Are you there Oprah? It’s me, Lance.

Lance Armstrong didn’t just break the Ninth Commandment. We have all done that at some point in our lives. You tell your friend your phone was on vibrate when you ignore a call. Maybe you denied eating the last doughnut in the box. I may have cut out the tags in my jeans and pretended to be a size 4. To quote my 5-year-old, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

Armstrong’s deception went to a whole new level. Men, women and children with cancer placed Armstrong on a pedestal. He beat it and accomplished the impossible. It turns out he wasn’t a superhero after all, but a dope. He lied to us all for money and fame. I never got into the sport of bike riding. In fact, seeing men riding in full cycle gear makes me giggle. Tide isn’t sponsoring your ride on a country road in Western New York. Step away from the Spandex and put on a pair of blue jeans like the rest of us. I may be bitter because I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was 10-years-old. True Story. How are you supposed to ride a bike when the seat is shaped like a banana? I was a chicken, but that’s not the reason I am pissed at Lance Armstrong. I purchased those yellow LiveStrong bracelets to offer encouragement to family, friends and co-workers. Hope is the one thing we cling to when a loved on is diagnosed with cancer. Lance Armstrong’s story gave us all false hope. He is confessing to the wrong person. Oprah is not God. I doubt there are bike trails in hell.

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