Then I came into work Thursday morning to hear the breaking news of Landis testing positive for high levels of testosterone.


The results were from a sample done after Stage 17, a premier alpine interval when Landis made up a big chunk of time to move from 11th to third place. That surge put him in position to win the overall title with only a few stages left.


If a second sample backs up the first, Landis will be kicked off his team, Phonak, and presumably, be stripped of his tour victory.


One of my first responses upon learning all this was to say, jokingly, “Hey, Floyd Landis takes more drugs than I do.”


Seriously, I’m not sure what to think.


Landis, who is still in Europe, told reporters, “I want the chance to prove my innocence.”


He later held a press conference and appeared on CNN’s “Larry King Live” to make his case the unusual testosterone levels occurred naturally.


But what this potential doping scandal hasn’t changed is how I felt when I read Mike Gross’ moving article last Sunday on Landis’ degenerative hip and his almost-incomprehensible tolerance for pain.


Mike wrote, “... Landis has osteonecrosis — ‘bone death’ — in his right hip ... .


“The hip is essentially a ball-in-socket joint. In Landis’ case, the ball part has deteriorated, due to lack of blood and oxygen supply, to the point of collapse. ... Deteriorated to the point, in fact, that Landis can only get on his bike right leg first.


“... During 2005 ... Landis rode five hours per day, at 90 revolutions (pedals) per minute, for 250 days. The result, apparently at least partly intentional, is a tiny groove worn in the top of his femur which relieves the pressure a bit.”


Mike’s piece brought back a lot of memories. While Landis is soon to receive a hip replacement, I have been the bearer of two artificial hips since 1980, when I was 17 and a high-school senior.


At 7, I was diagnosed with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis, or JRA. I took a host of medicines, from prednisone pills to gold shots (not a fun experience), but the disease progressed slowly.


Everything changed the summer before 11th grade. The JRA went after my hips with a vengeance, and the level of pain grew quickly.


My junior year was my version of the Tour de France, except my goal was not to win the world’s most grueling sporting event but to simply make it through the day.


I was still walking then, and I remember how excruciating it was. I absolutely dreaded even simple movements such as getting up from a chair.


By that time, I was seeing doctors at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, who were reluctant to replace my hips because I was so young. Instead, at the end of the school year, they sent me to a rehab place in Atlantic City for therapy.


I walked into Children’s Seashore House, and eight weeks later left in a wheelchair.


Surgery was now the only option, but it wasn’t scheduled until the second half of my senior year. The first half, I used a wheelchair at school.


Getting around at home was another matter. My parents and I lived in a small, two-story, semidetached house with all the bedrooms on the second floor, and the possibility of converting part of the first floor into a bedroom didn’t exist.


During weekdays, my father would gently put me over his shoulder, carry me down the steps out to his pale yellow Volkswagen Beetle (I loved that car), and drive me to school before heading to work.


Following my operations, which were done a couple of months apart, I was able to resume walking short distances and even climb steps, with help.


Because of other problems, I can no longer walk, but my pain-free hips, now 26 years old, allow me to use a sliding board to get in and out of bed and in and out of a car, for example.


Without the artificial joints, I’d be bedridden.


However this doping controversy shakes out, I hope Landis ends up as happy with his new hip as I am with both of mine.


Paula Wolf, a sports enthusiast who uses a wheelchair because of rheumatoid arthritis, is a staff writer for the Sunday News. E-mail her at pwolf@lnpnews.com.
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