Lance Armstrong quits Livestrong

As a cyclist who most years logged more kilometres on two wheels than on four, I've followed Lance Armstrong's career with great interest. Who, after all, could not be moved by the story of a man who beat cancer, became the world's dominant cyclist by winning its toughest event for seven years running, and created and led a foundation that's generated huge amounts of funding and, just as critically, support and inspiration for those whose lives have been touched by cancer?

He was always larger than life, a swaggering, focused force for the things we all hold near and dear. We wanted to believe. In his cause. In him.

Sadly, it's become nearly impossible to believe. While he had been dogged throughout his career by allegations of doping, he steadfastly denied them, saying he had never failed a test in his life. Earlier this year he decided to walk away from his appeal of a U.S. Anti-Doping Agency agency investigation, a move that led to his being stripped of his Tour de France titles.

Now, he's resigned as head of Livestrong, the organization he founded to help cancer survivors and fund research into a cure. He's still denying it all, but in the face of a huge trove of evidence released last week, it's clear this was far more than a few European riders ticked off at the American interloper. The allegations point toward a systematic process designed to fool the system and gain competitive advantage. It made doping the norm, not the exception, in a sport that's already endured more than its fair share of shame.

I still want to believe, of course. Because the Tour de France championships mean nothing. They're trophies, mere doodads awarded for crossing a line first. It's the folks who revolve around his foundation who concern me most. When you're diagnosed, you need all the inspiration you can get. You hold onto those icons of goodness, the heroes who've been there before and can show you the way now. You need to believe. In something. In someone.

Lance Armstrong, who was that someone for so many for so long, no longer is. Victims of cancer, their family members, their friends, and their support systems now have one less hero. And I'm sure they all, like me, wish otherwise.

Sure, he's human. And like the rest of us, he's flawed. Yet doping scandal and all, he's managed to create an organization that's raised massive amounts of money for cancer research, and awareness for the rest of us. A world without him would be far worse off.

As some among us revel in dragging the one-time do-no-wrong rider's name through the mud, I hope we'll instead focus on the elusive concept of balance. There's no excusing cheating in sport. Ever. But to a kid in a hospital wondering about what comes next, perhaps any hero, flawed and all, is preferable to none in the first place.