A boo is a lot louder than a cheer. If you have 10 people cheering and one person booing, all you hear is the booing.
At this point of my life, I’m not out to protect anybody. I’m out to protect seven people, and they all have the last name Armstrong.
There was more happiness in the process, in the build, in the preparation. The winning was almost phoned in.
My career is going to be played out year by year. Will I be here in 2004? I don’t know. The record won’t keep me here. Happiness will.
Losing and dying: it’s the same thing.
Nothing goes to waste, you put it all to use, the old wounds and long-ago slights become the stuff of competitive energy.
Nobody wants to hear how I think I’ve been mistreated, or how I think my punishment should be lifted, or tweaked, or reduced. Nobody wants to hear me say that, nobody cares what I think about this. I get it.
I’ve given gifts in the Tour de France and it’s come back to bit me. So no gifts.
A bicycle is the long-sought means of transportation for all of us who have runaway hearts.
For 15 years I was a complete arsehole to a dozen people. I said I would try and make it right with those people, and anybody that gave me an audience, I was there.
You know what they say, the high trees get the wind.
I didn’t live a lot of lies, but I lived one big one.
When I made the decision – when my team-mates made that decision, when the whole peloton made that decision – it was a bad decision and an imperfect time. But it happened.
The idea that anybody was forced, or pressured, or encouraged, is not true.
It’s ironic, I used to ride my bike to make a living. Now I just want to live so that I can ride.
The unwillingness to accept anything short of victory, that underlying fury, is the fundamental building block of my bottomless motivation to succeed. It is my credo in all that I do in life from battling cancer to bicycle racing.
No one automatically gives you respect just because you show up. You have to earn it.
We sped on, across the plains, toward Metz. I hung back, saving myself. It is called the Race of Truth. The early stages separate the strong riders from the weak. Now the weak would be eliminated altogether.
Me and running don’t always see eye to eye. Some days it hurts more than others. But it doesn’t mean I don’t do it. I deal with it and I keep running because not everything that is good for you, always feels good for you.
The last thing I’ll say for the people that don’t believe in cycling, the cynics and the sceptics, I’m sorry for you. I’m sorry you can’t dream big and I’m sorry you don’t believe in miracles...