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1️⃣ Come hungry to Texas Roadhouse® (Henrietta) between 3-11 PM.
2️⃣ Print the flyer below to give to your server (must be printed).
3️⃣ 10% of your food purchase goes directly to the mission supporting disabled Veterans 🇺🇸
📍 Where: Texas Roadhouse®, 3150 W. Henrietta Rd.
🗓️ When: Wednesday, March 18th | 3 PM – 11 PM
📌 How: Show this flyer! 10% of your bill supports the cause.
***Cant make it to dinner? ***
Order Takeout just give them a flyer at pickup
or You can donate directly: 🦄💪
1️⃣ Come hungry to Texas Roadhouse® (Henrietta) between 3-11 PM.
2️⃣ Print the flyer below to give to your server (must be printed).
3️⃣ 10% of your food purchase goes directly to the mission supporting disabled Veterans 🇺🇸
📍 Where: Texas Roadhouse®, 3150 W. Henrietta Rd.
🗓️ When: Wednesday, March 18th | 3 PM – 11 PM
📌 How: Show this flyer! 10% of your bill supports the cause.
***Cant make it to dinner? ***
Order Takeout just give them a flyer at pickup
or You can donate directly: 🦄💪
On Sunday, April 19th, I’ll be lining up for the Tough Ruck Boston, covering 26.2 miles with a 55lb ruck on my back. The next day, I’m getting back out there to run the Boston Marathon. That is 52.4 miles in under 36 hours.
The Mission
Most missions have an end but for many disabled veterans, there is no final formation. There is no “objective secured” when it comes to transition, physical recovery, or mental health. For many of my brothers and sisters, the hardest mission of their lives starts the day they take the uniform off.
The fight is Never Finished: The Mission Continues.
Why I’m Rucking (and Running) I am rucking 55 lbs on Sunday to represent the literal weight of service. I am running on Monday to represent the endurance it takes to keep moving forward when your body and mind want to quit. I’m doing this because the burden of service is Never Finished
Every dollar raised through this campaign will go directly to, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization that provides veterans with healing and camaraderie through adaptive mental health and sport.
How You Can Help
I set my goal at $5,240…$100 dollars for every mile.
I’m doing the easy part—I lace them up and run. But helping veterans requires tremendous resources. You don’t have to strap on a ruck or run 52 miles to be part of the mission. You can help me carry the weight by:
The uniform is off, but the mission is Never Finished.
In the murky, salt-stained annals of Western New York, they speak in hushed, disappointed whispers of a creature born to mere mortals in the gray, frozen shadow of Rochester, New York. He arrived not with a bang, but with the wet thud of a child who was vertically challenged, horizontally gifted, and possessed a substantial stubbornness. Eventually peaking at a “towering” 5’7”, legend has it he is still waiting for a growth spurt, though scientists agree he is more likely to grow outward than upward at this stage of his disaster.
Before the state took him away, he was a man of the woods—specifically, a horrible, below-average outdoorsman who once got lost in a walk-in closet. His passion for golf was matched only by his unrivaled incompetence. A golfer whose swing was so mythically bad it was once described by a local Pro as “an insult to the grass,” he famously played with such mediocre aggression that, to this day, the grass at the local Muni refuses to grow back out of sheer trauma.
At eighteen, he looked at the U.S. Army and realized he was far too intellectually unburdened for anything but the Infantry—the only profession where “thinking” is considered a breach of protocol. It was a match made in heaven: an organization that loves manual labor and a man who was too dim-witted to care as long as he wasn’t a P.O.G.
It was at Fort Drum that he achieved his true magnum opus—not in a trench, but in a booth. On a morning so cold the breath froze in his lungs, he bypassed Physical Training in favor of breakfast at the Golden Unicorn. There, in a feat of digestive strength that would make a grizzly bear blush, he consumed the entire #4 breakfast. He didn’t just eat it; he absorbed it. He was baptized “Fat Mon,” a title he maintains was his highest military accomplishment.
