 2005 I was at the roadside again in the Pyrenees as Armstrong laid the foundations for his record-breaking seventh consecutive Tour win on the climbs of Ax-3-Domaines, Pla d’Adet and the Col d’Aubisque. A few days later I made it home just in time to see the TV coverage of him riding into Paris in the yellow jersey before addressing his adoring public from the Champs Elysee podium with what has now become an infamous and sickening victory speech. It ended like this:
“…… The last thing I’ll say to the people who don’t believe in cycling, the cynics and the sceptics: I’m sorry for you. I’m sorry that you can’t dream big. I’m sorry you don’t believe in miracles. But this is one hell of a race. This is the greatest sporting event and you should stand around and believe it. You should believe in these athletes, and you should believe in these people. I’ll be a fan of the Tour de France for as long as I live. There are no secrets. This is a hard sporting event and hard work wins it. Vive le Tour, forever.”
At the time, probably like a lot of people around the world, I felt quite tearful at hearing this speech and, perhaps naively, believed every word that Armstrong was saying. This was him retiring, the last time we’d ever see him turn a pedal in anger. It was a victorious and emotional farewell, and a show of defiance to everyone who had dared to doubt him.
Shortly after my trip to the 2005 Tour my own running came to an abrupt halt when I fell victim of the dreaded glandular fever. I’ve touched on this in a previous blog but in a nutshell I spent the next four months struggling to get out of bed and ended up taking the best part of 18 months trying to get fit and healthy again. During that time I watched a lot of sport and, with an incredible amount of spare time to kill while I was getting over the illness, found myself watching re-run after re-run of some of Armstrong’s greatest Tour de France moments. I took inspiration from his performances, thinking all the time that if he could come back from cancer to win the biggest bike race on the planet seven times then I could easily come back from glandular fever and run again.
Eventually I decided enough was enough and decided to give up on running altogether, justifying to myself that I would never be able to race properly again so there was little point in even trying to run. Rather than give up on sport completely though, I decided to buy a nice expensive road bike to cheer myself up and enjoy a few leisurely rides around the local area.
Roll on another six months to the Spring of 2006 and, still very much inspired by watching re-runs of Armstrong’s Tour wins, I was knocking out 80-100 mile training rides in the hills of the Tyne valley in preparation for a three-week trip to the Pyrenees to ride some of the most famous climbs. I was over the illness, my strength was back, I was riding consistently 5-6 days a week and, most importantly, the desire to hurt myself in training had returned. I can still remember the day when that desire returned because it was a freezing cold, wet February day when I would have normally been running the National Cross Country Championships. Instead, I was out on an 80 mile ride in the North Pennines where I was the only person out on the road. It was howling a gale, sleeting in my face, and was so dark and foggy that I could barely see the road in front of me. Yet here I was charging up the climb from Allenheads to Killhope imagining I was Lance Armstrong racing up Alpe d’Huez. Instead of feeling miserable and sorry for myself I was attacking the climb, enjoying the pain in my legs and the burning in my lungs. Everything I had done up until that day had hurt and had been 100% miserable suffering. But that day the desire to train hard had returned and I’ve never looked back since.
My trip to the Pyrenees during the summer of 2006 was an amazing experience and I rode every major climb you can name in that part of France - Port de Paillheres, Ax-3-Domaines, Pla d’Adet, Plateau de Baille, Luz Ardiden, Hautacam, Col d’Aubisque. I even proposed to my then girlfriend at the summit of the Col du Tourmalet straight after a four hour ride through the so-called “Triangle of Death”: the Peyresourde, Aspin and Tourmalet back-to-back. It really was an incredible moment in my life.
Deep down, once the disappointment of his recent revelations settles down, Armstrong will always be a sporting hero in my eyes. Those mountains in the Pyrenees were hard. Only running the final few miles of a marathon has come close to the pain I felt in my legs while riding up the Tourmalet after four hours in the saddle. They’re definitely right when they say “you can’t turn a cart horse into a race horse” and Armstrong must certainly still have had an immense amount of natural ability. But that cannot disguise the fact that he urinated all over the support and dreams of so many people around the world and for that he can never be forgiven. It’s sad for cycling and it’s sad for the Tour de France, but the sport will live on and its reputation will heal over time. Unlike Armstrong’s reputation who has disgraced himself for the rest of his life. One thing he did say on the Champs Elysee on that Sunday afternoon in 2005 was correct: hard work wins hard sporting events. It’s just a shame that no-one could convince him that he didn’t need to take a bucket load of EPO as well.