I was thinking when i was riding/ running today about bonking and the best or worst situation that I could end up in and the fact that my roommates are always on call for my long workouts to be ready to rescue me- even in the next state over if need be- oh the joys of cell phones 
ALSO- the leads me to another question- who carries one and who doesn’t i answered mine on a ride yesterday and i thought my dad who i was with was going to die…
Back in June of 1993 I experienced my first bonk on a bike. It was one to remember. It was one of my first 10 bike rides. One warm morning 11 years ago I took off with the Wednesday group ride from the U of A clock tower in Tucson, AZ. I was set out for the 33 mile loop out and around Saguaro Monument East. At the 16.5 mark I was persuaded to go a bit further by Tucsonan Jimmy Riccitello. I agreed, thinking that we would go another 10 mi. Riding my 1981 Motobecane Team Champion (6spd), I pedaled further and further into the desert. I had finished my 1 water bottle bofore the split with the original group.
Initially, I figured I was in good hands with one of the best triathletes in the world. Then I soon wondered why I was riding with an world class triathlete. Jimmy did a good job with my confidence, telling me that this was going to be a very easy pace. With a pretty tough running background, I, again, tried to manipulate my mind so that I should be one of the stronger of the 5 of us that decided to go long.
After 2 and a half hours on the hog, I started to feel a little light headed, but thought it was a pretty cool buzz. 3 hours, I tried one more time to reverse my thoughts of bonking. I figured that Jimmy is a liitle guy with 2.5% body fat and he would need food before I did. At this point I wasn’t thinking of Snickers any longer, but a chunck out of the Saguaro.
By the end of the 80mi ride, I was completely famished and delerious. I was calculating what I was going to devour when I got home. I was able to remember that all I had at home was a few condiments. Instead, I rode my bike directly to Reay’s Ranch Market, where I was employed the previous summer as a baker. Knowing that I was in good standing with the manager, Paul Hymann(I always got a kick oout his name!), I staggered into the store with no money, but a good character.
When I addressed him as Paul, rather my usual “Buster,” he knew I needed something. I ate the biggest Turkey sandwich ever made at this establishment. 6 slices of cheeses(2 alpine lace, american, jack, provolone, cheddar) avocado…the works. While I waiting for my creatiion to be made, I drank 3 Hansens smoothies, 2 powerbars, and a poppyseed muffin. I calculated this out to be over 2000 calories in a matter of 6 minutes.
I got back on the hog and rode the last 1.5 mi home. Although the ride was “only” 80mi, I think I gave myself 95 in the log. After jotting down my trianing in the log, I went and had 1 more condiment sandwich.
Out of the 5 riders that did the 4 and a half hours, I bet I am the only one that really remembers the ride.
Last month, I was preparing for Redland’s Bicycle Classic at Xantuzia. 7 hours, mainly in the mountains was the ride for the day.When I got back to the compound and told Dan and Monty that I survived on 4 e-Gels along with 6 bottles of water, they were amazed. It is funny how the body adapts.
I will remember the Tucson ride from '93 many more years than my 2004 ride in the San Gabriel’s.
When in a desperate state French’s, Heintz, and Best Food’s mayo is not that bad.
it must be this one for me :
Last year, in late June, I went to the south of France to my uncle’s house in Provence. Took my bike with me, cause I wanted to do the Mt Ventoux (famous climb of the Tour de France) and I knew it was close to the place we were staying at.
Anyway, I had a quick look at the map, thought it would take me about one hour to reach the bottom, told my girlfriend to come pick me up at the top in two hours and a half.
Off I go, with only two gels and two bottles filled with water (no sports drink).
After more than 3 hours of riding on small winding roads, I finally arrive at the bottom of the Mt Ventoux, no water or food left, nowhere to refill my bottles with water, it is sunday, everything is closed.
What can I do ? Let’s go for it, I didn’t do this for nothing. After 1km of climbing (10-12% gradient), I bonk, already. Nothing in the stomach anymore, no energy left. Call my GF, she got lost, can’t find the goddam mountain. Try to explain to her where to go to pick up what’s left of me.
I keep going up, no GF. I finally arrive at the top after more than 2 hours of climbing (surviving really), my GF waiting for me on the side of the road at the top with big chunks of meat in her hands, that I absorb in no time. She went up the other way, unfortunately.
