What's the mission?

Waking weight: 200.2lbs
Intake so far: 2 cups of black coffee, 1 Nature Valley "protein" granola bar.
Mood: OK.  Took some supplements, faked a smile till it was real.

Mission July is a new name for a goal that's been around since the year started.  I turn 28 on July 7, and I plan to have that chiseled physique I've always wanted by then.

And some white board shorts.

The term itself was coined by Maggie and Carli, who upon hearing of my birthday present to myself, decided to join in the quest.

You think Maggie's fucking around here? Not likely. Stone cold.

It's for a couple reasons.  The first is obvious.  Nobody likes to be Chubs McGordo.

I do love cupcakes, though.

The second is an even better goal.  We in the weight-loss community (pretending I make an effort to be part of the dieting community) like to encourage new losers with the idea that "weight is just a number".  Which is true, in that it's a number describing how heavy you are.

In the past few years, I've become a fan of running. I'm not great at it, but I've run a few half-marathons, and I really enjoy the feeling of moving under the power of my own feet.  If you look at the great runners, they're small.  I'm not a small guy - I don't really want to be a small guy.  But weighing 220 pounds and trying to turn in a sub-20:00 5k just wasn't working for me.  At 200, I can already feel a difference, and why not? 10% less weight to haul forward is a hell of a thing.  My "goal weight", which is really a best guess, is 185 pounds.  15.2 from where I woke up today.  I suspect that at that weight I will have the full 6-pack, and with a few months of training be ready for the 18-minute 5k I want to run this fall.

Plus, maybe the next time I try to down-and-up the Grand Canyon in a day I won't nearly die.

The final reason is the one I'll probably get shit for, but I've really stopped caring.  It gives me control.  I don't have the time to exercise 2 hours a day like I'd love to do.  I'm stressed about school, I'm stressed about exciting new projects, I'm stressed about my family.  Not all of this is bad stress, but it all adds up.

And every time I don't eat something when I conceivably could, it's a victory.  In Haiti, I got some ribbing for my "3-bite" meals.  I wasn't starving myself, but the joy of controlling my impulse to stuff my face, and only eat until I was no longer hungry -- that is a feeling I love to feel.

I'm tired.  I'm not sleeping well.  Maybe some day I'll get caught up, or take a step back and make time to just breathe.

Not today. Not tomorrow.  Maybe July.

In Haiti, it felt like July every day.