Posted on 07/01/2002 4:10:00 PM PDT by drew
Lance Armstrong's excellence, combined with his inspirational comeback from cancer, puts him in the elite class of athletes who transcend their sport.
By Bonnie DeSimone Tribune staff reporter
June 30, 2002
The most excruciating climbs in the Tour de France--steep, twisting mountain roads that chew up car engines, let alone a cyclist's legs--defy the sport's numerical rating system. They are simply labeled hors categorie, or beyond categorization.
As Lance Armstrong readies for his campaign to win a fourth straight Tour, the same tag could be applied to him.
The 30-year-old Texan appears to be at the peak of his athletic ability and has no clear-cut challenger in the 2,034-mile race, which begins Saturday in Luxembourg. With success has come a certain serenity. Armstrong, who leaves little to chance, said he has never been so prepared.
"I feel better than ever," Armstrong said of himself and his U.S. Postal Service team. "I feel strong. I feel like I know what we're about to do. I feel calmer tackling a three-week race."
He is also riding high image-wise. Thanks to the public's continuing reverence for the story of his comeback from testicular cancer, Armstrong has become a cultural and marketing phenomenon even though cycling still dwells in the margins of American sport.
"You could not script that kind of greatness," said Nova Lanktree, a matchmaker for athletes and corporate advertisers who is executive vice president of Skokie-based Lanktree Sports, a division of CSMG.
Armstrong has an annual income approaching $10 million, more than half of which comes from endorsements. Corporations shell out six-figure fees for the privilege of having him address their employees.
Lanktree called Armstrong's appeal to national and mainstream advertisers "singularly amazing."
"He's transcended the sport," she said. "I know it's a cliche, but that's what he's done. I don't think I would have predicted that four years ago. Everything about him invites affection and admiration."
Armstrong is in a category of his own, symbolically set off by the Tour leader's yellow jersey. Everything he has touched since his recovery has turned some shade of gold.
Although his saga may seem mythical, friends say Armstrong stands atop a pyramid constructed brick by brick with consuming attention to detail. He is selective and exacting about the way he trains, the commercial opportunities he pursues, and the people he allows into his inner circle, even as he continues to live a high-profile existence because of his significance to cancer survivors.
Armstrong is most comfortable in an untucked shirt and jeans, rolling around with his kids or indulging in the occasional Mexican meal washed down with a margarita or a long-neck beer.
But he often displays a sort of flinty, game-day reserve in public, saving the best of his dry wit for his buddies, his compassion and charm for his cancer work and his slap-happy moments for his family.
He may never have the commercial clout of a Tiger Woods or a Michael Jordan, which suits him fine.
"He's at least as famous as he wants to be," said ESPN's Chris Fowler, who met the defending Tour champion when Armstrong was a 16-year-old triathlete and has remained close to him.
"There's a unique aspect to his celebrity, and it's a tough burden to carry sometimes," Fowler said. "Cancer survivors want him to hear their testimonials. They want him to look them in the eye and tell them things are going to be all right. Given that, I think he's made wise choices. The last thing he wants to be seen as is exploitative."
Armstrong's foundation devoted to research and support for cancer survivors is growing exponentially. Contributions have doubled in each of the past two years, reaching $9 million in 2001.
His family is thriving. Armstrong and his wife, Kristin, have 7-month-old twin daughters, Isabelle and Grace, and a toddler son, Luke, all conceived through in-vitro fertilization. The couple is building a ranch on land they purchased outside his home base of Austin, Texas. They have named the property Milagro, the Spanish word for miracle.
Single when he received his grim prognosis six years ago, Armstrong banked his sperm when he was advised that treatment would probably render him sterile.
The episode is one of many recounted in his autobiography, which has sold 500,000 copies and is considered doctrine by numerous cancer survivors.
"I expected to sell about 10 copies," Armstrong said. "I had a great time doing it and I put down my life story truthfully and honestly. For me that was enough.
"I never considered myself anything different or anything special. As I've said many times, I did what I had to do to come back to the job and the sport and try to be the best."
The fact that he made it--and that his showcase event, unlike the Olympics, takes place annually--has kept his marketability high.
"We try to be careful," Armstrong said. "This all gets so cheesy when you start talking about brands and strategies and tactics."
But there is no denying the punch his name packs. When Coca-Cola made Armstrong the promotional face of the 2002 Winter Olympic Torch Relay, nominations for torch runners soared over the numbers from the 1996 Atlanta Games, partly due to the ease of e-mail submissions, but mostly due to Armstrong, according to Coca-Cola spokesman Scott Williamson.
Bristol-Myers Squibb Co., the firm that developed the drugs used in Armstrong's cancer treatment, has featured him and his family in print and TV advertising.
"We've gotten a very strong positive response to the campaign, and also to the association with Lance and his personal experience," executive vice president Don Hayden said. "To this day, he says he is who he is because he's a cancer survivor."
Armstrong's agent, Bill Stapleton, said he strives to give Armstrong an "elegant" silhouette that is not at odds with his stature in the cancer community.
"We've kept Lance away from bobblehead dolls," said Stapleton, who concedes neither he nor anyone else was fully prepared for the opportunities that opened up after Armstrong's first Tour victory in 1999.
