It was not lost on me that the setting for Act III would be his emptying manse. It was as if I was there to see his superhero emblem being stripped from his chest. In the previous acts, he never would have let me witness these humbling moments.
“I didn’t cheat,” he tells me. “Who got cheated?”
He proclaims Jan Ullrich, the German, as cycling’s strongest rider. (Several weeks later, Ullrich will admit to doping during his career and say that Armstrong should have his Tour titles reinstated because doping was so prevalent.) Yet Armstrong perennially left Ullrich in his slipstream. No, not by cheating, he says, but rather by organizing his team better—training harder and more ruthlessly, and with meticulous attention to detail. Armstrong said it all so casually he might have been saying the sky was blue. He ran his team like a high-powered corporation. That’s how he won. It wasn’t the drugs, he says. Ullrich had the drugs, too.
“If people think I cheated to win the Tour de France,” Armstrong says, “they’re fucking dumb. I didn’t cheat.”
You broke the rules.
“I did, but we all did,” he says. “All two hundred guys that started the race broke the rules.”
Isn’t that cheating?
Again he fixed that stare on me. It pretty much said I was fucking dumb.
I ask if he was sorry.
No answer.
I ask if he had ever felt apologetic about anything in his life, ever.
He laughs. “I’m sure there have been plenty of moments.”
He is sorry he came out of retirement to push his luck and ride the Tour in 2009 and 2010. If he hadn’t come back, he believes, he never would have been caught.
He is sorry he hadn’t been nicer to Floyd Landis and was sorry that he didn’t remain silent after Tyler Hamilton appeared on 60 Minutes to talk about the doping on the Postal Service team. Instead, he and his public relations team attacked Hamilton as an idiot and liar. “That was over the top,” Armstrong says. He was also sorry that he called Emma O’Reilly a whore when he testified under oath in the SCA Promotions case. “I didn’t know it was going to be broadcast all over the world,” he says.
He isn’t sorry for lying. Not for the original lie or any other in the cycle of lies that followed. “We all would have lied,” he says. “You would have lied.”
In 1999, he sat in front of reporters at the Tour and made his first denial of doping. After that, he says, he could never turn back—he had to keep denying. But, really, he says, everybody would have done what he did. You, me, the guy down the street—if it meant you could win the Tour de France, anybody and everybody would have denied doping. In Lance Armstrong’s moral universe, anyone will sell his or her soul to win.
“Nobody would have said, ‘Well, you know, since you asked me that question, I might as well tell you the truth,’ ” he tells me. “I should have just had a quiet denial.”
Instead, he has spent years shouting denials and confronting critics and filing lawsuits to quiet anyone who dared question him. It was not in his nature as a rider to dismount and walk his bike down the road past Joseba Beloki in the 2003 Tour de France, nor in his personality to accept accusations in silence. So he attacked anyone who went public with reports of his doping, and still hasn’t spoken with Tygart since their meeting in Denver. Was there anyone, I ask, who could have and should have censored him? Anyone who could’ve saved him from himself?
“It probably should’ve been Bill,” he says, naming his agent. “I think Bill could’ve said we need to not be picking any fights here because that’s Pandora’s box. I think we all felt invincible. ‘Yeah, fuck, just call them fucking liars, yeah!’ ”
Most of the people who testified against him in the USADA case, including his former teammates, have received especially cruel treatment from Armstrong.
He calls Hamilton “an ungrateful, selfish prick” who hid his recklessness behind his preppy New England upbringing. While the Postal Service team doped during the season, with the help of team doctors and team personnel, Hamilton’s doping calendars revealed that he doped even in the winter, even on Christmas Eve. “He’s the exact opposite of the image he portrays,” Armstrong says.
He calls Zabriskie a classic follower who trailed Landis around “like a little puppy” and did whatever Landis did. He scoffs at Frankie Andreu, a former doper who came to be considered one of the good guys. (Andreu now works as a cycling team director.) How antidoping can Andreu be, Armstrong asks, if the lead rider on his team, Francisco “Paco” Mancebo, is one of the riders implicated in a Spanish doping ring, an athlete who maintains his innocence but is thought to have stored more blood bags than anyone else implicated in that scandal?
