A word about Lance.  It's hard not to be a little defensive about about Lance Armstrong's fall from grace.  Because I'm a cyclist, my cycling and non-cycling friends want my opinion of the latest news cycle; what do I think of Lance's plummet?

Though I try to deflect questioning, asserting I was a fan of professional cycling and things cycling while Lance was a still a teen-aged triathlete - still, I admired him.  I admired his focus and remorseless killer instinct.  I admired his triumph over cancer and his apparent redemption by returning to cycling.  When I, climbing a small grade on a short training ride, got up out of the saddle I always pictured Lance looking steely-eyed and fit and unstoppable.  I might be climbing a short 200 yard climb, but in my mind's eye I was Lance on the ascent Luz Ardiden. I became Lance.  Once, before we descended the Col d' Azet, my brother yelled "You be Lance Armstrong and I'll be Josebi Beloki."  I still think of that day every time I ride.

So Lance was doping.  I didn't want to believe it, I assigned the rumors of a few years ago to sour grapes.  But now that it seems the rumors are true, I'm not heartbroken.  Doping or not, the guy worked hard and if thinking of his efforts got me out the door or made me push a bigger gear, that's a good thing.  In the wake of his disgrace, I realize that all this time - attacking on the climb and rocking the bike beneath me - it was a little more me and little less Lance.