Augusta, Georgia The other day, Lance Armstrong was watching the Milan-San Remo race on television, pacing around the house, unable to sit down. His girlfriend, Sheryl Crow, posed this question for him: "You can't even sit down. How can you retire?" It was a reasonable question. Won't this most driven of athletes go stir-crazy after a month of retirement and start looking for a local race, just to feel the pack strung out behind him one more time? "Five years?" Armstrong suggested tentatively Monday, meaning he could see himself showing up for a friendly race at age 38, just looking for some weekend recreation. Other than that, he's done. He has been done for a couple of years, since his marriage started to unravel and he realized he would need to be in Austin, Texas, much of the time if he wanted to participate in the lives of his three children, whom he shares with his former wife. "They made me retire," he said Monday, meaning that his desire to be with his children dictated his retirement. He will not race again after this July's Tour de France, he announced Monday, the day before he and the Discovery Channel team compete in the Tour de Georgia, which begins here. He was asked if he was pushed to this decision by the former assistants who offer drug suspicions about him, the book and the lawsuits, the random catcalls and threats, the crush of the mob that has reached hysterical levels. He did not say no. He merely snickered and said: "Nobody likes death threats. I'm still here." He still has a strong chance to win the Tour de Georgia, the best multiple-stage cycling race in his home country. He will still be the favorite in July, when he goes after his seventh consecutive Tour de France. "No. 7 doesn't have the cachet of 6," he admitted. "But I still love what I do." This retirement means there is limited time to observe one of the greatest and charismatic American athletes, ever. The Tour de France breaks good riders, sends them slumped over, beaten, back to the hotel in the team van. It is conceivable that its steep climbs and time trials and three weeks of torture could demoralize a man who wants to be a soccer dad. How can he push himself through the Pyrenees when the end is so close? "That desire to go out on top," Armstrong replied. "That's a big deal to me." He added, "I still kill myself on six-hour bike rides and come back wasted. One final one, and then I stop." Respectfully, he compared himself to one other athlete who retired - Michael Jordan, who did it three times, at least so far. Jordan never gave the feeling that he was retiring in order to supervise the homework of his children. Armstrong does. He never respected his biological father or his adoptive father. He wants his children to know him. He makes no guarantees about what will happen at the tour. He spoke of Jan Ullrich of Germany, who could not stay with him in recent tours, and said: "No promises. There are 200 other cyclists who want to win it." He added: "It's my ambition to win. It's my job to win." Armstrong seemed subdued in making the expected announcement, at a news conference in front of European and American journalists, but he has been hinting at retirement for two years. His fellow riders, including colleagues from the European circuit who make this such a good race, knew it was coming. Because Armstrong is so contemporary, so formidable, it is hard to compare him with the great American athletes - Jim Brown, Joe DiMaggio, Sandy Koufax, Pete Sampras - who quit on top, before they got too old, before they were embarrassed. One clunker of a Tour de France should not embarrass Armstrong, but his champion's pride could keep it from ever happening. "I'm absolutely concerned," he said about losing. "But it is fear that gets you up early. 'What happened?' I don't want to face these questions." Even with his palpable need to stay home, he still talks like a man with one more tour in him.