“No good guys and bad guys,” Armstrong says. “We’ve all done something wrong. I handled myself in the wrong way and I’m paying for it.”
He still has friends, even some, like George Hincapie, whose damning testimony can be found in USADA’s report. The day after the report was published, Armstrong sent Hincapie a text: “How are you doing?” The two had won seven Tours together, and are sticking together.
Hincapie is saddened that the killer in Lance Armstrong has been silenced, and that he was one of the main reasons for it. He didn’t think it was fair, the way USADA used him to take down Armstrong. The two talk often and commiserate over how ridiculous it is that they have been singled out in a sport with such a rich doping past. It’s even more ridiculous, they say, to see Landis considered a proponent of antidoping.
“That,” Hincapie says, is “like Osama bin Laden hosting an antiterrorism conference.”
When I ask about Armstrong’s family, he tells me he hasn’t seen his father in nearly forty years. He insists that he never, not even once, asked his mother about his father or that side of the family. Why would he have gone to the funeral?
“Ninety percent of what I know about that family I’ve read from her book,” he says.
I ask the question a dozen different ways. I wonder if his turning his back on his father, and basically saying he had never been a Gunderson, was the denial that began the pattern of lies that would come to symbolize his life.
You never were curious about your dad? You never thought about him or his family? You never wondered about your roots?
He stops me midsentence. “You’re asking me a question,” he says. “ ‘Did it ever cross my mind to look up those people?’ I’m going to answer the question, then I’m going to follow up. The answer is no. You are asking me, so I’m thinking about it now: No. I mean, I go on long bike rides and think and never in my life have I said, I got to go home and find these people. Never. The follow-up is maybe that means I’m just extremely fucked up. I don’t know.”
I ask about his adoptive father, Terry Armstrong, and he stops me again. “Terry Armstrong was batshit crazy, certifiable, eew! So weird, such a weirdo. I’ll never talk to him again.”
Does he remember anything about Terry coaching him or pushing him as an athlete?
No, Armstrong says. He doesn’t remember ever playing youth football or Terry being involved with his sports. “I do remember him showing up here at the ride in Austin and we had to call the police to have him escorted out. Oh, yeah, he was making a lot of people very uncomfortable.”
By the time I arrived in Austin, Armstrong had lost his status as the city’s superstar. The mayor had removed Armstrong’s autographed yellow Tour de France jersey from a trophy case in city hall. There is talk of renaming the city’s main bike route, which is now called the Lance Armstrong Bikeway. Once, people were proud of him. Now, when he tried and failed to enter a U.S. Masters swimming race here in the spring of 2013, the registrar saw his application and said, “This poor guy has the same name as Lance Armstrong, the cyclist. Oh, how unfortunate.”
All that, Armstrong can take. He can rebuild his life. But it’s going to be tough without the blood rush of competition. As it stands, his lifetime ban from Olympic sporting events means he is disqualified from most running ev
ents, triathlons and swimming meets.
But Armstrong is convinced that a lifetime ban in cycling doesn’t mean his athletic career is over. The way he and his lawyers see it, it’s only a few years before he’ll be free to compete in another sport, before he’ll return to triathlons and win the Ironman World Championship. “It’s fucking rock and roll, baby,” he says.
The thought stirs in him the old urge to bend the future his way. As he sits on his couch, under those yellow jerseys, reminders of who he had once been and what he had once accomplished, I see Armstrong’s hands curling into fists.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book exists because my former editors at the New York Times, Tom Jolly and Kristin Huckshorn, assigned me to write about Tyler Hamilton, who tested positive for blood doping in 2004. That story kicked off years of reporting about cycling, doping and Lance Armstrong. Tom and Kristin, I am grateful for your guidance. Thanks to you and Jill Abramson for bringing me to the paper, an exhilarating place to work. I am also indebted to those editors who approved my leave for this project: Joe Sexton and Phil Corbett for their initial go-ahead, and Jason Stallman and Janet Elder for their blessing. Jason, I appreciate your ongoing support, encouragement and sense of humor. Janet, you are a lifesaver.
