I drove over to Columbia this morning for an 8am ride with Patrick. I think we both suspected we'd be the only ones for a ride down to maeystown. Instead, Glen, Mike, Joe, Amy and David all showed up as well. We had our usual "timely" start as we left at almost 8:30. Perfect for what was to be a sweltering day. It must have been a bad omen when many of the early miles were on freshly gravel-laden roads. Eventually the roads cleared but the temps continued to rise. We kept a pretty good pace on the way out and "The Sweet Shoppe" got assaulted by 7 very thirsty cyclists. After clearing the joint out of gatorade and taking healthy portions of water and soda, we relaxed and talked for a while.
Mike asked if anyone was interested in doing an extra 12 mile loop down to Fults. Amy and Patrick were smart and headed back to Columbia. My body said no too but I gave in with the assurance that Mike only planned on spinning. My legs were very heavy when we headed out. At first the pace was fairly easy but a few miles in the speed creeped up. Not outrageously but steadily. By the time we got back to Maeystown Rd I began to wilt like a week old rose. I drifted off the back. They eased up. I drifted off again and Mike paced me back. We made it back to the Valmeyer ball fields and we stopped for water and another break. The water was cold and felt real good and made for a great impromptu shower. I gulped down a couple bottles of water and we rested for a good time before continuing on.
Somewhat refreshed I hung with the others for a few more miles before fading again. I waved Glen, the last guy, past and said I was alright and the four remaining rode away. I could turn the pedals but with little strength and only at my own pace. A couple miles later Joe stopped and waited. He pulled me the rest of the way back. My mind slowly descended into the beginnings of a dreamland. Bonkville. You turn the pedals almost unconsciously. There is no thinking. The body is on auto-pilot, nose-diving toward a crash landing.
By the time we arrived at the shopping center I was still aware of things around me but my body was just a shell of its normal self. Amy was good enough to have gatorades waiting for us. It was no cure-all but it helped me get home. First thing I did was sit down in the shower and let the cool water beat down on my body. After drying off I stepped on the scale. Friday I weighed about 155 and figured I lost maybe 2-3 lbs on yesterdays easy ride. After the shower, I was down to 145. I figure I lost at least 7-8 lbs today. Maybe a little more. Five hrs later and I still don't feel great. I'm weak, with some muscle cramping and a little lightheadedness. Taking that extra was REALLY dumb on my part. It was a nice loop but all that was accomplished was beating my body into submission.
News Item of the Day: PARIS (AP) -- He stood stock still, right hand covering his heart, and listened to his national anthem being played along the wide boulevard of the Champs-Elysees for a seventh and final time. And just like that, it was over.
The moment Lance Armstrong had alternately dreaded and dreamed about in the deepest reaches of his competitive soul hit him full force. He stared straight ahead and drew his lips tight, the only way he knew to keep the tears from being loosed.
"For you people who don't believe in cycling, the cynics and the skeptics, I'm sorry for you,'' Armstrong began, standing on the top step of the podium at the Tour de France for the last time. ``I'm sorry you can't dream big and I'm sorry you don't believe in miracles. ... There are no secrets. This is a hard sporting event and hard work wins it.
"So, vive le Tour,'' he paused and added, ``Forever.''
So few champions walk away at exactly the right moment that we should applaud whenever one does with wallet and limbs intact, sublime skills undiminished, and enough time to make a dent in the fortune he collected.
That was the way baseball's Sandy Koufax and football's Jim Brown left. Ted Williams hit the 521st home run of a spectacular career in his final at-bat and John Elway retired with the MVP trophy in the second of back-to-back Super Bowl wins. And talk about going out with a bang: Rocky Marciano knocked out Archie Moore to make it 49 wins in 49 fights, then slid between the ring ropes for the final time.
That's pretty much the short list of great champions who left at the top of their game. Much longer is the one that begins with Michael Jordan, who came back twice when once would have been more than enough, and Willie Mays, who staggered under fly balls in the twilight of his career at age 42 and said sadly afterward, ``Growing old is a helpless hurt.''
In the case of Muhammad Ali and a string of boxers who didn't know when to call it quits, that became literally true.
Armstrong, on the other hand, is in no danger of damaging anything but his waistline from here on out. And when an interviewer from the Outdoor Life Network stuck a microphone in his face Sunday and asked, "What's your next stop?'' the Texan had a ready answer.