To sum up : did about 5 and a half hours of riding with a liter and a half of water, and two gels. The ride included the climb of the Mt Ventoux (20kms at 9-10% avg).
That was my worst bonk story. So far (I hope for ever though).
Back in the 80’s, set off with a bunch of good bikers from Greenville, SC headed to Gatlinburg, TN. They were training for the Assault on Mt. Mitchel…a 102 mile ride with the last 27 miles all uphill (except one steep downhill that you wish was never there…because you just have to climb back up to the altitude you were before that drop!). Gonna do the 152 miles with 4 **real **climbs from 7 to 14 miles long each in one day, and take two to get back home. Had all our clothes and gear fixed on our road bikes. After two climbs, at about 75 miles…I hit the wall. Couldn’t hold a wheel of the slowest rider on the flats. They poured me into a Wendy’s and forced me to eat two Singles and a Frosty. Made me get back on the bike no matter how much I though I was going to lose my lunch, and within an hour, I was motoring along pretty well. Started eating again on the bike, and ended up pulling a good bit up the last 14 mile climb in the Smokey Mt. Park before the big descent into Gatlinburg. Took us 9 hours of ride time. It was my first ride over 50 miles in length. A real eye-opener. It payed big dividends on the Mt. Mitchell assault, though! I finished that ride in 5:45, I think that was in the top 15%, best I can remember. I’d like to do that Mt. Mitchell ride again, and although I did the Greenville-Gatlinburg ride a couple more times, I wouldn’t do it today…too much traffic.
well, if best means funniest, my friends would say it was a few summers back on a super hot day at the mtb races. when i fell off the bike after the finish line, i apparently kept calling a shrub steve. some time in the nice air conditioned ambulance and some watermelon fixed me up fine. and it got me out of driving home
http://www.slowtwitch.com/mainheadings/features/riccitello/bother.html - Not mine, but read the bottom of this article about a ride Riccitello and Pigg were one…funny stuff.
Mine isn’t as funny, but many of you can probably relate. Last season, I went on an early season long ride, and I was really buying into the “low HR intensities burn fat”, and I deduced that if I go on a super long & super easy ride, I don’t need to eat or drink anything but water, b/c I’ll be burning fat stores. (REAL smart by the way.) About two hours into the 3 hour ride, I hit the wall, and a stiff 15 mph headwind. I could barely turn the pedals. I’m talking 39-21 & 23 barely turn the pedals. (on a completely flat road no less) I not only physically bonked, but I mentally bonked as well and I kept having the urge to pull off the road and curl up in the fetal position. Man was that dumb.
Early last summer I was starting to get back into my training after 10 years out of tris. I was also despriatly trying to loose weight as I had gotten bigger than a house. So I was not eating very much. Worked all day and got in some type of run at lunch (rather than eating). After work headed straight to the pool. Now I am a pretty good swimmer, and that night I am churn’in out a rather long pace swim in a 50m pool.
I start to feel everything drain out of my body, but with all my accumulated wisdom I think 1.) need to keep going, 2.) this should help me drop a few pound, 3.) I know I am starting to Bonk - and that is good as I will be training my body to race on depleted food storage, and 5.) I am tough, just stick it out.
Well within 500 m my head starts spinning like it never has before. Adding flip turns every 40 seconds does not help things. I go probably another 300 m and am totally out of if. Climb out of the pool and am staggering around. A guard comes to help me and all I can do is mumble (trying to say get me to the snack bar). Guard wants me to lay down on a chaise, but I will have none of that and protest, pretty loudly. S
Finally, I stagger over to the snack bar (in front of a fairly good sized crowd of our country club friends) and ask (mumble incoherently) the counter kid for a soda and power bar. She has no idea what I am saying and is a bit scared by the crazed look in my eyes. Finally I just push 1/2 my body through the little window, reaching into the snack hut and grab the power bar box that is sitting a few feet away. Promple sit my ass right down next to the stand and tear into the power bar. People are just stearing in amazement.
Within a few minutes I am feeling a bit better, get a soda and another power bar and make it back to my towel.
Worst part, I jave up drinking all together a few months back for a lot of reasons, one of which was my wife saying I needed to make a decision, beer or the family. Well this little incident caused a bunch of people (who don’t know I gone sober) who were there at the pool to figure, Rob must have slammed a few beers at the club bar and decided to go for a swim. Then things got a bit out of hand and he was staggering all around the pool and stealing things from the snack bar.