I am so lucky to have such exceptional colleagues, including Harvey Araton, Filip Bondy, John Branch, Joe Drape, Sandy Keenan, Jeré Longman, Bill Rhoden and George Vecsey. They told me to write this book because “It’s so easy!” They lied, but I forgive them. Special thanks to Fern Turkowitz and Terri Ann Glynn, who always have my back, and to Patty LaDuca, backfield editor extraordinaire and fellow Jersey girl, who stood by my side throughout the Armstrong coverage. Sandy Padwe, my former professor at Columbia Journalism School, provided invaluable advice. He has guided me through every big career decision, and I’ve relied on him so many times that it’s not even funny. Thank you, Sandy, for always being right.
When assigned to cover the Tour de France and Giro d’Italia, I would have been lost if not for the help of generous people. The talented Bonnie Ford has been a wonderful friend. Ian Austin, Rolf Aldag, Connie Carpenter, Davis Phinney, Bob Stapleton, and Matt White were great resources. The wonderful band of brothers and sisters who cover cycling were kind in sharing their knowledge and offering friendship.
I appreciate the people with ties to Lance Armstrong who let me bombard them with questions. Some didn’t want their names used, but their insights guided me. Some allowed me to quote them at length and spend days following them. They include Jonathan Vaughters, David Zabriskie, Allen Lim, Betsy Andreu, Micki Rawlings and J.T. Neal and his family, Frances, Scott and Caroline. Thank you for trusting me with your stories.
All that reporting would never have become a book if not for my plucky agent, PJ Mark at Janklow & Nesbit, who is an unparalleled advocate. PJ, you were a delight to work with, as were all of Janklow’s phenomenal people, especially Dorothy Vincent, Bennett Ashley, Stefanie Lieberman and Marya Spence.
My eternal gratitude to Jonathan Burnham and David Hirshey at HarperCollins for bringing this book to life. Thank you, David, for putting your confidence in me early on. You and Barry Harbaugh helped distill this book into the best narrative it could be, and I’m grateful to you both. Thanks also to others at HarperCollins: Fabio Bertoni and Elissa Cohen for their valuable counsel; Tom Cherwin for his meticulous copyediting; Tina Andreadis, a Barnard sister; Katie O’Callaghan and Kate Blum for their energetic marketing and publicity efforts; and the incomparable Sydney Pierce for cracking the whip.
How can I ever thank my friends and relatives who for years have heard me drone on about cycling? Wendy Dalchau, Rose Greco, Cynthia Grilli, Catherine Ivey, Sylvia Curiel and Jade-Snow and David Joachim deserve awards. Medals for exemplary moral support should go to Christine Macur; Rich, Debbie, David, Daniel, Meghan and Caleb Macur; Christina and Carmine Fiore; Lili Lewandowski; Fran Angiola; my father-in-law, David Michaels; and Teresa Mendoza. My mom, Leokadia, and my mother-in-law, Angela Michaels, were super nannies while I was out reporting. Big hugs to Wendy and Cynthia for opening their homes to me. Another big hug to Rose, who, as she often reminds me, was responsible for my becoming a writer instead of a lawyer.
I was fortunate enough that two of my best friends, Roxanna and Andy Scott, helped with this project. Andy, you are a phenomenal photographer and the best photo editor anyone could want. Roxanna, you are an amazing person, a better friend than I deserve, and the most exacting fact-checker ever. I love you both.
There’s no way I could ever give enough thanks to Dave Kindred for his help as the first reader on this book, the man who talked me through bouts of writer’s block and an ever-patient friend. It seems like yesterday that he told me, “You won’t have to write about NASCAR forever.” I cried with happiness. More than fifteen years later, Dave is still making me cry, but only with gratitude that he has remained my mentor. I feel that I won the jackpot. Without him as a guide, I never could have finished this book, especially on such a tight schedule. Next up, climbing our second fourteener!
I have been blessed to have truly amazing parents, Poles who survived the Nazi forced labor camps in Germany and came to the United States with nothing but their faith in God, determined to build a new life.
