Lance Armstrong: The Biggest Cheat in History.

What makes a true sporting hero? Well, for starters, they need athletic prowess. They need supreme ability, unwavering dedication, and iron discipline. But this is pretty boring by itself. There's got to be more than this. There's got to be a story, a narrative we can get our teeth into, something to inspire and enthrall us. And Lance Armstrong had all of this. The man was electric on a bicycle. He won an unprecedented seven straight Tour de Frances and an Olympic medal to boot. And he had the story to go along with this. He was a superhuman figure who was a man who'd overcome personal tragedy and a shattering diagnosis and bounced back to become the undisputed king of road cycling. He was a global megastar who transcended his sport and he raised millions for people in desperate need. For a world in need of a hero, Lance Armstrong was the prepackaged Hollywood heartthrob and he was pretty much untouchable. But was he really untouchable? Or was this globe-spanning mega brand all built upon a lie? Was Lance Armstrong truly the greatest athlete ever to dawn a pair of tight-fitting Lycra shorts? Or was he the biggest cheat the sport has ever seen? This is the story of the remarkable rise and spectacular fall of one of the most controversial characters of the last 30 years. A man whose disgraced legacy is still debated to this day. Lance Armstrong.

Before Armstrong the pariah, there was Armstrong the megastar. And before Armstrong the megastar, there was Armstrong the man. Born in Richardson, Texas in 1971, Lance Armstrong showed athletic promise basically straight away. While still in his teens, Armstrong was ranked as the US's best triathlete in his age category. He became a pro triathlete, aged only 16, and won national titles in 1989 and 1990. By 1992, he'd narrowed down those three events to just one, cycling, and he'd gone pro again, this time with the Motorola cycling team. Still only 22, he won a stage at the prestigious Tour de France in 1993 and then scored first place in the World Road Race Championship that same year. Over the next couple of years, Armstrong kept on scooping wins and he became a key part of the Motorola team, one of the most exciting teams on the cycling circuit. So, we've already got our sporting prowess, but we're trying to find the origin of the story here of our hero, and we need something cinematic to go along with it. Well, in the summer of 1995, that story was about to begin in some truly tragic circumstances.

July 18th, 1995 was a dark day in the long history of the Tour de France. The competition was fierce as racers stormed through the 15th stage of that year's tour, descending from the Kiportetas at speeds of up to 60 mph. Among these riders was Armstrong's Motorola teammate, Fabio Casadelli. And like Armstrong, he was a promising young athlete. Casadelli was just 24 years of age and had only been a pro rider for a couple of years. Despite his youth though, he was no stranger to international glory. Before turning pro, he'd won gold as an amateur in the individual road race at the Barcelona Olympics in 1992. Now he was with the exciting Motorola team, competing in the biggest road race in the world. But he was seconds away from disaster. While negotiating a difficult turn, there was a sickening collision as at least five riders came together at dizzying speeds. It was immediately obvious that this was a serious incident. As television cameras rolled, riders lay sprawled across the tarmac. French athlete Dante Res was catapulted several meters into the ravine by the roadside and miraculously he got away with just a few cuts and bruises. But as race organizers and medical teams scrambled to help the stricken riders, it became clear that Fabio Casatelli was severely injured. Though doctors were with him in less than 10 seconds, Casatelli had sustained massive head trauma and had to be rushed to hospital by helicopter. He never made it. Fabio Castatelli died aboard the helicopter. Astonishingly, he had not been wearing a helmet. Mandatory head protection would not be introduced in the Tour de France for another eight years. Even the loss of a promising and popular young rider like Casatelli was not enough to force a change. But while Casatelli's passing did nothing to change safety protocols, it left a deep impression on the cycling community and left his fellow riders severely shaken. The risks of riding in the Tour de France are abundantly clear, but accidents like this are still quite rare. The world's most famous cycling race has actually claimed mercifully few lives. Casatelli was the first rider to die in almost three decades since the British athlete Tommy Simpson died of heart failure on the tour in 1967. While everyone on the 1995 tour was affected by Casatelli's tragic death, few were affected more than the Italian's teammates at Motorola, including Lance Armstrong.

