"MA'AM? MA'AM?"

Last night I parked the car and had taken three steps on my way into the grocery store when this little white car pulls slowly around the corner, angles toward me and comes to a stop.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?"

She was about my age, dark hair, petite—and she was crying.

She was asking me for money. $5.00 for gas. Her boyfriend had gotten drunk at a bar and taken her wallet. I gave her $10, and asked that she take the time to calm herself before getting on the highway. After all, along with the debit card, credit card and cash, he also had her driver's license.

She used phrases like, "probation, Jack Daniel's shots, can't drink, and my fault for agreeing to stop". Apparently, she'd gotten up to use the bathroom and he'd taken her wallet out of her purse. Apparently, he's "borrowed" her debit card before and, knowing her PIN number, wiped out her account while on a binge. I suggested it might be time to change her PIN number.

She kept saying "He's the sweetest, kindest man ... when he's sober".

11 WEEKS

... and tomorrow marks 11 weeks.

I've shed an inch off my waist, two from my belly, three-quarters from my thighs. My strength is coming back.

After those first few weeks at the gym some sort of muscle-memory must've kicked in, because all of a sudden the weight and repetitions I was originally struggling with doubled.

On the drive home Monday I thought, "If you'd not stopped drinking, you'd be drunk right now—and out of shape and feeling really shitty about that."