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      Lance Armstrong is calling this one "Retirement 2.0."


      Almost a month after finishing 65th in his last competitive race
in Australia, and nearly six years removed from the last of an
unprecedented seven straight Tour de France titles, the 39-year-old
cyclist made clear there is no reset button this time.


      This time, he's leaving professional racing behind for good.


      "Never say never," Armstrong laughed at the start of an
exclusive interview Tuesday with The Associated Press, then quickly
added, "Just kidding."


      His retirement ends a comeback effort that failed to produce an
eighth title or diminish talk that performance-enhancing drugs
helped his career. The timing has as much to do with his growing
responsibilities and family as it does with the physical
limitations time has imposed. He's tired, and tired of being
hounded. Armstrong will miss competing - let alone dominating a
sport like none before him - but not the 24/7/365 training regimen
that made it possible.


      "I can't say I have any regrets. It's been an excellent ride. I
really thought I was going to win another tour," Armstrong said
about his comeback attempt in 2009, four years after his first
retirement. "Then I lined up like everybody else and wound up
third.


      "I have no regrets about last year, either," he added, despite
finishing 23rd. "The crashes, the problems with the bike - those
were things that were beyond my control."


      Armstrong spoke to the AP in a telephone interview and in a
videotaped interview from his office in Austin, Texas.


      Armstrong zoomed out of relative obscurity after a
life-threatening bout with testicular cancer to win his first tour
in 1999, then set about recalibrating both the popularity of his
sport and how much influence athletes can wield as advocates for a
cause - in his case, on behalf of cancer survivors and researchers
worldwide.


      Along the way, Armstrong also became one of the most
controversial figures in the evolving battle against doping in
sports. He claims to be the most-tested athlete on the planet
during his career. Armstrong came back clean every time, and
vehemently denies ever using performance-enhancing drugs.


      Even so, he remains shadowed by a federal investigation into the
sport launched last year following accusations by former teammate
and disgraced 2006 tour champion Floyd Landis that Armstrong used
drugs and taught other riders how to beat testing. Though the probe
is continuing, lawyers familiar with the case told the AP recently
that any possible indictments are a long way off.

      "I can't control what goes on in regards to the investigation.
That's why I hire people to help me with that. I try not to let it
bother me and just keep rolling right along. I know what I know,"
Armstrong said. "I know what I do and I know what I did. That's
not going to change."


      What won't change, either, is his tenacious campaigning to raise
funds and awareness in the fight against a disease his doctors once
believed would keep Armstrong from competing at anything more
strenuous than gin rummy.


      That was 1996. A year later, he set up the Livestrong Foundation
and raised $10,000. In the intervening years, Armstrong used his
story, his celebrity and hard work to sell millions of those
ubiquitous plastic yellow wrist bracelets and enlist lawmakers in
Texas and global policymakers on the scale of Bill Clinton in the
cause.


      By the end of last year, despite tough economic times, the
foundation had raised nearly $400 million total. But the real heavy
lifting may just be beginning.


      After lobbying successfully for a Texas state constitutional
amendment to provide $3 billion for cancer research over a 10-year
period, Armstrong now has his sights set on California. This
summer, he'll work with legislators there to draw up and put on the
ballot a measure mandating a cigarette tax with the proceeds to
fund further research. Come September, Armstrong will also plead
his case before a United Nations General Assembly special session
on non-communicable diseases that he provided much of the impetus
for.


      "We knew we'd be able to have some impact, but we didn't know
we'd pick up so much momentum," he said.


      That's how Armstrong broke through nearly every barrier the
sport had erected over a century and more - by leading with his
chin. He spilled blood on the roads, came back from crashes and
more than once, crossed the finish line of a stage race draped over
his handlebars like a man hanging on for life instead of an
unbreakable machine.


      One thing that never changed, though, was how Armstrong's
withering gaze controlled the pack of riders around him. He doled
out favors, like stage wins, or withheld them as the mood struck
him. He could command the peloton to speed up to chase a breakaway
rider or slow down with an ease the old-time cycling bosses -
respectfully called patrons - would have envied.


      That was just one reason Armstrong leaves the sport with nearly
as many enemies as friends.


      "A lot of that has been overanalyzed and inaccurately
portrayed, but it's part and parcel of cycling. It's how cycling
operates," Armstrong said. "There's too much infighting, jealousy
and bitterness within the sport, so everybody tries to pick apart a
person or a spectacular performance.


      "And some of it," he added, "we bring on ourselves."


      Cycling made Armstrong wealthy several times over, and many of
the sponsors he brought into the sport continue to use him as a
pitchman. A second career in politics someday does not seem out of
the question.


      "I don't think so. I get asked that question a lot. It's a job.
It's probably many times a thankless job. ... If I were to run for
any kind of office, it's impossible or very difficult to run right
down the middle," he said.

      "I would have to immediately alienate half of our constituents:
'Wait a minute, we thought this guy was a Republican. Wait a
minute, we thought he was a Democrat.' I think the effect there
would be a negative effect for the foundation. For now, absolutely
not on my radar."


      Armstrong will be at this year's tour, bringing the oldest of
his five kids, 11-year-old Luke, back to the race this summer. He
may even climb into a team car to do reconnaissance work for some
of the Radio Shack riders he used to race alongside.

      One thing Armstrong vowed not to do was spend much time reliving
his accomplishments on the bike.


      "In 10 years time," he said, "if I'm sitting around saying,
'I was so strong on L'Alpe d'Huez in 2001,' then I got a problem."

      AP Sports Writer Jim Vertuno in Austin, Texas, contributed to
this report.
      

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Sports

Almost a month after finishing 65th in his last competitive race
in Australia, and nearly six years removed from the last of an
unprecedented seven straight Tour de France titles, the 39-year-old
cyclist made clear there is no reset button this time.

Armstrong officially off bike - 'Retirement 2.0'

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