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Every Second Counts

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Overview

The four-time Tour de France winner and number 1 New York Times bestselling author returns with an inspirational account of his recent personal and professional victories-and some failures-and an intimate glimpse into how almost dying taught him to really live. Since the release of his megabestseller, It's Not About the Bike, Lance Armstrong has enjoyed a new series of thrilling rides, from the birth of his twin daughters, to an astounding succession of Tour de France triumphs, to being chosen as Sportsman of the Year by Sports Illustrated in 2002. Continuing the inspiring story begun in his first book, Every Second Counts captures the mind-set of a man who has beaten incredible odds and considers each day an opportunity for excellence. Armstrong's previous book recounted his journey from a grim diagnosis of testicular cancer, which had spread to his lungs and brain, to a stunning recovery that culminated in his winning the 1999 Tour de France-the ultimate evidence that he had also won a daunting battle with death.

Editorial Reviews

Armstrong-only the second rider ever to win five consecutive Tours de France-is a man with a healthy ego. And he has a right to one: not only is he one of the world's foremost athletes, he is a cancer survivor and advocate, philanthropist, devoted family man and, as evidenced here with the help of freelancer Jenkins, an accomplished memoirist. This second volume (after It's Not About the Bike) takes Armstrong through the summer of 2002. Though cycling brings him individual glory, it is very much a team sport, and Armstrong is always conscious of this in all aspects of life: "Anyone who imagines they can work alone winds up surrounded by nothing but rivals. The fact is, others have to want you to succeed; no one ascends alone." He gives generous credit to the many people who support him: family, friends, teammates, doctors, nurses, coaches and, especially, other cancer survivors, from whom Armstrong draws strength and encouragement. Armstrong believes cancer was his wake-up call: every second does count-both in bike racing and in life. The book ends on an uncertain note: Armstrong and his wife have separated; he is anticipating the 2003 Tour and contemplating what lies ahead when his racing days are over. But his strong message of hope shines through-this often moving, energetic story offers enough bike lore to satisfy racing aficionados, while still accessible for the reader who's more interested in Armstrong's inspirational approach to life. (Oct.) Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.

Author Information

Bio of Lance Armstrong

Champion cyclist LANCE ARMSTRONG continues to make winning the Tour de France his annual cycling goal. He also oversees the Lance Armstrong Foundation, a nonprofit organization that assists cancer patients around the world with managing and surviving the disease. He lives in Austin, Texas. Sally Jenkins is a columnist for the Washington Post. In 2002 she won the Associated Press ' s Columnist of the Year Award. She has cowritten many bestselling sports books, including It ' s Not About the Bike and, with Pat Summitt, Reach for the Summit (Broadway Books).

Bio of Sally Jenkins

Sally Jenkins is the author of Men Will Be Boys, and coauthor of Reach for the Summit and Raise the Roof (both with Pat Summit) and A Coach's Life (with Dean Smith). She is a veteran sports reporter whose work has appeared in Sports Illustrated, Cond ' Nast's Women's Sports & Fitness, and The Washington Post.

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Additional Info

Imprint

Random House

Filesize

479.40 KB

Number of Pages

256

eBook ISBN

9780767917148

Excerpt from: Every Second Counts by Lance Armstrong

Pitched Back



So, it looks as though I'm going to live--at least for another 50 years or more. But whenever I need to reassure myself of this, as I sometimes do, I go out to a place called Dead Man's Hole, and I stare down into it, and then, with firm intent, I strip off my shirt and I leap straight out into what you might call the great sublime.

Let's say it's my own personal way of checking for vital signs. Dead Man's Hole is a large green mineral pool gouged out of a circular limestone cliff, so deep into the hill country of Texas that it's hardly got an address. According to conflicting legends, it's either where Confederates tossed Union sympathizers to drown, or where Apaches lured unsuspecting cowboys who didn't see the fall coming. In any event, I'm drawn to it, so much so that I bought 200 acres of brush and pasture surrounding it, and I've worn a road into the dirt by driving out there. It seems only right that a place called Dead Man's Hole should belong to a guy who nearly died--and who, by the way, has no intention of just barely living.

I stand there next to a 45-foot waterfall and examine the drop--and myself, while I'm at it. It's a long drop, so long that it makes the roof of my mouth go dry just looking at it. It's long enough for a guy to actually think on the way down, and to think more than one thought, too. Long enough to think first one thing, A little fear is good for you, and then another, It's good for you if you can swim, and then one more thing as I hit the water: Oh fuck, it's cold. As I jump, there are certain unmistakable signs that I'm alive: the press of my pulse, the insistent sound of my own breathing, and the whanging in my chest that's my heart, which by then sounds like an insubordinate prisoner beating on the bars of my ribcage.

I come up whooping through the foam and swim for the rocks. Then I climb back up and towel off, and I drive home to my three kids. I burst through the door, and I shout at my son, Luke, and my twin daughters, Grace and Isabelle, and I kiss them on the necks, and I grab a Shiner Bock beer with one hand and an armful of babies with the other.

The first time I ever did it, my wife, Kik, just looked at me and rolled her eyes. She knew where I'd been.

"Was that clarifying for you " she said.



At what point do you let go of not dying Maybe I haven't entirely and maybe I don't want to.

I know they're out there, lying in their hospital beds, with those damn drip poles, watching the damn chemo slide into their veins, and thinking, This guy had the same thing I do. If he can do it, I can, too. I think of them all the time.

My friend Lee Walker says I got "pitched back." What he means is, I almost died, and possibly even did die a little, but then I got pitched back into the world of the living. It's as good a description as any of what happened. I was 25 when cancer nearly killed me: advanced choriocarcinoma spread to my abdomen, lungs, and brain and required two surgeries and four cycles of chemotherapy to get rid of. I wrote an entire book about death, called It's Not About the Bike, about confronting the possibility of it, and narrowly escaping it.