Anyone who has ever been a member at a country club knows how fast rumors spread and grow. Particularly juicy ones like this. This one became a dousie within hours. My wife who was not with me at the time catches wind of my exploits the next day. She figures I had a break down and am back on the sause. She confronts me with it and I go into the whole “I bonked story”. My wife is no athlete and cannot even begin to believe the bonk story. In fact she figure I made up the term bonk. Took me a few days of askingthe club to pull my purchase records (can’t pay cash for food/drink, just get billed monthly) and having a couple of people I know back up my story to get the wife to believe I was not drinking, but rather training too hard.
Chip the policeman, the late Michael R. Rabe and I are doing an 80-miler from Dearborn out to Ann Arbor.
I run out of gas and come down. Hard. I go from 20 mph to, like, 8 mph. It is ugly. Between us we have $1.80.
These guys think it is hilarious. They are like, “We can stop at a Wendy’s and get you some crackers and ketchup.” I told them, “Hey, fuck you guys…”
We’re riding along at 8 mph and Chip pulls a quart of orange juice out of his jersey- no kidding. I ask him, “Ahh, where did that come from?” He tells me, “I got it out of a trash can back there.”
I grab it and drink the whole thing, not giving a second thought to what might be in there or how long its been there. I make a full recovery in a few minutes and the ride ends without further incident.
That’s a great story!
Back in the early 80’s when traffic was not as much a factor as it is now, a number of us had made it an annual tradition to ride from far Southwest Houston, down to the seawall on Galveston Island and back again as a spring and/or fall training ride (usually about 140-150 miles roundtrip depending on the route). The first time we did this epic ride was in 1982 and with a group of 8-9, we were able to pull it off without a hitch but the following couple of years turned out to be rather eventful!
In 1983 we had added a new racer to our little group and let me tell you that guy was pretty fast, just not very smart. On the day of the annual Houston-Galveston-Houston Spring classic ride, everyone assembled at a bike shop that no longer exists on the far southwest side of Houston and our hero, we will call him Kevin (Kev for short) - he tried to convince everyone he was from the ‘Valley’ out in California but his friends new otherwise - was fast just not real smart about training! He shows up wearing his helmet, cycling shoes/socks, and the latest bibs from Descente (even then they were expensive) and nothing else - no jersey, t-shirt, singlet - nada, Zippo, nothing! His bike, a top of the line Bianchi with Campy Super Record had only had one water bottle cage and back then, a 20-24 ounce water bottle was about the only choice.
The weather was forecast to be mild with temps in the mid 70’s low 80’s and few clouds so everyone had plenty of food (PB&J), fluid (water), and sunscreen except for Kev. We headed off and experienced absolutely no problems on the way south and were ogling bikini clad girls in under 4-hours with 2-stops along the way and a tail wind that had pushed us all the way to the beech, concluding with a legendary bridge sprint over the causeway bridge. Once there, we stopped at local convenience store and re-filled water bottles with ice and water and preceded to ride along the seawall squirting women who had their tops untied with ice water to see what happened!
Everything had been easy right up until we started the journey back to Houston at 1:00 in the afternoon. Nobody had stopped to consider the fact that the tail wind everyone had enjoyed on the way South would now be a serious headwind as we made our way back North. Not too mention that by this time of day, it had become pretty obvious that Kiev had completely forgotten to apply sunscreen to most of exposed surfaces and was pretty red. Add to that the fact that he had not been drinking or eating near as much as the rest of us and was starting to feel the effects. After an uneventful sprint back over the causeway and with each passing mile, Kev was unable to sustain the same level of performance as the rest of the group and not wanting to drop anyone, the pace of the group gradually slowed.
At about mile 95, despite the fact that Kev had been sitting in for miles, he could go no further and we decided to turn into the entrance to a gas station along I-45. Of course the station attendant had just hosed down the slick concrete apron and one of the riders decided to try to take the corner like Davis Phinney at a Criterium and quickly disproved that early Michelin advertisement about slick bicycle tires be able to adhere to wet pavement. Having never seen a deer in the headlights on the highway, I imagine that my friend John had a similar expression on his face as traction failed whereupon he promptly demonstrated all the wrong ways in which to crash in front of your friends along a now busy motorway!
