The notion of heroes in sport is a peculiar one. What is particularly heroic about a top-level competitor? They excel at what they do, they have the power to quicken the pulse and raise the adrenalin of devoted supporters, but too often the accolades and superlatives confuse the outstanding with, what in truth, is merely commendable.
But occasionally the plaudits are perfectly applicable. Consider the story of Lance Armstrong, the 27-year-old American who has featured prominently in the sports pages for the past two weeks. When the 1999 Tour de France began with a prologue time trial at the Puy de Fou theme park 16 days ago, the debacle of last year's event was fresh on the minds of the race organisers. "The Tour of Redemption", they dubbed this year's race, emphasising the need for a break with the past and a fresh start.
At the end of that first 6.8 kilometre test, the significance of the result was lost to none. Winning the prologue by an outstanding seven seconds, taking his first yellow jersey in the world's toughest sporting event, Lance Armstrong completed his own particular tour of redemption. A break with the past, a fresh start? No-one could have asked for a more qualified winner.
Looking at Armstrong now, there are few signs of what he has gone through. His thin, boyish face exudes a ruddy health, his muscular frame emits a quiet confidence and those pale blue eyes sparkle with life. But when the Texan removes his helmet, the two faint circular scars which peep out from beneath that tight haircut give a clue.
Two and half years ago, he was diagnosed with cancer and given a 40 per cent chance of living. He had ignored the warning signs for too long, thinking nothing of the lump in his right testicle. It was only when the pain started and he began coughing up blood while on training rides that he finally got it checked.
The dreaded verdict came back - cancer. And the news got worse: left undetected and untreated for perhaps two years, maybe three, the tumour had migrated upwards and spread to his stomach and his lungs, where "10 to 12" golf-ball sized tumours had grown.
"To find out I had cancer - that was very tough," said Armstrong at the time. "So many things go through your mind. And it got worse and worse as we found out more, that it had spread. But then you settle down and realise that you have to fight it."
And fight he did. Undergoing surgery to remove the malignant testicle, receiving chemotherapy to combat the secondary tumours, the initial bleak prognosis became even worse when further tests revealed lesions on his brain. In a six-hour operation, two disc-shaped holes were cut into his skull to facilitate the necessary brain surgery. And for weeks afterwards, chemotherapy was administered directly into his lungs via small tubes fed through incisions in his rib cage.
Whenever possible, Armstrong continued to train. Deathly pale, and with his hair falling out from the chemicals in his system, the frail-looking rider cycled up to 50 miles a day in order to preserve the strength which helped him fight the disease. Astounding doctors with his optimism and determination to not only recover, but to rejoin the professional peloton, he set up the Lance Armstrong Foundation to draw attention to urological cancers and to fund research. "Because of my high profile, I'm in a position to save lives by talking about this disease. I'll do anything I can to save someone else from having to go through what I'm going through," he said.
Determined, stubborn and above all a fighter, perhaps the best understanding of Armstrong's character comes from a statement he made after getting that first cautious all-clear. "This year has meant the most to me of all the 26 years of my life. I am a better person now, and would not change a thing," he said with characteristic optimism. What's more, the experience which shaped his character would also help him to redefine his career.
His motivation was simple, as he explained to the magazine Cycle Sport last year. "I was a bike racer for a reason, I got cancer for a reason, and I owe it to cycling and the cancer community to attempt a comeback. If my comeback can be successful, it will say a lot for the fight against cancer and the people who live and breathe it every day." What better way to show the disease isn't necessarily a death sentence?
Sixteen months after that interview, his progress has been exemplary. Not only has he returned to the top, but he is leaving others in his wake. A handful of Tour stages, a drawerful of yellow jerseys - ironically, the disease which nearly killed him has made him a lighter, and consequently stronger, rider.
His urologist is in no doubt about the magnitude of Armstrong's achievement. Asked about the severity of his disease, and the extent of his recovery, the doctor's reply is short but glowing: "The most severe, and the most miraculous. Nothing else comes close."
Sometimes sportswriters go over the top with superlatives and accolades. Just once in a while, they get it right. Lance Armstrong. Bike racer. Former cancer patient. Hero.