15 July 2003
Lance Armstrong, one of the most talented cyclists in the world, was diagnosed with testicular cancer in 1996. It had spread to his lungs and to his brain, and the 40% estimates doctors gave him were optimistic. Despite the gloom, he survived. And not only did he survive, he came back to win the Tour de France — possibly the toughest mainstream sporting event — not once, but four times. Right now he’s in a strong position to win it for a record-equalling fifth time. His book, It’s Not About The Bike, goes from childhood through to the first Tour win, with an unsurprising emphasis on the battle against cancer and the Tour.
…the old saying, that you should treat each day as if it was your last, was no help at all. The truth is, it’s a nice sentiment, but in practice it doesn’t work. If I lived only for the moment, I’d be a very amiable no-mark with a perpetual three-day growth on my chin. Trust me, I tried it.
Perhaps surprisingly, I’ve not read many sports books, and precisely two autobiographical ones: this, and Eamon Dunphy’s It’s Only A Game, a diary of half a season at Millwall. Both show the cycle of emotions in an athlete, elated one week and depressed the next, both proud men, but where Dunphy is bitter and cynical, Armstrong is determined and positive. It’s Not About The Bike isn’t exactly cheerful, detailing with painful honesty the low times in Armstrong’s life, but we know he comes out of it and wins, as a person and an athlete. This point’s been made many, many times, but it is an inspiring book. Armstrong freely admits that although he fought and fought, it’s likely there was a large element of luck in his recovery.
Cycling, like motor- and horse-racing, is a sport I’ve never really understood. I can understand running, but other forms of racing are lost to me. Although it’s not the main focus of the book (which should be obvious from the title), there’s a good deal of useful information about cycling for those a clueless as I. I discovered that team cycling events are curious beasts, because like other team sports, you have the grafters, men who don’t grab the headlines but are indispensable. In football we’re talking Didier Deschamps, Dietmar Hamann, Nicky Butt… ‘honest pros’ as Dunphy calls them; in rugby we’re talking forwards draining the opposition, sapping their energy to make space for the backs. In cycling those are the domestiques, men who block their leader from the wind and rain, lend him their bike, get drinks for him, and chase down would-be breakaways.
There is little about the drug scandals in cycling, which I’m marking down as a disappointment. Armstrong shows remarkable restraint towards the journalists who accused him of taking drugs, but doesn’t dish the dirt on other riders. While I can accept he’s still an active competitor, the sport’s been so dogged by these incidents that it would be good to hear a view from the inside. Especially considering his honesty elsewhere, I found this a curious omission. But no matter.
On the whole, it’s a fine book. I’m not the type of person who would normally be drawn to Armstrong, and he does come across as somewhat self-centred and arrogant. That’s why I’m just going to return it to the library, not buy it, not go yell at my friends to read it, just give it a quiet approval if an opinion is asked for.