Three days later, Lance Armstrong surged to a stunning victory on stage 18 of the tour. As he crossed the finish line in Leosh, Armstrong raised both hands to the heavens in a salute to his fallen friend. Team Motorola donated their prize money to Casatelli's grieving family. And Armstrong would dedicate this stage victory to Casatelli. This was certainly a sincere gesture from Lance Armstrong. He was a young rider himself. In fact, he was a year younger than Casatelli and the two had been good friends. But for those watching on from the outside, the response from Armstrong and his teammates was even more than this. It was something deeply moving and it was a formative part of the Armstrong narrative. This was a man who had experienced great tragedy with the loss of a dear teammate and then he had distilled this tragedy into a spellbinding athletic performance. There could have been no better way to honor his fallen friend. This shocking incident at the 1995 tour became the spark that ignited public interest in Lance Armstrong. And though Armstrong won no further stages on that tour, it was clear that this was a rider to watch. But that spark of public intrigue was about to transform into something far bigger. By the end of the following year, it would have become a blazing inferno.

In the autumn of 1996, Armstrong's career was in a state of flux. Team Motorola had just folded, but Armstrong's star was still burning brightly. He had plenty of suitors from other cycling teams and swiftly signed for the French outfit. He had just turned 25 years old that September, and he had the world at his feet. Everyone was excited to witness the next chapter of a promising career. But in October 1996, that career came grinding to a devastating halt. Lance Armstrong had been suffering with some worrying symptoms for several days. He experienced debilitating headaches and was even coughing up blood. One of his testicles had become horribly swollen and distended. Taken together, these were some pretty disturbing signs. On October the 2nd, Armstrong's worst fears were realized. He received a hammer blow of a diagnosis from his doctor, Jim Reeves. He had testicular cancer, and this cancer had spread to his lungs, lymph nodes, and brain. Armstrong was not a man, however, who would simply bow down and accept the worst. On October 8th, 1996, he addressed the world's press in trademark style. He was defiant. "I intend to beat this disease," Armstrong said. "It's impossible to say when I'll be back racing, but I hold out hope to participate at the professional level in the 1997 season." This kind of attitude helped reassure the rider's fans. If anyone could beat this, surely it was Lance. But Armstrong's doctors did not share his confidence. The cancer had spread rapidly through his body, and Dr. Reeves was seriously pessimistic about the rider's chances. To quote Reeves himself, "I spoke with the oncologist, Dr. Dudley, and we were saying, 'What should I tell him?' And he said, 'Well, tell him 20%.' I said, 'Okay, but in my view, the chances of survival were zero or almost zero. This thing was incurable.'"

Lance Armstrong had already faced tragedy in his burgeoning career, losing his friend and teammate in a horror crash barely a year earlier, and now he was facing another tragedy. Not just the loss of his promising career, but the loss of his life. This young, fit, seemingly unstoppable athlete was now grappling with his own mortality in a horrifyingly direct way. The next step was a program of chemotherapy and surgery to remove the lesions on his brain. Despite the withering effects of the treatment, Armstrong remained upbeat, offering an update to journalists eagerly who were following the story where he had this to say. "I had 4 hours of chemotherapy yesterday, and if I didn't know the diagnosis, I'd feel normal. I'm entering this battle in the best shape of my life. I just want to be on my bike outside with my friends." The world watched on as the 25-year-old cyclist did battle with a sickening, insidious disease. And as he remained buoyant, confident, and even defiant, the world fell increasingly in love with this truly inspirational athlete. Even in his darkest moments, Armstrong was a shining light for those looking for a hero. Things had seemed pretty bleak when he first received his diagnosis. But as the autumn of 1996 gave way to winter, it appeared that Armstrong was defying all the odds. He completed his chemotherapy in December of 1996 and the odds actually began to turn in his favor. He wasn't just holding his own in this fight with cancer. It appeared that he was winning.

Then in January 1997, Armstrong shocked the world when he turned up in Leo to ride with his confidant teammates at the training camp of the new year. Just like Armstrong had promised, he was back on a bike and he was out there riding with his friends. Though still in recovery, he clocked up 62 miles with his new teammates before heading back home to the US. This quick training session was a statement of intent. It showed the world what he was capable of, but it would turn out to be one of Armstrong's only appearances in the Cofidis jersey. Bow. Just one year after his diagnosis and just one year and 1 month after signing for Cofidis, contract negotiations broke down between Armstrong and his employers. Once again, he was left looking for a new team. This was probably only a minor setback and it didn't bother Armstrong that much in the moment. In February 1997, he'd received the news that he'd been waiting for. He was declared free from cancer. And so, Armstrong was on top of the world. People across the globe had been enraptured by his story of bravery and his never-say-die attitude. He'd not only beaten cancer, he'd left it in the dust. And now he was preparing for his next challenge, his journey to the pinnacle of road cycling.

