Jenifer Estess was the CEO and founder of Project A.L.S. She lived in New York City, where she spent her best times with Jake, Willis, Jane, James, Kate, and the rest of her family.

Chapter One March 17, 1997, was a very windy day in New York City. Walking up Amsterdam Avenue to the gym that morning, I wanted to turn around and go home. The old me would have. My apartment was dark and inviting, my bed was warm, and the gym would be there tomorrow. But then I thought of the Muffin Shop, which was opening in an hour. If I worked out for an hour, I could stop by on the way home for a muffin and coffee to go. One of the great pleasures for me was sitting at my new kitchen table with my muffin and coffee, planning the day. I had a big day ahead of me, so I kept going.I'd been listening to Annie Lennox a lot on my Walkman. She was instrumental in some of the recent changes for the better I'd made in my life. Annie didn't sing -- she spoke to me. "Please get your butt on the treadmill, Jenifer," she said. I always loved that English accent. Right-ee-o, Annie.After six months, I had worked up to thirty minutes of running at 5.0 on the treadmill. Then I'd stretch and do a hundred, make that seventy sit-ups on the mat. I looked around the gym for my friend Billy Baldwin, who did sit-ups with me, but he wasn't there. The sit-ups were harder that morning, which was strange because I had a pretty strong stomach. I had to stop a few times. A handsome trainer walking by asked if I was okay. I said that I certainly thought so. He winked at me and kept going. Sixty-seven...sixty-eight...Talk to me, Annie. I dripped sweat. Hard-core athletes dripped sweat like this. I thought I was getting into some kind of shape. My sister Valerie would be proud.Back at home I sat at my new table, feeling its smooth, sturdy contours. It had been a major purchase for me, the perfect Williams-Sonoma starter for a woman on the verge. I had my whole table in front of me, my blueberry muffin in hand, and a boy in my eyes. I hadn't met the boy yet. That would be happening tonight at Raoul's, a popular restaurant in Soho. My friends Martha and Merrill were going to spy on my date and me from another table. If it felt right, I'd give Martha the high sign, and the four of us would go dancing from there. Dating was something I didn't do much of in my twenties. I think people were a little worried about me. I kept saying I wasn't ready, I wasn't ready. Then, when I realized I'd never be ready, I told my friends to fix me up, and suddenly there was an all-points bulletin out for an eligible guy for me. On some level, I still thought that blind dates were for losers, but I was learning to keep my eye on the prize. What I wanted most was to love someone and to have children. Maybe tonight was a step in that direction. It probably wasn't going to be West Side Story, but maybe it would be. Could be...I sipped my coffee, forever my drink of choice. It was all about this kind of loving self-discipline: one muffin at a time, not two, eaten like a human being sitting at my gorgeous new table, not out of the bag on the run. Most of my friends were married and having babies or inviting me to showers or lamenting not getting married. I was starting to bask in self-reliance -- I was working hard, step-by-step, to make my dream life a reality. My design for living was simple: I drew on the lessons of my girlhood. I was taking good care of my body. I was making a safe, comfortable home for myself. I was on a roll work-wise. The ideas came fast and furious: Maybe for my next birthday I'd register at Bloomingdale's. Why should I have to wait for a fiance to get a couch? "Oofah," I said, pushing back from the breakfast table. I was really late for work. I suddenly remembered the loofah brush and lavender soaps I'd picked up from Crabtree & Evelyn for my date. They were still in a shopping bag on the floor in my closet. When I bent down to get it, I got stuck in a crouch. As I got to my feet, and it took a minute, my burgundy silk shirt hanging from above fell into the Crabt