Lance’s confession

Say it isn’t so, Lance. Say it isn’t so.

I was up at 3:15 this morning, fumbling around and trying to get ready to workout without waking the world. I needed to shave, so I opened my bathroom cabinet drawer to look for my razor.  I groped around for the blade (with its cap on so I wouldn’t slice off a finger.).  I found a toothbrush. A tube of lip balm, a penny, a tube of muscle rub and some floss.  And then I felt something I haven’t worn in a long time. It’s rubber and a bracelet.  The low light revealed that it was yellow. And on it was the word LIVESTRONG.

I suppose it should say LIESTRONG since Lance Armstrong has apparently confessed to doping to Oprah. (Forgive me Oprah, for I have sinned.)

I stood there in the near dark clutching something that used to mean so much to me. It had been given to me by a member of the Livestrong organization three years after I had survived cancer.  It stood for victory: Victory over a disease that could have very easily killed me. Victory over fear. Victory because I now had hope of survival.

Of course, the person who inspired that hope was Armstrong. His story was a story of legend. Not only did he have a foot in the grave with testicular cancer, he was up to his neck in the grave. And we all know the rest of the story: He went on to win one of the toughest athletic challenges in the world — the Tour de France — seven times.

He became a legend in the sports world. And to us cancer survivors, well, he stood for something even bigger.

He didn’t just survive cancer. He thrived.

We all know now that it was based on a lie. He doped. He intimidated people who tried to blow the whistle on him. He acted generally like an ass.  Not only did he cheat death, he cheated life. It’s hell when you find out your heroes have feet of clay.

I’ve met Armstrong once.  He was brusk and in a hurry.  Not a lovable, gregarious sort of person by any means. But I thanked him for the hope he gave me.  I meant it. And I’d say the same thing today.

Because even though his legend he created was based on a lie, that hope I felt was very real. And it is still with me.

I put the bracelet back in the drawer and rubbed the scar on my side.  And then I thought about Lance’s interview with Oprah (which I will watch). I hope the Livestrong Foundation survives Lance’s lying. Their mission is bigger than one person’s idiocy and ethical shortcomings.

As for Lance, he made his bed. He’ll now have to sleep in it. But as a cancer survivor, I am appreciative of the message, even though the messenger turned out to be so tragically flawed.

I’ll continue to live strong.  I’ll just find my inspiration somewhere else.