We were only a few miles away from Clear Lake where fortunately the parent’s of one of the riders in the group lived. It was decided that several of us would ‘motor’ up the road to Leroy’s parent’s house and borrow the truck and we would all pile in an drive back to the starting point. Although Kev was making some sort of incoherent sounds, nobody else objected so off we went and 45-minutes later, we were loading 7 bikes and 7 riders into a mid-size pickup truck!
It was obvious that Kev could not tolerate much more sun, so he got a window seat in the cab with Leroy while the rest of us sat in back with bicycles piled on top! Twenty minutes into the drive and we suddenly exited the freeway and slowed. The passenger side door of the truck opened slightly after which Kev proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach as we drove along at 30-40 mph! My good friend Adam and I were on the same side and had front row seats to this event and the sight was so hilarious that we burst out laughing. In fact, we laughed so hard it not only brought tears to my eyes, but the onset of severe leg cramps/charley horses which apparently was very contagious. Picture yourself sitting in the back of a mid-sized 80’s vintage pickup truck with bicycles piled on top and alternately laughing and trying to stop the spasms of cramping muscles.
In an instant everyone was laughing - both at me and at Kevin - only to be struck with the same malady. The harder we laughed, the more intense the muscle cramps yet with the tight proximity, nobody could do much other than laugh and suffer. At the time it seemed as if everyone laughed for 30-minutes but I am sure it was only a couple of minutes but for the riders involved that day, that ride has become a truly epic bonk ride.
You would think that after such an adventure, we would have learned our lesson but the following year when we set off to complete the 1984 edition, we never even less fortunate, as we never even made it to Galveston! In 1984 we were so gung-ho that we felt no need to check the weather forecast preceding that fine March morning. The skies were clear and the temperature was near 75-degrees as we set off at 7:00 am unaware of what was to befall us that day!
We should have known that something was amiss when one of our riders narrowly avoided serious injury when our pace line, echeloned against a quartering headwind, rode upon a storm drain that was missing the storm grate! I am unsure how we failed to notice the road hazard until we were already upon it - some were able to bunny hop it but one of the newest riders was unable to clear the span and his back wheel impacted the lip being him to a sudden stop and instantly turning his hand built Mavic wheel into a twisted pretzel. Fear not, a quick call on the pay phone to his wife and were back our way unaware of the darkening skies behind us.
As the morning progressed, the winds diminished somewhat and we made good progress and had just put the City of Clear Lake behind us when I noticed the ominous storm front that was now quickly overtaking us! Within minutes a light mist was blanketing us and the almost as quickly the temperature began to fall. When asked about the rain, I instantly recalled Carl Spackler’s (Bill Murray) immortal words from the movie ‘Caddie Shack’; “I don’t think the hard stuff is coming down for quite a while yet!”
Having started the ride dressed for temps in the 70/80s, everyone one of us had brought rain jackets and other cold gear to the start but that is were it stayed as we did not even consider the possibility of a fast moving cold front. We were between towns, in a remote area along the Gulf Freeway and had no choice but to continue a few miles further south before being able to U-turn so that we could start our way back to Houston. By this point the temperatures were in the 40’s, the sky was very dark, and driving rain from the North was pelting us. We were all tired, wet, and hungry and it was decided that we would stop at the McDonalds in Dickinson before starting the ride back into the wind!
Food and hot chocolate were the order of the day and the staff was nice enough to let us have some plastic trash bags out of which we rain jackets of sorts were fashioned. Of course sense we were already drenched, this really only served to try to ‘lock’ in what little body heat we had left as we reluctantly remounted our bicycles for the journey north!
As we made our way back to the Northwest, nothing seemed to go our way as the longer we pedaled, the windier it got and the harder the rain came down! The elements slowly wore away at everyone’s resolve and our little group’s speed gradually slowed such that it took the better part of 3 3/4 hours to ride 40-miles in those conditions. With about 10-miles to go, the pace had slowed to a crawl - maybe 5-6 mph at most. This was quite pathetic for a bunch of hot shot Category 1, 2, and 3 racers and we found reassurance in the fact that we did not think it could not get any worse seeing as we were so close to the end - we were wrong!
The rain let up and for a moment it appeared as if the clouds were going to lift when all of a sudden I began to feel and see sleet followed by freezing rain as the main part of the cold front passed by us! The last few miles were nearly a death march since everyone was trying to draft leaving none to pull! When we finally arrived back where the cars were parked everyone was famished and we wanted food - lots of food.