"We don't market him as a cancer survivor," Stapleton said. "We market him as a courageous American who has overcome something everyone can relate to. Everyone's trying to overcome something. He's not Everyman, but people feel as if they own a piece of Lance."
Armstrong's odyssey has made him a subject of some awe even among other elite athletes.
In her autobiography published late last year, Olympic alpine star Picabo Street described meeting Armstrong at a 1998 awards dinner when she was struggling with an injury-triggered depression.
"All I wanted that night was to shake Lance's hand, to feel some of his healing energy flow into me," Street wrote.
As Olympic speedskating gold medalist Chris Witty wryly observed at Armstrong's annual Ride for the Roses benefit weekend in April: "Celebrities follow him around."
An A-list guest
Armstrong moves comfortably in circles far removed from his modest upbringing in the Dallas suburb of Plano, or even from his days as a brazen young world champion nearly a decade ago, when few outside the insular sport of road cycling had heard of him.
Robin Williams calls him "Bro." Alternative-country music star Lyle Lovett played at a private party Armstrong threw last fall to mark the five years since his cancer diagnosis, and took him off-road motorcyling in Baja California last winter.
When Armstrong was training in California early this year, he stayed at the home of actor Kevin Costner.
In February he attended the Opening Ceremonies of the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics with President Bush and a select group of dignitaries. Former Orioles iron man Cal Ripken was the only other sports figure to make the cut.
Chris Carmichael, Armstrong's coach for 12 years, said Armstrong is savoring the ride without getting hooked on jet-set adrenaline.
"His perspective is, `I'm going to enjoy this, but it could be gone tomorrow. Live with it, enjoy it and that's that,"' Carmichael said.
"He's a really private person by nature. He can say, `This is the time I'm doing with the media and these appearances, and then I'm done.' You miss that time, and there's no getting squeezed in. For him this is now time with his family or his foundation or training. He's really good at saying no."
When it comes to training, Armstrong, who manages much of his own stock portfolio, micromanages his regimen and equipment needs.
"Among other things, Lance is very smart," said his friend Jeff Garvey, a retired venture capitalist who runs Armstrong's foundation.
"He can read a balance sheet. He can read an income statement. His training is just like somebody who's going to start up a company who has to do the following 50 things in the following order with the following intensity.
"He takes a business approach. He understands what tradeoffs are all about. He likes to party in the off-season but he's moderate about everything he does in that regard. He rides a bike every day. He knows that he wins the Tour de France in the winter, by virtue of what he does from October to February."
On most training days, Armstrong straps a heart monitor around his chest and carries a small computer on his handlebars. The two devices collect information about his heart rate, pedaling cadence, speed, distance covered and energy expended. After his workout, he e-mails the data to Carmichael for analysis.
Armstrong has rented the wind tunnel at Texas A&M University to experiment with his body position in time trials, keeping his body low and his back flat as a tabletop. He does strengthening exercises for his lower back and abdomen several times a week so he can hold an optimal position for longer periods.
He is as demanding with regard to his gear as he is with his body. Last month he requested a design change that reduced the weight of his new handlebars by half.
"Lance is a very rare athlete," Carmichael said. "He's not looking to win. That's not his driving force. He's looking to do it better than he did it before.
"He likes things laid out. `From 9 o'clock to 10 I'm doing this, from 10 to 11 I'm doing this.' When I don't have that ready [for Armstrong], I get [grief]."
This season Armstrong has continued his training practice of previewing Tour stages to commit the terrain to memory. He rode a busy schedule this spring and won two tuneup races in France.
Armstrong has had to fight for his reputation in a sport infested with performance-enhancing drugs.
He never has tested positive and continues to defend his consulting relationship with the controversial Italian sports scientist Michele Ferrari, who has been accused of administering banned drugs to elite athletes.
French legal authorities have announced imminent plans to close an unrelated investigation into Armstrong and his team that has stagnated for the better part of two years. Frustrated that the inquiry formally remains open, Armstrong recently posted his feelings on his Web site.
"I consider this issue dead," he wrote. "It is without merit and I will no longer pay attention to it. My steadfast focus is on the upcoming Tour de France."
Commitment continues
Congenitally restless, Armstrong sometimes marvels that he has held the same job this long.
"He loves what he does," said Johan Bruyneel, the no-nonsense former professional rider from Belgium who has guided the Armstrong-led Postal Service team to three straight titles. "That's what it takes if you're at such a high level and under pressure and constantly planning commitments."
Armstrong agreed, saying the actual sensation of riding is the same despite the upheaval in his lifestyle.
"If you break it all down, and said, `OK here's the guy, here's the bike, does he like it, does he feel the same on it, does he suffer the same on it,' that's all the same," said Armstrong, who would become the fifth man to win four or more Tours if he prevails next month.
"The days that I'm on the bike are like when I was 13," he added, recalling rides with his boyhood friend and current teammate Chann McRae. "We run fewer red lights, but it's the same. We used to run all the red lights."
Armstrong is still in go-go-go mode and says he could compete for another two to five years.
"If you want to draw a graph, there's been no decline in my interest or my motivation or my love for the bike or training," he said. "I can't think of any reason to stop right now."
Copyright © 2002, The Chicago Tribune
What an amazing athlete.
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