By January of 1998, Armstrong was training with his new employers, the US Postal Team. These training sessions were very different to his symbolic appearance at the Cofidis camp in Leo. This time, Armstrong meant serious business. He was on the road to race fitness once again. The man's extraordinary body had been pushed to the absolute brink, and now he was going to show the world just what that body could do. The stage was set for Armstrong's Hollywood-style triumphant return. But keep that champagne on ice for a moment because Lance Armstrong's story might be a wild one, but it's not Hollywood, it's real life. So, after 18 months of minimal training and no races, Armstrong's return to the professional circuit was, well, it was disappointing. March 1998 saw Armstrong compete in the Race to the Sun, a week-long ride from the frosty environs of Paris in the early spring to the baking Mediterranean coast of Nice. It was a rude awakening for Armstrong. He found he simply couldn't keep up with the pace of professional competition. Rather than be humiliated, he decided to drop out of the race. This seems to have been a real crisis moment for Armstrong. Dealing with cancer was one thing, but the idea of simply not being good enough was quite another. The sense that he might not make his dream come true, that he might not compete at the highest level, it crushed him. He decided to take a break and spent the following months in semi-retirement and poured his energy into a new project. He developed the Lance Armstrong Foundation, a charity which would help fellow cancer sufferers deal with this disease and overcome it. Armstrong's tale of tragedy and triumph had helped him build a bulletproof brand. And that brand was going to make the world a better place. The cycling community rallied around him. Star riders like Greg LeMond, Miguel Indurain, and Sean Kelly did what they could to help the foundation get off the ground. They appeared in charity races for cancer research held by Armstrong and lent their support to his project. But their help went further than this. They also appealed to Armstrong not to give up hope. If he would just be patient, they told him, he'd get another shot at glory. And it seems that Armstrong listened to this encouragement.

In June 1998, Armstrong decided to give the whole professional cycling thing another go. He entered the Tour de Luxembourg and won. This was a huge deal. It proved to the world that Armstrong was not done just yet. But perhaps more importantly, he proved to himself. Armstrong's days in the saddle were far from over. More incredible performances followed. He finished fourth overall at that year's Vuelta a España and scored two more fourth places in the road race and time trial at that year's World Championships. But all this was just a springboard for what was to follow. Now he had his eyes on road cycling's biggest prize. Armstrong had won individual stages of the Tour de France twice before his diagnosis, but he'd never come close to winning the whole thing. And now he set out to change that.

The 1999 Tour de France was very much a tour de force for Armstrong. He stormed out of the blocks, winning the individual time trial in the tour's opening prologue stage. A week later, he won the second individual time trial at Metz and was in a pretty solid position as the tour hit its first rest day. Competing in the tour is a grueling experience, and that first rest day is critical for riders. All the competitors would have been glad of the chance to take a breather, but in 1999, it seems that it was Armstrong who made the most of this respite. Once the tour was back up and running, he immediately won the race's first mountain stage. He then followed this up with a clean sweep of the time trial stages, bringing his total of stage wins up to four. Things were looking good. In fact, Armstrong's stage wins that summer only tell us part of the story. He was consistently among the leaders on each stage that year and had held the coveted yellow jersey since stage eight. There was little doubt that he was going to run as the overall winner. In the end, after 91 hours, 32 minutes, and 16 seconds of cycling, Armstrong made it official. He crossed the finish line in first place, more than 7 minutes ahead of Alex Zülle in second. The world erupted into jubilation. Casual fans and hardcore cycling aficionados were united. Their boy had done it. He'd achieved the impossible. In Armstrong's home state of Texas, the Austin City mayor, Kirk Watson, announced a parade and festival honoring the rider. Armstrong's triumph was of personal significance to Watson. The mayor had survived a testicular cancer scare of his own. And Watson wasn't the only well-wisher. The then governor of Texas, George W. Bush, personally called Armstrong's phone to offer his congratulations. "We're so proud of you," the future president said. "It's unbelievable." So Armstrong had made us all wait, but it was just dramatic timing. He'd given us what we wanted in the end. That fabulous Hollywood conclusion to this fabulous Hollywood tale. We got to watch Armstrong raise his hands aloft in triumph. He'd done it against all odds, roll the credits, notify the academy.