We headed over to a Black-Eyed Pea restaurant and spent the next two hours eating rolls/cornbread and drinking hot tea and coffee and reminiscing about how miserable we had been! ‘Never again’ we remarked after that horrendous day but such is the folly of men that they always forget because not 13-months later, we were on the road to Galveston yet again.
Michael
My worst bonk was back circa 1990. A friend, my brother, and I embarked on what was to be an epic 100 miler through SE michigan, from Lansing, to Jackson, to Albion, back to Lansing, or something like that.
Well the ride went fine until we approached Abion. They didin’t have those Gazeteers back then so we were relying on photocopies of old county maps pieced together. Sometimes the roadnames on the map would differ from the road name on the road. Anyway, around Albion we got lost and wound up getting most of the way to Marshall.
What made things worse, it turned out it was the hottest day of the summer. Not being one to tolerate heat very well, I had been suffering since Jackson. I was getting so dehydrated that the gatorade my friend was supplying me with was making me sick. When we stopped at residences it seemed like the only thing they had was nausea inducing well water. We also had no more money, so stopping for food was out of the question.
Anyway, we’re making our way home over roads that are offering no protection on the clearest, hottest, most humid day of the year. I’m suffering more and more with each pedal stroke, far beyond delerium. Anyway, @ 100 miles we start finding roads that have familiar sounding names, so that lifts our spirits somewhat.
15-20 miles later we come up to what has to be the longest, steepest hill in the vicinity of Lansing. My morale hit rock bottom at that point. I just crawled meter by meter to the to the top. Once I reached the summit, I could go no further. I fell of the bike on the shoulder and couldn’t get up. I have never been so bonked, suffering from heat exhaustion in all my life before or since.
Anyway, My bro and friend had to ride 1/2 mile up the road to find someone who was home. That angelic family threw me into their minivan and took me to their AIRCONDITIONED home and started feeding me and giving me drink. My mom had to eventually come to pick me up. I was done.
All said the ride was about 120 miles, and we still had about 15 more to do before we would’ve gotten home.
I’ll always remember that ride.
They were training for the Assault on Mt. Mitchel…a 102 mile ride with the last 27 miles all uphill (except one steep downhill that you wish was never there…because you just have to climb back up to the altitude you were before that drop!).
So true!
On the subject of bonks…
Our club used to do a 2 day spring ride to Myrtle Beach. The first day 108 hilly miles from Lake Wylie, SC to Florence, SC. The second day was ~85 flat (and windy) miles from Florence to N. Myrtle Beach. The first year I participated was my second year of bike racing. I was in pretty good shape and was just a little cocky about having become fast enough to hold my own with our club’s Cat 3 & 4 riders. After about 20 miles of riding sociably the group split and the faster riders started working it. The further we went, the smaller our group became. With under 20 miles to go there were 3 of us left and I was running on empty. We were finally into the flats approaching Darlington when I just couldn’t hold on any longer. Of course, that left me alone in the wind and life was not good. The thought of apple pie and coke at the Burger King we would pass on the way out of Darlington was all that kept my legs turning. I crept past the speedway and down the ramp, across the road to the turn lane and, lo and behold, there were my partners’ bikes leaning against the wall of the BK. I went in and we had a pretty good laugh about how they were suffering to get there, too. We were all fried despite being only 5 or 6 easy miles from our destination.
1987: I was 17 & had qualified for Hawaii (back then they were giving away entries–win your age group at a USTS or regional event & you were in). I mainly was doing Olympic tris, but did Muncie Endurathon & ended up walking last 2 miles as just didn’t do distance training. A long bike ride for me was 30 miles. Parents were starting to realize the magnitude of Hawaii, and I needed to convince them that I could handle the distance. So on an Indiana August day I did my first 112 mile bike with just water & some pop tarts for fuel. 95 degrees, and 95% humidity–at mile 70 I was toast. I dragged my ass into a local convenience store & ate 3 Hostess Fruit Pies (still the best concentrated source of sugar & fat known to man) & drank about a gallon of water. Feeling better I rolled on. 1 hour later I was in even worse shape & barely moving the pedals. Even better my rear derailleur decided to self destruct. I just remember sitting in the sun in the middle of nowhere, trying to put my bike back together & crying in frustration & anger. When I finally made it home I went straight to the bathroom & turned on the shower cold & lay down in the tub. I was shaking & nauseous & almost feel asleep, even with the cold water–think I was on the verge of heatstroke.