"The retirement home,'' Armstrong quipped.
But more likely, after some serious partying Sunday night in the City of Lights, he'll be heading for the beach at Nice for more R&R and as much cold beer as his heart desires. After that, Armstrong will resume his tireless advocacy on behalf of cancer survivors and keep his hand in cycling as an owner of the Discovery Channel team. He has three young children if driving the carpool seems attractive and if Armstrong still harbors any desire to hit the road now and then, he can make good on his promise to string the guitars for rock star girlfriend Sheryl Crow when she goes on tour.
The average pro cyclist logs enough training miles each year to circle the globe, and as the unprecedented seven straight wins Armstrong rolled to attest, he is anything but average. Whether he proves half as good at retirement remains to be seen, but at least he's off to a promising start.
On the April morning when Armstrong ended months of speculation about his future by announcing this would be his last Tour, he talked about how he hoped it would play out.
"Whenever I watch sport, whatever sport it may happen to be, I love to see the guy go out on top,'' he said at the time. "I would love to do that.''
On the day he turned that longing into fact, Armstrong also talked about being inspired by champions from other sports -- Jordan, Tiger Woods, Wayne Gretzky and Andre Agassi -- and called them "guys that you look up to, guys that have been at the top of their game for a long time.''
But in quieter moments, he's mentioned Jordan's departure and return -- the second time -- as a kind of cautionary tale. And while Gretzky appeared on the same OLN telecast of the race back in States, saying, "the greatest time to retire for a professional athlete is when the public says, 'He could have went another year,'' he didn't take his own advice.
Armstrong knew even more intimately what happened to the quartet of five-time Tour de France champions -- Eddy Merckx of Belgium, Miguel Indurain of Spain and Frenchmen Jacques Anquetil -- whose careers ended on their bikes, too old, too spent or too little prepared for the sacrifices demanded by the most grueling test in sport. Armstrong was not about to be caught out that way.
On the train ride Sunday morning to Corbeil-Essonnes, before launching on the final stage race into Paris, Armstrong demonstrated one final time he was leaving with no stone left unturned. He spotted two reporters he'd known for a while, and after first begging off from any conversation, he turned to one and said, "I'm ready to answer your question.''
"Which question,'' he was asked.
"The one you asked me in 1999.''
The query came just before the tour started that year, the first in Armstrong's seven straight. The reporter had forgotten it.
"You asked me if I could ride the Tour,'' Armstrong said, grinning. "I think I've answered the question.''
Mike asked if anyone was interested in doing an extra 12 mile loop down to Fults. Amy and Patrick were smart and headed back to Columbia. My body said no too but I gave in with the assurance that Mike only planned on spinning. My legs were very heavy when we headed out. At first the pace was fairly easy but a few miles in the speed creeped up. Not outrageously but steadily. By the time we got back to Maeystown Rd I began to wilt like a week old rose. I drifted off the back. They eased up. I drifted off again and Mike paced me back. We made it back to the Valmeyer ball fields and we stopped for water and another break. The water was cold and felt real good and made for a great impromptu shower. I gulped down a couple bottles of water and we rested for a good time before continuing on.
Somewhat refreshed I hung with the others for a few more miles before fading again. I waved Glen, the last guy, past and said I was alright and the four remaining rode away. I could turn the pedals but with little strength and only at my own pace. A couple miles later Joe stopped and waited. He pulled me the rest of the way back. My mind slowly descended into the beginnings of a dreamland. Bonkville. You turn the pedals almost unconsciously. There is no thinking. The body is on auto-pilot, nose-diving toward a crash landing.
By the time we arrived at the shopping center I was still aware of things around me but my body was just a shell of its normal self. Amy was good enough to have gatorades waiting for us. It was no cure-all but it helped me get home. First thing I did was sit down in the shower and let the cool water beat down on my body. After drying off I stepped on the scale. Friday I weighed about 155 and figured I lost maybe 2-3 lbs on yesterdays easy ride. After the shower, I was down to 145. I figure I lost at least 7-8 lbs today. Maybe a little more. Five hrs later and I still don't feel great. I'm weak, with some muscle cramping and a little lightheadedness. Taking that extra was REALLY dumb on my part. It was a nice loop but all that was accomplished was beating my body into submission.