But not everyone was so quick to let their jubilation flow. And some onlookers were a little suspicious of Armstrong's rapid change of fortune. Particularly his victory in the brutal mountainous terrain of stage 9. Everyone agreed the stage 9 win was incredible, but to some it was incredible in a very literal sense. European newspapers began to speculate on how Armstrong had seemingly been able to float up alpine inclines while barely breaking a sweat. They suggested that he might have been powered by something a little more potent than a chunky set of thighs and a dream. For the naysayers, there was the suspicion that Armstrong was artificially injecting erythropoietin, or EPO. This is a hormone that stimulates the production of red blood cells, enhancing the supply of oxygen to organs and muscle tissue. For the American press, who'd been following Armstrong's story with great enthusiasm, this was not only unfair, it was a downright insult. Journalist Bernie Linone had this to say about Armstrong's achievement and about the accusations swirling around him. "I mean, a guy beats cancer and the Alps. Did they give Hannibal a drug test? We have every right to feel good about Armstrong's win. The accusations against him are just petty slander." Surely Lindsey Kone was right. Wasn't this just a case of sour grapes? Were the European journalists just jealous that an American rider had come to their backyard and won their race? Were they really that petty? It was pathetic. Really, after all, Armstrong's story was truly unique. The guy was untouchable, and anyone who said otherwise was just a juvenile spoil sport. Armstrong's oncologist, Dr. Lawrence Einhorn, was more positive about the victory. "If Hollywood makes a movie of this, most people will leave the theater shaking their heads with incredulity. Even the name Lance Armstrong, it just sounds too good to be true." Lance Armstrong. Too good to be true. A strange choice of words from the oncologist. Anyway, back in 1999, those naysayers were in the minority.

But as for the man of the moment himself, he remained unsatisfied. Even winning the Tour de France was not enough to fulfill his obsessive need to be the very best. So why was this? Well, the problem with the 1999 Tour de France is that there was actually a pretty big asterisk next to it. The tour had not featured the German rider Jan Ullrich or the Italian Marco Pantani. Pantani was the tour's reigning champion, while Ullrich was considered one of the best in the world. Running the Tour de France without these guys was like excluding the Jamaicans from the 100 meters at the 2012 Olympics. Ullrich's absence from the competition was due to an injury, but Pantani's was a little more sinister. He'd withdrawn from the tour after suggestions of blood doping at the Giro d'Italia earlier that year. So Armstrong had tasted victory on cycling's most prestigious stage, but true glory still eluded him. Not for long, though.

The 2000 tour featured a full field complete with all the best riders on the planet. In other words, it featured all the riders that Armstrong wanted to beat. And he started with something of a bang. It was the young Scottish rider David Millar who won the opening time trial. But Armstrong was only 2 seconds off the pace. By stage 10, just before the midpoint of the tour, Armstrong had gained the yellow jersey, and he was not going to be giving it back. Armstrong claimed his second Tour de France win in a row and truly cemented himself as the best in the world. He also succeeded in massively pissing off Marco Pantani. Armstrong had allegedly allowed the Italian to win a stage by easing off and conserving his energy, and Pantani apparently felt insulted by this. Just to make sure he'd properly insulted his rival, Armstrong went on to call Pantani "Elephantino," the little elephant, apparently mocking Pantani's large ears. This wasn't a case of friendly rivalry and good-natured banter, either. The pair remained at odds with one another right up until Pantani's untimely death in 2004. He died of cocaine poisoning, reportedly, after years of depression over doping accusations that simply would not go away. But while Pantani's star was in tragic decline, Armstrong's was in a seemingly unstoppable rise.