The next day, just to top it off, I decided to do a 15 mile run in the heat of the day (Hawaii being hot an all). Longest I had done was 10 miles, usually pre-dawn to counter the heat. I drove out early in the morning & stashed a cooler full of water along a deserted road. Set off on the run at 11am. By the time I reached where the cooler was supposed to be, I was hurting–had consumed all my water bottle & was starting to tingle–for me a sure sign of dehydration. No cooler. To this day I have no idea if I forgot where I put it or if somebody took it (unlikely as this was middle of nowhere). Ended up drinking out of a muddy stream and staggered back home. Pissed blood later that night. Needless to say, no Hawaii for me.
About three years ago me and a couple of friends head out on a “70 mile” ride, which consisted of new roads that I proudly mapped out using my Topo USA software.
We ended up in “East bum-f*&% Egypt”. In other words, lost as shit.
Ran out of food first, then water. Oh, and it was a typical Texas summer day - about 103F - probably hotter on the pavement. I went from feeling OK, to getting off the bike to lay down in the road (it was hotter on the pavement) in a span of about 15 mintues. We had already ridden 80 miles and were were still at least 20 miles from home. Cell phones didn’t work. We flagged down a passing redneck in a pickup truck - you know the kind that typically tries to run cyclists OFF the road. I got in back and rode about 10 miles to a little store, called my wife to come collect the wreckage.
My buddy and his wife kept riding…but she bonked right after me and he literally had to push her for 20 miles.
I earned the name, King of Bonk after that one.
Well, you see, my girlfriend took me to lunch at a winery in the forest for my birthday. Beautiful hot summer’s day, sat out on the balcony with great views, great food, lots of wine. After lunch we went for a walk in the trees, it was pretty secluded and my girlfriend looked at me and said “hey, you know there’s nobody around, so maybe you want to collect your next birthday present”.
So, I’m thinking, yeah good point how about…
Ohhh, you mean bonk like in CYCLING?? Ooops, in Australia BONK kind of has a different meaning, same as ROOT.
(Yes, and it is always amusing to an Aussie when you Yanks say “we’ll be rooting for ya” to us, and we’re like “ummm, really? that’s a bit over the top isn’t it, I mean there’s quite a crowd here, and really, just a bit of cheering would suffice, but whatever floats your boat”)
I was whipping around RittenHouse Square in Philly, on my old Fuji, behind a SEPTA bus when someone opened the driver’s side door of their cab (?!!!) about 10 yards in front of me. I immediately locked up both brakes and did a very nice dirt track slide, smacking the door (BONK!!!) with the back half of my ride as I leaned forward on the front wheel to stay upright. The back half flipped around the door and into the cab’s fender as I let go of the brakes. Now the front half and I pivoted back in the original direction of movement and I continued (slowly) on my way. I’m sure there’s a Bike Freestyle word for it, but don’t know what it’s called.
Looked impressive though.
Back in '97 I experimented with absolutley HUGE training volumes. The more the better. I had an incredibly flexible schedule (something that I dearly miss). The stroy goes:
It was a tuesday morning and I met a group of roadies at 5 am to do an early morning 30 mile ride with . When all of the people with normal jobs went to work I decided to add a 35 miles out and 35 miles back to make it a 100 mile ride on a whim. This was pretty standard for me then I just kept the convience stores in business with my debit card. I got home a little before 11 am and felt GREAT!
I felt great and I was due to teach a spinning class at a YMCA 8 miles from where I lived so I said WTF and packed some clean clothes and some gels in a fanny pack. The class went fine and I started on the run back home so that I could have enough time to eat before I went to work at 3 pm.
My energy got lower and lower as the run progressed. The last 2 miles of my run had me cutting through a neighborhood not far from where I lived. I got to the point where i had no idea where I was in the neighborhood which I trained in all of the time. I just meandered all around that neighborhood hoping that I would survive.
I can’t remember how late I was for work that day. I didn’t have time to eat, so I was going to have to survive with what was available in the vending machines. When I got there the “newgirl” who had just started saw me and said “Oh my God! What happened to you?” I told her and she gave me a nutrigrain bar which she brought in for a snack. She is now my wife!
