Miracle Man

Next weekend, Lance Armstrong will get on his bicycle and begin his last big race. He will be trying to win the Tour de France for the seventh-straight time, something no one has ever done before.

If there were nothing else to his story, he would still be counted as one of the greatest athletes of all time.

But there's a lot more to his story. In fact, nine years ago, when he was diagnosed with testicular cancer that had spread to his lung and brain, it looked like his story was over.

But he survived, and after multiple surgeries and four rounds of chemotherapy, he started riding his bike again.

In 1999, he won the Tour de France. It was after that first remarkable victory that Correspondent Bob Simon spent time with him in France and his native Texas.

60 Minutes met up with him right after he crashed headfirst into a wall while plummeting down the Pyrenees. Armstrong may be the miracle man of modern sport. But he's lucky to be alive.

Then, one day he didn't feel so good. He had severe headaches, blurry vision and was coughing up blood. One testicle puffed up to the size of a good-sized lemon, he says.

Armstrong finally went to see a doctor in his hometown of Austin, Texas. The doctor wanted an X-ray of his chest.

The doctor found out that Armstrong had testicular cancer, which had spread to his abdomen. But he didn't know how sick he was on Oct. 8, 1996.

"Most worrisome is that he had two areas on his brain that were obvious cancer," says Dr. Craig Nichols, Armstrong's oncologist, who says that if Armstrong had not seen a doctor that day, he would have had only weeks to live.

The testicle was removed. And soon the brain tumors had to be as well.

"I was scared because I didn't know anything about it," says Armstrong. "I didn't know whether I was going to live or die. I didn't really know what my chances were."

His doctors at Indiana University Hospital thought his chances for survival were less than 50 percent. But they didn't tell Armstrong.

Did Armstrong think he was going to die? "Sometimes," he says. "But not, not for long. I think I had to, it would have been stupid not to think about it."

"Before he was gonna have his brain surgery, there was a point that I thought I might be going to Lance's funeral," said Chris Carmichael, Armstrong's coach.

Doctors operated for hours on Armstrong's brain. Then he underwent four grueling cycles of chemotherapy.

Armstrong's mother, Linda, was there when the treatment began. "There wasn't a night that didn't go by that I'd go back to my room and cry buckets of tears. You know, 'Why him? Why not me?'"

"Whatever I do in cycling, or whatever I do in the Tour de France, or whatever I do in training, I'll never suffer like I did then," says Armstrong.

The chemotherapy was administered in cycles: one week on, two weeks off.

So what did Armstrong do when he wasn't feeling nauseous, when he could get out of bed? He rode his bike.

"One day, we're out riding on this pretty good hill," recalls Armstrong. "And a lady came up on me. She must have been in her 40s, maybe early 50s, not a very nice bike, right past me, Voom! And I thought, 'This is not happening.' Gave it a little effort, a little surge to try (to) stay with her. Couldn't catch her."

Like every professional cyclist, Armstrong belonged to a team. His was based in France. When Armstrong was in his last phase of chemotherapy, his lowest point, the team managers came to his hospital room.

They were there to cheer him up, Armstrong thought. Instead, they had come to cut his salary by 80 percent. Soon, he was dropped from the team.

But in December 1996, test results showed Armstrong's cancer was in remission. He said that he is alive because of "good doctors, good medicine, good technology. Twenty years ago, I would've been dead."

By 1997, Armstrong thought he was ready to race. He paid a visit to the Tour de France, where there were many pats on the back, but no contract offers. No one wanted a cancer survivor. Finally, a new team sponsored by the U.S. Postal Service took a chance. After a few fits and starts, Armstrong began to train toward the Tour de France, which involves 2,300 miles during 23 days and is one of the most punishing sporting events in the world. Few thought he could be a contender.

"For me, to focus everything on the Tour de France was a risk because I had never proved myself there," says Armstrong.

Why did he do it?

"Because I didn't have anything else to lose. That was the beautiful thing," says Armstrong. "Nobody expected me to win the races I won before. Nobody expected me to win the Tour de France. Nobody expected me to do anything."

Armstrong trained as he had never before. Ironically, the cancer had changed his body in ways that weren't all bad. He was 15 pounds lighter, which makes a big difference when riding uphill. In the first stage of the 1999 Tour, he beat his rivals in a race against the clock.

Ten days later, Armstrong was still leading the race. The next stage took riders into the mountains to the alpine village of Sestriere. Armstrong's rivals assumed he would crack.

"My climbing was a question," says Armstrong. "You know, I could win the time trial the day before, but can he climb?"

Five hours later, Armstrong was still climbing toward Sestriere. But two racers had broken away from the pack. They figured they had dropped Armstrong, perhaps for good. They were wrong.

Armstrong attacked -- uphill, and kept going. No one caught him. After six hours of riding and 133 miles in the Alps, Armstrong was already an icon.

As he pulled into Sestriere, he had a message for the team owner: "I said, 'Tom, do you like apples?' He says, 'Sure.' I said, 'Well, how do you like these apples?'"

But the Tour de France wasn't over. There were still 10 days to go. But barring a disaster, it was over. It was his.

"Was there any moment during the Tour de France when you said to yourself, 'I don't believe this? I don't believe what I'm doing? I don't believe what's happening?'" asks Simon.

"I still say that," says Armstrong, laughing.

The French press was convinced that Armstrong had been doped and that the cancer had been faked. But as Armstrong mounted the champion's podium on the Champs d'Elysees, he knew his victory meant something to people who had never cared about the Tour de France.

"I knew that there were people just diagnosed, or family members or people diagnosed, or survivors or people being treated," says Armstrong. "They were going to see that and say, 'That guy's one of us.' And they were going to get hope from that."

Armstrong has used his fame to spread his message of hope. He says it's the obligation of the cured. "Some people have the illness, survive the illness and want to move on, never want to talk about it, never want to touch it," says Armstrong. "Other people, they want to represent cancer survivorship. And they want to tell their story. They want to help other people."

Every year, Armstrong holds a cycling benefit in Austin. Thousands of riders, many of them new riders, come to raise money for the fight against cancer.

Armstrong has set up a cancer foundation in his name that has resulted in additional pledges of over $80 million. Armstrong has also launched a cancer awareness campaign called the Cycle of Hope.

He also has a best-selling book, "It's Not About The Bike."

"He has a much bigger purpose in life," says Carmichael. "It's about letting people realize that anything's possible. You know, he came back from the grave."

But every so often, Armstrong is reminded of that journey. He is screened for cancer. Doctors say there is only a one percent chance that the cancer will return.

Is it more important for him to be known as the Tour de France champion, or as a cancer survivor?

"I prefer to be known as a cancer survivor," says Armstrong. "It's my proudest achievement."