Armstrong, Lance Every Second Counts (2003)

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of the Pyrenean stages, shortly before Luz Ardiden, Kik sent me a text message. She d had a dream that
I was riding up a mountain. But hitched to the back of my bike was a cart, and in the cart were
people cancer survivors, sponsors, well-wishers and I was trying to pull all of them up the hill. In her
dream, she wrote, I unhooked the harness and rode away. Throw off the weights that are holding you
back, she urged.
Kik was right. I was trying to pull this thing along, and feeling too much weight. It was a message that
meant a lot, and I saved it.
On the evening before Luz Ardiden, Bill Stapleton came to visit me, and he told me something else that
encouraged me. We talked about how close the race was, and how much pressure I was feeling. Bill just
stared at me calmly, and said, Dude, you re the guy who makes the eight ball.
I didn t know what he meant. The eight ball, I repeated.
Clear the table, he said. Eight ball, corner pocket. You call it, you make it.
That night, I slept soundly, and the next morning, I woke up feeling well, better than I had since the Tour
began. I went down to the team bus for a cup of coffee. I think I m back, I told Johan.
I sipped my coffee and thought about Luz Ardiden. Ullrich and his Bianchi team director, Rudy
Pevenage, were telling everyone that he would lead the race by the time we reached the summit. I was
going to lose the Tour that day, thanks to them, they said.
As I sat on the bus still sipping coffee and thinking, one of our operations managers, Geert Duffy, came
over and told me a story. The year before, Pevenage had asked him for a souvenir yellow jersey. Duffy
had promised to get one for him, but then forgot. Now that Ullrich was within 15 seconds of me,
Pevenage had gone looking for Duffy.
Hey, Duffy don tworry about that jersey, he said, because we re going to get our own.
I listened as Duffy told me the story. I put my cup down.
The Tour is over, I said. And I walked out of the bus.
It helped to know their plans. Now I had plans of my own. At the start line, I saw Tyler Hamilton. Be
ready, I said. Cause I m going.
It was my last chance. After Luz Ardiden, there would be just one more critical stage, a time trial to
Nantes, and Ullrich had already beaten me once in a time trial. I didn t want to go toNanteswith only a
15-second lead. I needed to gain some time in this final mountaintop stage.
It was perhaps the longest, hardest climbing day of the Tour. When we passed over the massive
Tourmalet, Ullrich briefly got away, with a shock attack. I decided not to waste energy going after him,
but preferred to let him work. Gradually, I reeled him in again as his tempo slowed. We fell back into a
group with Mayo and Vinokourov and swung down into another descent.
Finally, after five hours on the bikes, we reached the foot of Luz Ardiden and the pace quickened, and
a kind of sparring match on bikes began.
Iban Mayo attacked. I leaped up and countered the attack, and passed him.
Now I was in front. I darted up the road. Where was Ullrich? I wondered. I hoped he was paying for
the Tourmalet.
In my ear Johan said calmly, Ullrich is dropped.
Behind me, Ullrichlagged, pain on his face. He churned upward, but he couldn t match the acceleration.
Ten seconds, Johan said. I felt a small bloom of excitement.
I lunged at the pedals, scaling the mountain, thinking about putting empty road between myself and
Ullrich. I hugged the side of the route, cutting every corner. I skimmed past spectators, barely noticing
them . . .
A flash of yellow caught my eye. A small kid was holding a yellow Tour souvenir bag, whipping it back
and forth.
Uh-oh, I m going to catch that thing,I thought.
Suddenly, the bag was tangled on the handle of my brake. I felt the bike jerk violently beneath me
It flipped over sideways.
It was as though I had been garroted. I went straight down, and landed on my right hip, hard.I ve
crashed?Now? I thought, incredulously.How could I have crashed?
My next thought was,Well, the Tour s over. It s too much, too many things gone wrong.
But another thought intruded.
Get up.
It was the same thought that had prodded me during all those long months I d spent in a hospital bed.
After surgery.Get up.After chemo.Get up. It had whispered to me, and nudged me, and poked me, and
now here it was again.Get . . . up.
I got up. Johan said later it looked as though I d bounced back to my feet almost instantaneously, like a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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