Over the next five years, Armstrong competed in five more tours, and he won every single one of them. There was no doubt in anyone's mind. Armstrong was the best road cyclist in the world, bar none. No one could come close. And he hadn't forgotten about those past hardships, either. As the most recognizable face in cycling and arguably the sport's only true global megastar, he decided to use his platform as a force for good. Since its inauguration in 1997, the Lance Armstrong Foundation had been growing steadily and had already helped many individuals struggling with the impact of cancer. In 2003, the foundation launched its Livestrong brand designed to raise money for the foundation and raise awareness of its work. In 2004, Livestrong released its most famous product, the now iconic yellow rubber wristband, inscribed with the name of the foundation. Anyone old enough to remember the mid-2000s will remember how ubiquitous those yellow wristbands were. Armstrong had achieved the impossible several times over. He'd beaten cancer. He'd achieved actual mainstream superstardom as a road cyclist, and he'd succeeded in turning a charity product into something cool, something people were actually going to wear. With this small, bright yellow fashion accessory, Armstrong was able to raise millions of dollars for cancer sufferers. In 2013, it was reported that the foundation had sold 80 million of those wristbands across the world and had raised $480 million for cancer victims.

Lance Armstrong the athlete, Lance Armstrong the global brand, Lance Armstrong the human being. All these different aspects of Armstrong were seemingly bulletproof. But this titan of global athleticism was about to suffer a head-spinning fall from grace. And the debate over the man's name and legacy would rage for years to come. In fact, while Armstrong had always seemed like an untouchable character, a boy as golden as the blinding yellow of the jersey he wore, those ugly rumors that surfaced after the 1999 tour had never really gone away. And all that speculation was about to get a lot worse.

On October 2nd, 2004, 8 years to the day after Armstrong's diagnosis, the sports doctor Michele Ferrari was convicted of malpractice by an Italian court. Ferrari was fined €900, barred from practicing medicine for almost a year, and was handed a 12-month suspended prison sentence. Ferrari's sentence was relatively light, and that's mainly because he was acquitted of the most serious charge brought against him. This was the accusation made by disgraced Italian cyclist Filippo Simeoni. Simeoni said that Ferrari had been distributing performance-enhancing drugs both to Simeoni himself and to many other leading cyclists. So Ferrari was acquitted, but now there were real doubts around any of the cyclists he'd worked with in the past, and that included, you guessed it, Lance Armstrong. Lance had been working with Ferrari on and off since 1995, and was so close to the doctor that he felt the need to release his own statement. "Dr. Ferrari has been a longtime friend and trusted adviser to me and the US Postal team, during which time he never suggested, prescribed, or provided me with any performance-enhancing drugs."

This was not the first time that Armstrong's association with Dr. Ferrari had generated concern. During Armstrong's first big comeback year of 1999, his work with Ferrari raised a few eyebrows. "When Lance won the prologue to the 1999 tour, I was close to tears," Greg LeMond said, reflecting the intense emotions that Armstrong inspired in people. "But when I heard he was working with Michele Ferrari, I was devastated." The organizer of the Tour de France, Jean-Marie Leblanc, also raised his own concerns, but urged for caution rather than prejudice. Leblanc said, "I am not happy that the two names of Armstrong and Ferrari are mixed. But as long as there is no decision in court, we have to wait. The questioning of Armstrong lacks dignity as the presumption of innocence is fundamental. For Armstrong, it is the presumption of guilt. The world is turned upside down." But by 2004, it was getting harder and harder to maintain that presumption of innocence.

In the wake of Ferrari's sentencing, more and more accusations began to emerge from increasingly credible sources. In 2004, the journalists David Walsh and Pierre Ballester published an inflammatory book. Even its title is shocking: "La Confidentiel: L'Affaire Lance Armstrong." No need to run that one through Google Translate. This 388-page book calls upon the testimonies of 52 people and covers a multitude of serious claims against Armstrong. Some of the most serious claims came from Emma O'Reilly, an Irish masseuse who had worked with the US Postal team. O'Reilly claimed she'd been asked to dispose of used syringes and even asked to provide some of her own makeup to Armstrong so that he could cover up the track marks on his arms. O'Reilly also said that Armstrong was knowingly allowed to use skin cream that contained banned steroids and that she'd personally been sent on a 12-hour round trip from France into Spain to buy unspecified medical products. Another serious claim came from the New Zealand cyclist Steve Swart, who had ridden with Armstrong at Motorola. Swart's accusations were more direct. He simply confessed that he had been a user of EPO and other banned performance-enhancing drugs while at Motorola in 1995 and that Armstrong had been a user, too. These were pretty big accusations, but they weren't exactly watertight. O'Reilly wasn't really specific about what was in the syringes or about the medical products she'd been asked to fetch. Both of these things could have been perfectly legal, non-banned substances. Swart's claims, meanwhile, were refuted by other riders like Brian Smith, who described the stringent anti-drug culture at Motorola. So it was a case of one person's word against Armstrong's word. Okay. So perhaps it was more like 52 people's words against Armstrong's word. But still, it was all conjecture. The book didn't offer any definitive conclusions and raised more questions than answers. But these questions did still need addressing.