I can’t believe how foolish I was to try such a day almost exclusively on junk food. I went into that day feeling invincable and immortal. I felt that I could survive anything. This workout put me in my place and i think of it nowadays and try to be better prepared.
first marathon at 18, thought I could go sub-3, had done several long relays (as in 48-hour relays) and quite a few long runs. Set off confidently, 32k at 2:10, OK just an easy 10k left. Heh.
Next thing I remember is coming back to consciousness, folded over a chainlink fence on a cliff edge, staring at the cold green Atlantic. Staggered off to the next aid station, drank 2 litres of Coke, and finished in 3:10. An hour for that ‘easy’ 10k…
I have yet to bonk on the bike, probably because it’s such a luxury to be able to eat while riding (as compared to running where noxious gels are the only digestible thing) that I probably overeat…
Doug, I almost have the same identical story. The summer when I was 18 years old, I spent 4-7 hour per day in the saddle riding my touring bike equiped with camping gear all around Europe. Returned back to Montreal in late Aug and the week before the Montreal Marathon, signed up to do the marathon. I figured that I had run all my life and with the endurance from bike touring the marathon would be a cakewalk. Only problem was the longest run in my life up till then was 10K. I did a 15K test run on the Sunday before (7 days out) in 60 min so I felt “confident”.
Fast forward to race day. 10K in 45 min, 20K in 90 min, 30K in 2:15…wow, this marathon shit is easy. What’s this “wall thing” that I keep hearing about. Nutrition up to 30K = a few cups of water. This was back in 1984, so no Gatorade or gels on the course. I hit 32K and become dizzy and start walking. Don’t know how long, but eventually see a woman specatotor on the side of the road eating a bag of salt and vinegar chips.
I went up to her and said,
"Est-ce que je peux avoir votre sac des chips "…loosely translated, this would be “Can I have your bag of chips”. We were running through the east end of Montreal and despite my state of mind I did I know talking in English would be hopeless.
She reaches out and gives me a few chips
“Non Non, le sac au complete”…loosely translated, “No, No, the whole bag”, I responded.
“Vous voulez manger un sac complete pendant un marathon ???”…“You want to eat a whole bag during a marathon ?” she states with perplexity
“Mais oui, j’ai besoin le sac au complete !!!”…“Of course, I NEED the whole bag !!!”.
I ate the entire bag of chips, and stopped for a few bananas. Walked some more, and hit 37K at 3:20. Suddenly feeling the chips having digested, I told myself that running 4 min per K was easy, so no excuses for not finishing sub 3:40. I knocked off the K’s all 4 min on the nose, and hit 42K at exactly 3:40. Of course, I forgot about those pesky 200 extra meters and got totally demoralized and walked in at 3:42.
I completed my first marathon, had a few Molsons and fell asleep under a tree in Parc Lafontaine where the race ended and must have slept for quite a while as the crew was packing up the race sight when I got up with the most sore body and worst hangover in my life. I swore to never to a marathon again. It took me another 7 years to break down and do one, but I’ve done 14 since.
There’s this regular Sunday ride in Phoenix, about 45-50mi, that goes around South Mountain. I was on my first group ride in AZ my freshman year in Phoenix…just got back on the bike for a week or two after the madness of moving from TX to AZ. The ride typically stops and breaks into “fast/medium/base” for this section on Riggs Road…not quite realizing what I was doing, I jumped in with the fast group. Boom…group goes up to 30mph…no problem, I hang and pull-through a couple of times.
All of a sudden I remember looking down at my cyclometer, seeing 34mph, and the guy in front of me is riding me off his wheel…and the two guys behind jump around me and latches on. Me…I’m toast. I dropped down to 18-20mph, and couldn’t even latch onto the medium and base groups. Unfortunately for me…I didn’t know the route, so I elected to turn around and retrace my route back to ASU. In my stupor (I’m seeing stars and fish at this point) I missed a key turn, and end up in Queen Creek…I managed to hobble my way back after realizing this, and begging sugar packets from a couple of Circle K’s…what was supposed to be a 2.5-3 hour ride turned into 8 hours of absolute agony. The look on my face when I actually made it back to my dorm must have been priceless. The 7:40am class Monday morning did NOT happen.
Tell you what though…even though I don’t remember what I ate…dorm food tasted GREAT that night.
Dave