Bobby Julich is back with another piece sharing the stories behind his worst bonks ever. This isn't a highlight reel by any means, but rather an example of what the old-school mindset around fueling cost him... and can cost you.
Almost every athlete has experienced the dreaded “bonk” — sudden blurred vision, wobbly legs, and an inability to focus. But when it happens on race day, it becomes an unforgettable experience.
Back when I was racing professionally, we often didn’t fuel enough, especially during training. Many of us believed that “eating was cheating,” and we lacked the knowledge and variety of fueling options available today.
Even when we carried food in our back pockets during training rides, it was never enough to fuel our efforts. We often planned our routes around favorite cafes or bakeries. While I wasn’t a fan of mid-ride coffee stops, I always carried a few Euro coins just in case.
In the last two hours of training, it was common to rationalize our lack of energy as a proper training effect. We believed we were losing weight and making adaptations for better race performance, only to return home and consume more calories than we burned. No wonder we weren’t losing weight and felt fatigued all the time.
The worst bonks of my career happened during races where I was either winning or in great condition. When you’re riding well, it’s crucial to be vigilant with your fueling. Even if you feel like you’re floating on the pedals, the math of carbohydrate combustion remains the same.
Bonk Story #1
In 1997, I raced the Route du Sud in France as my final preparation for the upcoming Tour de France in July. It was a two-day, three-stage race with a flat sprint stage and short time trial on day one, then a challenging summit finish up to Plateau de Beille on day two.
I managed to slip into a breakaway during the morning stage and won by jumping the group with 1km to go and holding them off on the line. This was my first professional victory in Europe and turned out to be the first and last time that I would put my hands in the air during a road race in my entire career.
Since it was a double day, the start times were set before the opening stage. This meant even though I was in the yellow jersey, I would start at my predetermined time rather than last, as is typical when leading the race.
Double days are always tricky from a fueling perspective. Going through the podium protocols after winning the stage left even less time to recover and fuel properly for the afternoon time trial.
I ended up winning the time trial stage as well, making my first European win a double victory in one day! After another podium ceremony and press conference, I returned to the hotel beaming with pride and excitement, but the hardest stage was yet to come.
In 1997, we didn’t have smartphones, but we did have the early internet, texts, and emails. Winning two stages in one day was a big deal for me and a first, so I wasn’t used to all the attention. Wins deserve to be celebrated, so I soaked it all in and perhaps missed some of my usual recovery protocols due to the excitement.
I usually was the first rider down for breakfast, enjoying the peace and avoiding the “boarding house reach” mentality when all the riders tried to eat at the same time. But that morning, I was still responding to messages and lost track of time, arriving at the breakfast table much later than usual. It looked like a wild animal had been there, with nothing but empty cereal boxes and empty plates remaining. Instead of stressing, I had a piece of baguette with jam and returned to my room. I was riding so strong that I didn’t need breakfast… or so I thought!
The race started, and I felt great, still buzzing from my dominating performance the day before. I didn’t feel hungry, but I put a protein/carb mixture in one of my start bottles (something I had never done before) to make up for my missed breakfast. It turned out that wasn’t enough.
As we turned onto the final climb of Plateau de Beille, the attacks started, and I immediately knew I was in trouble. I went to the back of the lead group and noticed one of my main competitors stayed on my wheel. He probably thought I was playing a tactical game, but I was in survival mode. As the group accelerated, I turned to him and said, “I am in big trouble here, so don’t think you have to worry about me today.” He gave me a quizzical look at first, but then realized I was telling the truth and sped away.
Since I had the leader’s jersey, one of my teammates dropped back to pace me up the final 10km of the climb. My blood sugar was so low that I couldn’t think straight and just focused on his rear wheel. With about 5km remaining, I asked him to slow down a bit as I still felt we were going at a decent pace. He turned to me and said, “Bobby, if I go any slower, I will fall off my bike!”
As we crossed the finish line, all I wanted to do was jump into a car and hide. But I was informed that even though I lost over 40 minutes on the stage, I was still leading the green jersey points competition and had to go to the podium. I could barely make it up the stairs as my body had shut down. It will go down in history as the most awkward podium appearance of my career.
Bonk Story #2
2005 was my best season as a professional, and I started the Tour of Poland with good form and morale. Racing a hard stage race in September after a long season is always tricky, but I felt like I had more gas in the tank. The plan was to go for the overall win and prepare for the upcoming World Championships at the same time.
Everything was going according to plan until Stage 6 on the challenging Karpacz circuit. This circuit features a tough 5km climb, a tricky descent, and almost no flat roads for recovery. To make matters worse, it was cold and raining for most of the stage, so we all had our rain vests and long gloves on.
During the first lap, I felt good in the front group but flatted on the descent. I took a wheel from a teammate and, instead of using this time to refuel, I had to take risks to catch up to the leaders. Luckily, I rejoined with minimal effort, but I missed my fueling window as we were soon back on the climb, going full gas.
On the second lap, perhaps due to the adrenaline from chasing back on, I felt incredible and crested the climb with the leaders. As we started the descent, my main priority was to take some carbohydrates, but I struggled to get into my pockets with all my rain gear on. Just as I was about to grab a gel, I flatted again! The same teammate gave me his wheel again, and I had to abandon the idea of taking a gel to chase on the descent.
I had a sense of déjà vu weaving through the team cars, but I remained calm and quickly rejoined the front group. The rain intensified, and although I made it down the descent without flatting this time, I was gapped off a bit due to several riders crashing in front of me, making it impossible to take my hands off the bars to grab some food from my pocket.
On the penultimate climb, I started to feel lightheaded and tingly but didn’t give it much thought as the race was full gas. The final descent was treacherous, and I focused on keeping it rubber side down. I didn’t even think of trying to get a gel out of my pocket this time, as I was already planning my attack on the final climb and visualizing how it would feel to win on such an epic day of racing. Then I flatted again!
I changed the wheel quickly, but this time, I wasn’t as nimble chasing through the caravan. My director told me to hang onto the car as he wanted to pull me up to the back of the group, but I declined.
When we turned onto the climb for the final time, I tried to stand up and attack as planned, but my legs buckled. The race leader looked at me, observed my state, and immediately attacked.
I was suddenly alone as the riders faded into the distance, but I kept telling myself to keep fighting to the finish. There was a time trial the following day, and I could make up time and perhaps still win the overall.
I soldiered on solo for the final 4km to the finish, but when I looked up at the clock as I crossed the line, I saw that I had lost over 3 ½ minutes. I was shocked, as my mind was playing tricks on me during that final climb, just like in the Route du Sud so many years ago.
Back at the hotel, I opened the mini bar and took two Snickers bars and two Cokes with me into the shower. I ate both candy bars and drank both Cokes, but I didn’t feel much better for a long time. I wasn’t just completely bonked; I also had mild hypothermia. My dreams of winning the race were shattered simply because I didn’t eat or drink enough during such a challenging stage.
The moral of this story is to always stick to your fueling schedule, no matter how good you feel or how challenging it is to reach your pockets. Don’t let fueling be your limiter! Had I been more vigilant with my fueling needs, these two races could have been victories.
I encourage every athlete to prioritize their fueling strategy. It’s easy to overlook, but it can make the difference between a disappointing performance and a great one.
