His skinny, little, bony body does not interest me in the least. I see a million of his kind biking on the roads here in Southern California. They seem to be skeletons pumping up inhuman inclines at breakneck speed against the laws of nature. I wonder if they see the beauty all around them? I watched the Tour de France for the views of the mountains and quaint villages. The speed of the bikers terrified me.
Laid back and lazy, heading into decay, I am a lump on the sofa and computer chair with the earth not far away. I try to blend into my surroundings and savor every molecule. Competition and breaking records does not interest me.
The marriage of Lance Armstrong and Sheryl Crow did not last very long. He probably didn't take the time to really make love to her. That is something that lazy people do very well. Wallowing instead of quick lightning runs seems to induce energy of a different kind. Slow sustainable energy that fuels the soul is what I am interested in.
Seeing Lance sitting down with Oprah was a contrast of two bodies; hers ripe with seductiveness and his poised for survival. I know he wants the money from his sports fits. I know he is out there because of the almighty dollar and not for some spiritual cleansing of his soul.
He has millions of dollars and he wants to keep his lifestyle. He hasn't pumped his pedals for nothing all these years. I know he beat cancer and that propelled him along and I know the doping was just part of that desperate push to live. I can't admire someone who cheats and he will always have that label. He wanted his fame too much.
Sometimes I think we should just let these athletes drug themselves into superhuman bodies with extraordinary stamina and enjoy the show. The Sumi wrestlers are fattened up and sacrificed to the sport. Let the skeleton bicycle people go as fast as the drugs will allow and watch the tires spin to dust. I know we try to keep them honest but why not let them enhance themselves if that is what they want to do?
I would love to see Lance sell all his stuff, live in a little shack on the beach and drink lots of rum. I imagine him with a few extra pounds and a pot belly sitting on his reclining chair shooting the breeze about his days as a racer. He would look good with longer hair and maybe even a ponytail. A nice tan and a few tattoos would complete the picture and maybe a bong next to his chair too.