Over the following two years, Walsh and Ballester doubled down on their accusations, publishing two more books. Meanwhile, Armstrong kept on denying the claims against him, even taking UK newspaper The Sunday Times to court for libel. Armstrong also took Mike Anderson to court in 2005. Anderson had been Armstrong's personal assistant and claimed he'd discovered a box of Androstenolone in the athlete's apartment. Androstenolone was not on the banned list, but Armstrong denied using it anyway. In August 2005, another inflammatory piece was published, and this time it came from the French sports newspaper L'Équipe. Under the confrontational headline, "The Armstrong Lie," the paper reported on six urine samples that had been taken during the 1999 tour and kept in storage. The samples had been retested after review of EPO testing methods, and this time they came back positive. Armstrong tried to quash the story. The day before the article ran, he released his own statement which read, "Unfortunately, the witch hunt continues and tomorrow's article is nothing short of tabloid journalism. The paper even admits in its own article that the science in question here is faulty and that I have no way to defend myself. I will simply restate what I have said many times: I have never taken performance-enhancing drugs." In October, the Union Cycliste Internationale, or UCI, commissioned an investigation into the handling and storage of the samples. The investigation found that samples had been improperly handled and tested. Sir Armstrong was vindicated. He was therefore off the hook for now. But the article from L'Équipe added more fuel to the fire of speculation. And there was more of that fuel to come.

In June 2006, more accusations emerged. This time they came from Armstrong's US Postal Service captain Frankie Andreu and his wife Betsy. The Andreus were testifying during a dispute between Armstrong and the Texan company SCA Promotions. SCA had agreed to pay a $5 million bonus to Armstrong for his win on the 2004 tour. But when they heard about the accusations in "La Confidentiel," they got cold feet. So the ever litigious Armstrong did what he always did and took them to court. This move actually backfired and he ended up exposing himself to a lot more trouble than he'd bargained for. According to Betsy Andreu's testimony, Armstrong had been asked a few questions by a doctor after undergoing brain surgery in 1996. To quote Betsy herself, "One of the questions he asked was, 'Have you ever used performance-enhancing drugs?' And Lance said yes. And the doctor asked what were they? And Lance said growth hormone, cortisone, EPO, steroids, and testosterone." Again, Armstrong denied this. But since the accusation was made as part of a court deposition, there was no threat of a libel case this time. The following month, the LA Times published a list of accusations that had emerged from the SCA hearings. And these accusations painted a vivid picture of what had really been driving Armstrong's meteoric return to form. They laid bare the lengths he was prepared to go to to be the best and to keep on being the best. This really is a sprawling list of accusations, but they all suggest that Armstrong had been systematically using EPO to improve his blood oxygen transfer from the late 1990s onwards. Expert witnesses like Dr. Michael Ashenden said that Armstrong's levels of EPO seemed to rise and fall at an unnatural rate, suggesting he was supplementing his natural hormone production with injections. The allegations were mounting at an incredible pace, and Armstrong was now fighting a war on numerous fronts.

