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But before that, Rick Reilly® was apparently wandering aimlessly on a French road and this nice photographer lady picked him up. Then they went back to the hotel and slammed beers.

Onto the ass-probing in question. This is a portion from Reilly's® latest column where he goes deep inside the cancer-fighting machine that is Lance Armstrong:

He was already the oldest winner in 57 years when he claimed his seventh in 2005. Then he took nearly four years off, went through about 17 girlfriends, had a child in June (Max), raised God knows how much hope and money to fight cancer, and then decided, "You know what? I'm not done."

Armstrong is pushing himself so hard on this Tour that if you want to see him, you have to see all of him, butt naked, on the massage table. And so it was to this famous rump I asked: What would be sweeter, the first one, after surviving 14 tumors, or this one?

Rub. Knead. Pound.

"This one," he finally said, "because, even to me, it seems impossible. Even in the eyes of the experts, this is absolutely crazy. You can't get away from the facts: I'm an old guy. But, damn, I've worked hard. If I win, I'll have worked harder for this one than any of the other seven."


Rub. Knead. Pound beers. Anyway, who wants to go home? You? Excelsior.

PHOTO: Photo Lady Twitter

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