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Outside Magazine June 2003

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Force Majeure (Cont.)

ARMSTRONG HAS BUILT a rigidly ordered world for himself that turns on hard work, perfectionism, and a palpable loathing for the forces of chaos. He compartmentalizes the disparate aspects of his life and shifts gears between them on the spot, rarely looking back. Certainly it's an advantage that he has a crystal-clear goal, but what enables him to operate with such singular purpose is the protective shield of his inner circle. He runs this informal organization like a CEO, handpicking smart and successful people to orbit him like satellites.

"I'm careful and wary of new people," he says. "I have a close circle of friends and advisers, and I try to keep it that way."

There's a certain type of man he's always sought out: older, wealthy, and wise. Men like Thomas Weisel, 62, the maverick San Francisco financier who put together the Postal Service team and manages a lot of Armstrong's investments. Or Jeff Garvey, 54, founding chairman of the Lance Armstrong Foundation and a venture capitalist who used to manage a $1.5 billion hedge fund. Or Jim Ochowicz, 51, Armstrong's former team director (at Motorola) and Luke's godfather, who is a broker for Weisel.

Slightly closer to the nucleus are a few friends—young, raw, determined guys willing to be groomed for service. These he calls "brother." Foremost among them is 37-year-old Bill Stapleton, Armstrong's agent and confidant, who founded Capital Sports & Entertainment not too long after landing Lance as his first client, eight years ago.

Six feet tall, with loosely swept-back black hair and a broad face, Stapleton is a former Olympic swimmer who was working in an Austin law firm and hating it when, in 1995, he got up the nerve to approach Armstrong about representing him. Armstrong met him, mulled the pitch for five months, and chose him because he didn't want to be "swallowed up" by a larger firm.

These days, Stapleton is inseparable from his client, serving as advocate, personal secretary, and the bad cop who shuts down photo shoots on time, since Lance hates them. He travels with him on every business trip, working out schedules on the plane, usually a private jet (Armstrong has a 100-hour time-share). At last year's Tour, Stapleton baby-sat comedian Robin Williams, Sally Jenkins, former Wallflowers guitarist Michael Ward, and producer Frank Marshall, who's interested in making a movie about Lance.

Their relationship is a testament to the loyalty Lance demands of his posse. The two men are bound by a simple two-page contract that either side can terminate on 30 days' notice. And loyalty pays well. Considering that the typical sports agent's cut is 15 to 25 percent of a client's salary, Stapleton makes roughly $2 million a year.

"What I like is that when Lance needs something, I'm the go-to guy," Stapleton says. "I have a tremendous respect and admiration for this guy. To have someone I admire look to me for advice and counsel means a lot. I mean, I'm a fan. I'm not a freaked-out fan. I'm not a geeked-out fan. But I believe in this guy."

Busy as Armstrong is, he's diligent about responding to the 50-plus e-mails and phone calls he gets each day: queries from Carmichael, checking in on his training regimen; from his mother, asking about the new cancer center in Dallas that is naming a surgery room after him; from Johan Bruyneel, the director of the USPS team, confirming his racing schedule; from U2 frontman Bono, asking if he can speak at an AIDS benefit in Omaha this weekend; from Kristin, about when they should move into their new house in Austin; from Sally Jenkins, wondering if he's read the latest chapter of the second book; from Stapleton, asking if he can sign 600 posters for charity; and from John Korioth, a cycling brother, wondering when he wants to meet tomorrow—to ride.

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