The Army, confused by his ability to survive his own decisions, tried to punish him with education. They sent him to EMT school, then to Air Assault School, where he accidentally set the Ft. Drum Army Assault 12-mile road march record (1 hour, 58 min, #35) simply because his legs were trying to outrun the crushing weight of his own poor life choices. He collected tabs like a man possessed: he stumbled through Sniper School, crawled through Ranger School, and fell out of planes in Airborne School. He was the most highly trained “shit-bag” in the history of the 10th Mountain Division—a man with the resume of a Tier One Operator, the intimidating physical appearance of a 12-year-old girl, and the work ethic of a lethargic sloth.
By late 2003, he faced a crisis: he had amassed far too many promotion points. Faced with the horrifying prospect of being promoted and actually having to lead others, he did the honorable thing: he got spectacularly intoxicated and missed movement. It was the only logical path toward earning a coveted UCMJ Article 15. This successfully cemented his status among the lower-enlisted ranks. He landed in country in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom (O.I.F.) on Christmas Day 2003, and in doing so, became the first woman eligible to receive a Combat Infantryman Badge (C.I.B.). He returned home and ETSed in the fall of 2004.
Upon returning to civilian life, he transitioned into his next form: The Professional Student. He mooched off his parents with the grace of a seasoned tick, eventually scamming St. John Fisher College (SJFC) into giving him an MBA. It only took 3.5 years at Monroe Community College (MCC), 3 years of undergrad at SJFC, and 2 years in the MBA program for a total of 8.5 years of higher learning. He is living proof that you can have a weak grasp on the complexities of corporate finance and still not be able to find your own socks.
Desperate for cash, armed with a soul that craved abuse, and lacking any remaining self-respect, he became a U.S. Soccer National Referee. He spent years being screamed at by players, coaches and suburban parents, a role he excelled. He eventually realized that he didn’t need to go to a soccer field to be hated; he retired from refereeing when he discovered he could achieve the same level of emotional degradation by staying home and spending time with his wife and two sons David D. Mon (2015) & Luke D. Mon (2018)
After a decade of marriage, he realized he was missing a major square on his “Infantryman Bingo Card.” Out of sheer stubbornness and a determination to “never let anyone hate me more than I hate myself,” he secured a divorce, finally achieving the peak Infantry aesthetic: broke, alone, fueled by self-hate and alcohol.
To end the downward spiral of booze, drugs, depression and crippling anxiety, he now dedicates his time to ensuring his children are sufficiently sad and unhappy, meticulously preparing them for the great disappointment that their lives will undoubtedly become while following in his legacy. Aside from that, he turned to fitness. Today, he can be found training… a lot. Whether he is training for a race, trying to forget bad memories, or simply outrunning the ghost of that #4 breakfast platter from the Golden Unicorn, no one knows.
But if you’re ever in Rochester and see a 5’7″ man rucking through the gloom, forever searching for a growth spurt that will never come and a breakfast platter he can’t finish, tip your hat to the Fat Mon.
You made it this far, please consider hitting that donate button, if you can’t remember what the cause is, you can read about the campaign here.
On Sunday, April 19th, I’ll be lining up for the Tough Ruck Boston, covering 26.2 miles with a 55lb ruck on my back. The next day, I’m getting back out there to run the Boston Marathon. That is 52.4 miles in under 36 hours.
The Mission
Most missions have an end but for many disabled veterans, there is no final formation. There is no “objective secured” when it comes to transition, physical recovery, or mental health. For many of my brothers and sisters, the hardest mission of their lives starts the day they take the uniform off.
The fight is Never Finished: The Mission Continues.
Why I’m Rucking (and Running) I am rucking 55 lbs on Sunday to represent the literal weight of service. I am running on Monday to represent the endurance it takes to keep moving forward when your body and mind want to quit. I’m doing this because the burden of service is Never Finished
Every dollar raised through this campaign will go directly to, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization that provides veterans with healing and camaraderie through adaptive mental health and sport.
How You Can Help
I set my goal at $5,240…$100 dollars for every mile.
I’m doing the easy part—I lace them up and run. But helping veterans requires tremendous resources. You don’t have to strap on a ruck or run 52 miles to be part of the mission. You can help me carry the weight by:
The uniform is off, but the mission is Never Finished.