In the immediate aftermath of his terminal cancer diagnosis, Sir Chris Hoy could not listen to music. It was too reflective; too sad, or too upbeat; it evoked too many memories. But the six-time Olympic cycling champion has earned universal admiration for his phlegmatic response to news that he may have less than four years to live, and his latest health bulletin will only deepen respect for the 49-year-old. Far from succumbing to self-pity, Hoy has embraced a line from the Roman Stoic philosopher Seneca: 'He who worries before it is necessary suffers more than is necessary.' Those words appear to have become something of a personal mantra for the Scot, whose focus is steadfastly on what he can do in the here and now, rather than any sense of despondency over what once was. His capabilities continue to outweigh the norm, with Hoy still able to squat 160 kilos in the gym - about the same weight as a donkey - and hit a powerful 1,600 watts on the bike. Those numbers represent about 80 per cent of what he could accomplish before undergoing chemotherapy in the aftermath of a stage four cancer diagnosis in September 2023. Yet they speak of a man whose determination remains undimmed despite undertaking treatment for secondary bone tumours on his shoulder, pelvis, hip, spine and rib after scans revealed prostate cancer had spread. 'It's about still using the competitive spirit to push you on,' said Hoy. Last May, two months after undergoing chemotherapy, a ride through Greece with amateur cyclists forced Hoy to confront unfamiliar limitations. 'You want to be able to enjoy it, and not just suffer and struggle, but it's very hilly there and we rode for half an hour uphill from the start and it was obvious to myself that my physical level wasn't where it was before,' Hoy told the Times. 'I wasn't able to ride and talk going up the hill, and I found it difficult, and that was the point where I really understood: I've got to reset here and not compare myself to where I used to be.' Five months later, Hoy returned to Greece and was heartened to find he could handle the same terrain more comfortably. 'It's nice that you can see progress,' he said. 'You assume that everything is heading one way, everything is getting worse, everything is going downhill, and it's not. 'I've been able to get fitter in the last 18 months; post-chemo I've been able to improve.' Three months after Hoy's diagnosis, his wife Sarra told him she was suffering from a 'very active and aggressive type of multiple sclerosis' that was both degenerative and incurable. Sarra's condition, which on bad days leaves her struggling to use her front door key, came to light when she underwent a scan after experiencing a tingling sensation in her face and tongue. One of the most difficult moments for the couple was telling their two children Callum and Chloe, then aged nine and six, about their father's cancer diagnosis. Anxious not to overburden the children, it was only later that they told them of Sarra's condition - which she did not even disclose to Hoy at first as he faced cancer treatment. 'It was so hard to try to compute that she had absorbed the awfulness of this diagnosis alone, without sharing it with me, in order to protect me,' Hoy, recalling the moment Sarra revealed the news a month after her diagnosis, wrote in his autobiography All That Matters: My Toughest Race Yet. 'My mind was spinning, trying to understand what had been happening to her, all while she had been accompanying me to every one of my own hospital appointments. 'I couldn't believe what I was hearing; Sarra, so fit and well, able and healthy, was facing this absolute crisis in the midst of my own.' Throughout their unimaginable ordeal, the couple have remained steadfast in their support for each other. 'When she's feeling strong and if I'm feeling low, then she is unmovable and she will not crumble,' said Hoy. 'She'll talk me round and she'll make me feel better, and hopefully she would say the same in reverse when she isn't having such a great time. 'It's very rare that we're both in the pit together. It's kind of one at a time. That's the unofficial rule.' Hoy has also drawn hope from his current trajectory. He has enlisted the help of Steve Peters, the leading sports psychiatrist with whom he first started working before the 2004 Olympics in Athens, where he won the first of his six Olympic gold medals. 'I don't Google anything about my diagnosis, because I just find it a terrifying thing to do,' said Hoy. 'But I also didn't want to turn my back on it, and it was too close to home for Sarra [his wife], so I would ask Steve questions and say: 'Look, can you go and find out about this? I don't want to find out all the other things that are around it, I want to know who's lived the longest with stage four prostate cancer.' Peters came back with news that an American and a Canadian, both diagnosed in their 60s, were still alive more than two decades on. That knowledge has aroused a sense of optimism in Hoy. 'I’m not saying that I’m going to be that person,' he said. 'But once you know something is possible, it’s a way of finding your own hope.