High School writer Ryan Aber
Not long after my daughter was diagnosed with cancer in 2001, I slipped on a Livestrong bracelet.
For about two years the band rarely, if ever, came off. I only stopped wearing it when it snapped.
I didn't wear it for Lance Armstrong, though his story helped.
If he could come back from cancer to reach the pinnacle of his sport, Kaylee could beat cancer and live a normal, full life.
That's what the band meant for me.
Kaylee's been cancer-free for more than 10 years.
I wanted to believe Armstrong's story, that he'd become the top cyclist of all time by perseverance and not by using performance-enhancing drugs.
Over the last few years, though, the realization sank in that the chances Armstrong had accomplished his feats clean were slim.
First, it was the flood of other bikers who were caught up in PED scandals.
Then, when person after person who had been around Armstrong accused him of doping and/or covering up his involvement, the chances seemed even more dim.
So Armstrong's recent admission that he was guilty of doping didn't shake me much. It was just an official acknowledgment of something I already knew.
Still, though, that doesn't diminish what the band did for me — and millions of others like me — during a time when I needed a little boost of support, even if that boost came from within myself.
It also doesn't take away from the job the Livestrong Foundation has done in offering support for those suffering with cancer.
OSU writer Gina Mizell
I usually only wore my yellow Livestrong bracelet for three-minute increments during my junior year of high school.
But in those short spurts, I tried to project my love and support to the back of packed auditoriums.
My longtime dance teacher, Mario Velez, was diagnosed with testicular cancer in 2005. Doctors caught it early, so his prognosis was good, but he left the studio and his students to undergo chemotherapy that spring.
Over the next several weeks, we sent cards and positive thoughts and prayers. But for our end-of-the-year recital, I wore the yellow bracelet as my display of public support whenever I performed a number he had choreographed.
Mario was well enough to attend our last performance, and I'll never forget the moment he was brought on stage for our final bow. He's been cancer-free since that fall, and now owns his own dance studio in Phoenix.
Lance Armstrong's admission of doping doesn't surprise me. And his lying and bullying makes him downright unlikeable. Would I wear a yellow bracelet today? Probably not.
But my yellow bracelet in 2005 was about Mario, not Lance.