IT STARTED with a lump in one testicle, a lump that was there for as long as he could remember. He ignored it and got on with the business of being a professional cyclist. So many races to ride, so many victories to be claimed. No time to stop.

Then the pain started. A dull, numbing pain which could have been ignored except for the fact that he was now coughing up blood on training rides. Damn it, something must be wrong. Better get it checked. The 25-year-old cyclist called his doctor and made an appointment. The next day he underwent emergency surgery. Four days later, he started a 12-week intensive programme of chemotherapy.

Cancer. The word chilled him. What shocked him even more was the news that it had spread. It had gone from his testicles to his abdomen, and from there to his lungs. His body, one of the fittest physical specimens in the world of sport, was now host to a killer.

Bang went his goals for the new cycling season, bang went his plans to chase his dream, to try to win the Tour de France. In the short moment it took his doctor to tell him the terrible news, his world fell apart.

When Lance Armstrong called a press conference last October, it was believed that it would be for nothing more than the announcement of his new team for 1997.

The journalists sat expecting the usual monotonous details of who would aid him on his assault on the world's biggest cycle race. How Lance the world championship winner would become Lance the tour victor. The usual pre-season talk. But the news he had to tell them was much more than they expected; he wouldn't he chasing the biggest race in the sport. Instead, the goal of the man giving the press conference was a more desperate one - to survive. In 1997, Lance Armstrong would be racing for his life.

Due to his immense physical fitness, the doctors treating him were cautiously hopeful. A 65 to an 85 per cent chance of a full recovery, they said. His mother was less sure. Seeking a second opinion from doctors in Houston, Texas, they were urged to step up the treatment. More aggressive chemotherapy was required. Blood tests and numerous lung lesions indicated the urgency of the situation.

"To find out that I had cancer - that was very tough," said Armstrong in a recent interview for Winning magazine. "So many things go through your mind. And then 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. Drawing on every ounce of his physical and mental strength, Armstrong set about beating the disease. He continued to cycle 50 to 60 miles a day, training for the time when he would rejoin the professional peleton. Despite the incredible strain of intense chemotherapy - his hair fell out and he seemed to age by 10 years overnight - he refused to stop.

When more lesions were discovered on his brain, necessitating further surgery, he refused to be phased. Instead, he fought back. Just over two weeks later, he took part in a two-man time-trial; he thought it would be "a good way to let all the people who have written to me asking about my condition know how I was doing." Keep fighting. Never say die.

That has been the key to Armstrong's career. When the going got tough, you could always rely on him to deliver. Tenacious to the extreme. When he took part in his first professional race at the tender age of 20 he finished last, many minutes behind. Lesser riders would have packed up and flown home. Not he. He analysed the race, identified what he had done wrong and resolved to improve.

And he did. The following week he finished in second place. From last place to the podium in one week, a rate of improvement which illustrated both his determination and his mental toughness. That `never-say-die' attitude again.

One year later, he won his first Tour de France stage, beating riders of the calibre of Stephen Roche, Ronan Pensec and Raul Alcala in the sprint to the finish at Verdun. Two months after that, he became the youngest world champion in 25 years by single-handedly trouncing the field in Norway. One of cycling's biggest prizes, for a kid in his first full year racing professionally? Unbelievable class.

But it was in the 1995 Tour de France where his toughness was really seen. On the 15th stage, a cyclist was killed in a tragic crash on a Pyrennean descent. Fabio Casartelli was a team-mate of Lance Armstrong. Devastated by the death, Armstrong and his Motorola team-mates considered pulling out of the race.

But somehow they continued. He promised himself that he would try to win a stage for his fallen colleague, a goal which he achieved two days later. Dragging himself up that finishing straight, over a minute clear of his exhausted pursuers, Armstrong raised his hands to the sky, and pointed. As if to say `this is for you.' Faced with tragedy and fighting back.

It has been this characteristic which has helped him most in [he past seven months. This, and the incredible physical strength that Armstrong possesses.

According to his doctor. J Dudley Youman, "his ability to take the chemotherapy far exceeds anything I've ever seen. Most people are knocked flat; Lance goes bounding around like it was nothing." Fighting relentlessly for his survival, it appears that this has paid off.

According to Winding magazine, the amount of cancer-produced proteins in his blood had dropped from 100,000 to 113 within a month of starting treatment. By mid-December, the count was down to three.

Now Lance Armstrong has been given the all clear. He intends to return to professional cycling, although he is unsure what toll this battle has taken on his body.

It's a battle from which he wishes to spare others. "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."

Talking about when the going gets tough in races, he once said: "I think about my mother - she didn't raise a quitter and I would never, never quit".

He has the bravery and the determination not only to beat cancer, but to claw himself back to the top of professional cycling. Fight, fight, fight. Lance Armstrong. Like his namesake, out of this world.

Never say die.