Lance Armstrong built a career and a lucrative cult personality out of lies, seeing the truth as something only suckers would champion. As his fame and fortune grew, so did the stakes. The few who dared question or contradict his version of reality soon felt his wrath.
Even when he finally did come clean about using performance-enhancing drugs, it was more about self-preservation than true remorse. His legacy was in shambles and his seven Tour de France titles had been stripped, and he was now a pariah when only a few years earlier he'd been hailed as a hero.
Just last week, Armstrong admitted that for as "brutal" as his fall from grace has been these last few years, he'd do it all over again. Armstrong once again tried to excuse the lies and the deceptions, saying he was only trying to keep pace with the rest of the peloton.
He pointed to the benefits that came from his lies: the spike in business for his sponsors, the growth of cycling, the increased donations and awareness for cancer patients. [An interview with the BBC.]
As if that makes it OK to bend and twist the truth until it's no longer recognizable. To blur the line between right and wrong until you wonder where it was or why the distinction ever mattered in the first place. But in his world, the truth is a matter of convenience.
On a hit-and-run in Aspen, Colo. where legal penalties are minor, he and girlfriend both agreed to pin the blame on her for hitting two cars after a night of partying.
Too bad he kept most of his money. Just a thought.
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