News Item of the Day: PARIS (AP) -- He stood stock still, right hand covering his heart, and listened to his national anthem being played along the wide boulevard of the Champs-Elysees for a seventh and final time. And just like that, it was over.
The moment Lance Armstrong had alternately dreaded and dreamed about in the deepest reaches of his competitive soul hit him full force. He stared straight ahead and drew his lips tight, the only way he knew to keep the tears from being loosed.
"For you people who don't believe in cycling, the cynics and the skeptics, I'm sorry for you,'' Armstrong began, standing on the top step of the podium at the Tour de France for the last time. ``I'm sorry you can't dream big and I'm sorry you don't believe in miracles. ... There are no secrets. This is a hard sporting event and hard work wins it.
"So, vive le Tour,'' he paused and added, ``Forever.''
So few champions walk away at exactly the right moment that we should applaud whenever one does with wallet and limbs intact, sublime skills undiminished, and enough time to make a dent in the fortune he collected.
That was the way baseball's Sandy Koufax and football's Jim Brown left. Ted Williams hit the 521st home run of a spectacular career in his final at-bat and John Elway retired with the MVP trophy in the second of back-to-back Super Bowl wins. And talk about going out with a bang: Rocky Marciano knocked out Archie Moore to make it 49 wins in 49 fights, then slid between the ring ropes for the final time.
That's pretty much the short list of great champions who left at the top of their game. Much longer is the one that begins with Michael Jordan, who came back twice when once would have been more than enough, and Willie Mays, who staggered under fly balls in the twilight of his career at age 42 and said sadly afterward, ``Growing old is a helpless hurt.''
In the case of Muhammad Ali and a string of boxers who didn't know when to call it quits, that became literally true.
Armstrong, on the other hand, is in no danger of damaging anything but his waistline from here on out. And when an interviewer from the Outdoor Life Network stuck a microphone in his face Sunday and asked, "What's your next stop?'' the Texan had a ready answer.
"The retirement home,'' Armstrong quipped.
But more likely, after some serious partying Sunday night in the City of Lights, he'll be heading for the beach at Nice for more R&R and as much cold beer as his heart desires. After that, Armstrong will resume his tireless advocacy on behalf of cancer survivors and keep his hand in cycling as an owner of the Discovery Channel team. He has three young children if driving the carpool seems attractive and if Armstrong still harbors any desire to hit the road now and then, he can make good on his promise to string the guitars for rock star girlfriend Sheryl Crow when she goes on tour.
The average pro cyclist logs enough training miles each year to circle the globe, and as the unprecedented seven straight wins Armstrong rolled to attest, he is anything but average. Whether he proves half as good at retirement remains to be seen, but at least he's off to a promising start.
On the April morning when Armstrong ended months of speculation about his future by announcing this would be his last Tour, he talked about how he hoped it would play out.
"Whenever I watch sport, whatever sport it may happen to be, I love to see the guy go out on top,'' he said at the time. "I would love to do that.''
On the day he turned that longing into fact, Armstrong also talked about being inspired by champions from other sports -- Jordan, Tiger Woods, Wayne Gretzky and Andre Agassi -- and called them "guys that you look up to, guys that have been at the top of their game for a long time.''
But in quieter moments, he's mentioned Jordan's departure and return -- the second time -- as a kind of cautionary tale. And while Gretzky appeared on the same OLN telecast of the race back in States, saying, "the greatest time to retire for a professional athlete is when the public says, 'He could have went another year,'' he didn't take his own advice.
Armstrong knew even more intimately what happened to the quartet of five-time Tour de France champions -- Eddy Merckx of Belgium, Miguel Indurain of Spain and Frenchmen Jacques Anquetil -- whose careers ended on their bikes, too old, too spent or too little prepared for the sacrifices demanded by the most grueling test in sport. Armstrong was not about to be caught out that way.
On the train ride Sunday morning to Corbeil-Essonnes, before launching on the final stage race into Paris, Armstrong demonstrated one final time he was leaving with no stone left unturned. He spotted two reporters he'd known for a while, and after first begging off from any conversation, he turned to one and said, "I'm ready to answer your question.''
"Which question,'' he was asked.
"The one you asked me in 1999.''
The query came just before the tour started that year, the first in Armstrong's seven straight. The reporter had forgotten it.
"You asked me if I could ride the Tour,'' Armstrong said, grinning. "I think I've answered the question.''
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