While many people are getting giddy about Steve Jobs’ recent Stanford convocation speech, and while I’m not an uncritical Lance Armstrong fan, I found this excerpt from Dan Coyle’s new book about the cancer-survivor and six-time Tour de France-winning cyclist more affecting:
How else can you explain the depth of it, except through harshness? The line outside the bus starts with Iris. Behind her stands the widow of the pastor in Michigan who died after being hit by a car, could Lance write a letter to be read at the funeral? Behind her stand the parents of a twelve-year-old Pennsylvania boy wondering if Armstrong might have a minute to make a phone call. Behind them stand others, more and more every day, every minute, like the parents in France who wrapped up their sick child in a white blanket and met Armstrong in a field. Could Lance just touch him on the forehead, just once? Please?
How do you satisfy that much need?
You can’t.
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