On May 20th, 2010, his former teammate Floyd Landis lent his voice to the choir of detractors. Landis had left US Postal in 2004 and went on to win the Tour de France with his new team in 2006, the year after Armstrong's final win. But since Landis had won that 2006 title, it had been stripped from him after a doping ban. According to Landis, Armstrong had been systematically doping on the 2002 and 2003 tours, too. What's more, the deceit went right to the top of the US Postal Service team, as the team director had even bribed the president of the UCI to keep quiet. All of a sudden, that UCI investigation into the handling of Armstrong's samples didn't seem quite so reliable. Once again, Armstrong battered away the accusations, but there were more claims to follow. Next, it was another of Armstrong's former US Postal teammates, Tyler Hamilton, speaking to CBS News in 2011. Hamilton said both he and Armstrong had taken EPO together in 1999, 2000, and 2001. Hamilton also backed up Landis' accusation of bribery of the UCI, saying that as much as $125,000 may have been used to smooth things over after a positive EPO test in 2001. Armstrong could keep on denying every accusation that came his way and threatening to sue anyone who made them. But how long could he go on like this? Sooner or later, he'd have to make a move of his own. He'd either need to prove his innocence or accept responsibility for his wrongdoing.

In 2012, Hamilton was back again with more accusations against Armstrong. Countering Hamilton's argument, a BBC journalist raised the important point that Armstrong had been tested hundreds of times in his career and had passed every time. Hamilton's response was succinct. Hamilton had passed those same drug tests, and yet Hamilton was doping by his own admission. Both Hamilton and Armstrong were passing their drug tests because someone else was helping them pass those tests. Surely this was all getting a little silly. Were we, the public, really supposed to believe that there was some kind of super doping program going on? Some sort of ultra-sophisticated systematic process by which elite cyclists were doped up to the eyeballs, transformed into superhumans, and had their tracks covered behind them? This would require so much collaboration and conspiracy that it would be basically impossible. Surely hundreds of people couldn't all be lying repeatedly over a period of many years and getting away with it every time. The public needed a sane voice of reason who could put this whole thing to bed once and for all. There would need to be an in-depth investigation conducted by a reliable agency that could finally cut through all the insults and all the conjecture.

In October 2012, the United States Anti-Doping Agency, or USADA, did exactly that. They released their report and their conclusion was, well, pretty much what Tyler Hamilton had said. Lance Armstrong was at the center of an intricate network of drug procurement, administration, and disposal, and it was all intended to artificially turn him into a super athlete. In the report, USADA CEO Travis Tygart had this to say. "The US Postal Service pro cycling team ran the most sophisticated, professionalized, and successful doping program that sport has ever seen." He continued, "The evidence also includes direct documentary evidence, including financial payments, emails, scientific data, and laboratory test results that further prove the use of, possession of, and distribution of performance-enhancing drugs by Lance Armstrong. These documents confirm the disappointing truth about the deceptive activities of the USPS team, a team that received tens of millions of American taxpayer dollars in funding." This was a true bombshell. Suddenly, all that hearsay made sense. The world now had a 1,000-page report authored by an official anti-doping agency which included testimonies from 26 people, 15 of whom were fellow professional riders. It was now looking really bad for Armstrong and the US Postal Service. At the very least, Armstrong was going to get a lifetime ban and have his titles stripped from him. And of course, he was going to lose that Golden Boy reputation he'd worked so hard to curate.

As 2012 drew to a close, Armstrong and his attorney made one last desperate attempt at damage limitation. Armstrong flew to Denver where he met with Travis Tygart face to face. His lawyers told him this was a terrible idea, but Armstrong did it anyway. He'd been accused of many things, but being timid is not one of them. A naturally charming guy, Armstrong probably thought this schmoozing session would do the trick. Armstrong planned to sweet-talk Tygart into reducing his lifetime ban down to a single year. But Tygart was immune to Armstrong's charm. He wasn't going to budge an inch, and he certainly wasn't going to be lenient on a man who had basically hoodwinked the world and dragged an entire sport into the gutter. As this truth dawned on Armstrong, the meeting began to veer into bizarre territory. Armstrong began accusing basically everyone of doping, including football players in the NFL. In his eyes, he was being made the fall guy for an industry-wide epidemic of artificial performance enhancement. Tygart was unmoved. Next, it seems that Armstrong grew annoyed by Tygart's obstinance. "You don't hold the keys to my redemption," Armstrong allegedly said. "There's one person who holds the keys to my redemption, and that's me." And so, the meeting came to an end, and Armstrong did not get what he wanted.