My father, Zbigniew, has told me for years that I should write a book. One about Armstrong, a serial liar with a mouth of a sailor, probably isn’t what he had in mind. Still, I will never feel more accomplished than the moment I hand him and my mother inscribed copies.
Thank you, Tata—the world’s greatest soccer player—for sitting with me all those Saturdays while we watched Olympic sports on television. Thank you more for supporting me as an athlete. Your job as a diesel mechanic was not easy and not what you wanted to do with your life, but it gave you the chance to come to my afternoon games and meets. Having you watch over me made me feel so special.
I’ll always remember our time together playing sports that mattered, and even some that didn’t: All those trips to the track to practice hurdling and long jumping. The laid-back sessions of catch during which you taught me to throw a baseball like a rocket. The countless hours we spent shooting hoops. You are an incredible coach and father because you were always upbeat and treated me the same, whether I won or lost, and whether I performed well or not. I fell in love with sports because you made them fun.
Thank you also to my warmhearted and beautiful mother for being my biggest fan. Even when I’d lose a basketball game or a rowing race, she’d applaud with such vigor, it was as if I’d just won an Olympic gold medal. I couldn’t ask for a better cheerleader. Everyone should have a mother like her, someone who believes that everything you write—even the 100-word briefs—should win a Pulitzer. Mama, I love you and Tata so very much. You are the world’s best role models and will forever be my heroes.
The greatest blessings in this good life that my parents made possible are my husband, Dave Michaels, who I love more each day, and our daughter, Allegra, who makes my heart burst with joy. Our Labrador retriever, Chopper, is the best writing partner and foot warmer I could ask for.
Thank you, Dave, for performing daily superhero miracles while I wrote this book. You worked ten-plus hours a day as a brilliant journalist, then kept our household going. What would Allegra, Chopper and I have done without you? Lesser men would have cracked when I took my thousandth phone call about Armstrong, but you remained understanding. You are our guardian angel, the best husband, the best papa and the ballast of our family.
Allegra, someday you’ll read this, and I hope you understand that the most valuable hours of this project were the hours I spent with you. In those happy times, you inspired Mama. I love you more than words can say.
NOTES
The pagination of this electronic edition does not match the edition from which it was created. To locate a specific entry, please use your e-book reader’s search tools.
This book was compiled from information gathered over nearly ten years, from
2004 through the end of 2013, with the bulk of it reported from January to October 2013. The interviews of Armstrong and more than 130 people connected to him took place at cycling races, at people’s homes, in hotel lobbies and in restaurants—and once atop a frozen lake, ice-fishing in Colorado. Some sessions were done on the phone, but most were conducted in person, and many occurred over many hours, over multiple days. Some of the people I interviewed did not want to have their names used for fear of retribution from Armstrong, who they believe continues to wield power in the sport of cycling, and/or in the community because of the work he has done for cancer awareness. Where there are attributed quotes in the text that are not cited in these notes, they derive from personal interviews.
PROLOGUE
A majority of the information used in this section was derived from my one-on-one interview with Lance Armstrong on June 6, 2013, and from subsequent interviews in 2013 with his friends and former colleagues in Austin, Texas.
1 The $10 million estate: Suzanne Halliburton and Shonda Novak, “Austin Home Sold to Oil Businessman,” Austin American-Statesman, April 11, 2003.
3 His sponsors have abandoned him: Juliet Macur and Ian Austen, “After the Tears, Some Questions Remain,” New York Times, January 19, 2013; Lance Armstrong interview with Oprah Winfrey, January 17 and 18, 2013.
3 He would owe more than $135 million: Armstrong is facing a $120 million payout if he loses a federal whistle-blower lawsuit. He faces at least two other possible major payouts—$12.5 million or more in a case against SCA Promotions, a company that paid him bonuses for several of his Tour wins, and $3 million in a case against Acceptance Insurance, another insurance company that paid him a bonus.
4 Trek’s revenue: Two people at the company said the revenue was about $300 million in the 1990s and was close to $950 million in 2012.
Cycle of Lies: The Fall of Lance Armstrong Page 35