If Armstrong really held the keys to his own redemption, there was only one thing he could do now. Own the story. So, he did. He went to the most influential person in the world to share his side of the story. Not Obama, not the Pope. Instead, Armstrong went to Oprah. The interview on Oprah was startling television. Armstrong seemed to lay his soul bare, and the viewing public watched on as this fallen idol dismantled himself before the cameras. Straight out the gate, Armstrong was in a confessional mood. Oprah asked him, "Did you ever take banned substances to enhance cycling performance?" He replied simply, "Yes." Oprah's follow-up questions were met with similarly laconic honesty. Was one of those substances EPO? Yes. Did you use any other banned substances? Yes. Just like Betsy Andreu had said, those other substances were confirmed to be testosterone, cortisone, and human growth hormone. He also admitted to undergoing blood transfusions. As he settled into the interview, Armstrong became conciliatory. He said, "I view this situation as one big lie that I repeated a lot of times. I made those decisions. They were my mistake, and I'm here to say sorry."

Across three hours in total, Armstrong made earth-shattering admission after earth-shattering admission. He said he'd been taking performance-enhancing drugs on every Tour de France from 1999 to 2005, and that this was part of the process required to win. He said that all the fault and blame was his own, but that he was certainly not the only athlete who was doping. In fact, this would turn out to be true. Dozens of Armstrong's contemporaries ended up serving bans of their own. At the time Armstrong was racing, he said he didn't feel like he was cheating, but was instead creating a level playing field. Attempting to explain himself, Armstrong said that his cancer diagnosis had given him a win-at-all-costs attitude. This may have garnered some sympathy for the man, but this soon evaporated when he admitted to using confrontation and bullying tactics to get what he wanted. But all this soul-searching and heart-on-the-sleeve honesty had a limit. Throughout the interview, Armstrong maintained that he had been a cheat up to his retirement in 2005 and only up to 2005. He claimed that he had not engaged in any doping during his comeback from 2009 to 2012. And some have cast doubt on that claim. Dr. Michael Ashenden, for example, simply doesn't believe it. Ashenden has said that the test results from 2009 indicate that Armstrong was still doping in that first comeback year and quite possibly during the following three years as well.

Whether Armstrong was doping from 1999 to 2005 or from 1999 to 2012 feels a bit like splitting hairs. The fact of the matter is the same. Armstrong was a cheat and he'd won fame, fortune, love, and respect, not to mention a whole lot of money through out-and-out dishonesty and barefaced lying. Sports fans around the world had looked at Armstrong for a story. They'd craved the sweeping narrative arc of triumph over adversity, and they got their story all right. But instead of that sweeping arc, they'd experienced a roller coaster ride of skulduggery and deceit. The sport of road cycling was dragged into disrepute along with Lance Armstrong. Tour wins by Floyd Landis and Spanish star Alberto Contador were also stricken from the record. Cycling became a joke. The Tour de France was no longer about who was best at cycling. It was about who had the best drugs. It would take years for the tour and for the sport as a whole to rebuild its reputation. As for Lance Armstrong himself, there would be no rebuilding of his own reputation. He was irredeemably disgraced and he spent the years following that Oprah interview fighting legal battle after legal battle as enraged sponsors tried to claw back their money. Armstrong's name and his legacy are in tatters and nothing can change that now.

But just before we finish up here, there's something we need to address. Armstrong's story may be one of smoke and mirrors, cheating, and almost a childlike obsession with being better than everyone else. There are still, though, a few truths here. For example, it's true that Fabio Casatelli died in a tragic accident in 1995. It's also true that Lance Armstrong battled cancer and won. And it's true that Armstrong's Foundation raised hundreds of millions of dollars for people in desperate need. As Armstrong's house of lies was falling apart in 2012, journalist and fellow cancer survivor Kurt Badenhausen penned an article for Forbes. In the article, Badenhausen said this. "Armstrong has made the fight against cancer a part of our everyday lives and inspired millions of people. The Livestrong motto, the ubiquitous yellow bracelets, the hundreds of millions of dollars raised. He did all of that. That is why Lance Armstrong still matters." And of course, Badenhausen is right. Armstrong has given hope to millions of people around the world. People who are dealing with their own terrifying diagnosis and who are staring death in the face. It's not an exaggeration to say that he has literally saved lives. So, what is Armstrong's true legacy? Can you really separate Armstrong, the lifesaver, from Armstrong, the cheating, amoral bully willing to win at all costs? Well, that's up to you to decide.