You can blame my husband's sister for the way I smell.

She's really a wonderful sister-in-law, aside from all the bad feelings I have for her at the moment. They too, like the odor of mentholatum ointment, will pass, eventually.

Over the weekend we traveled to Tennessee to celebrate with family. For reasons that will come up in a later post. Why? Because every pore of my muscles hurt too much to write about it all right now.

Knowing we would be in town all weekend, and would no doubt be eating some fabulous, although not low-fat, food rations, I e-mailed Elizabeth. What began as a modest attempt at communicating my desire to "take a walk" with her, quickly turned into what felt like a training session for the Boston Marathon. (If I had a clue what training for a marathon would feel like, which I don't.)

I simply stated in the aforementioned e-mail...well, here it is, let me just show it to you and you can see for yourself:

~~~Hope all is well with you this week....can't wait to see you this weekend. Have your walking shoes ready and a trail picked out. I need to walk all three days...but I'll settle for just one if you can squeeze it in!! ......

and her seemingly harmless reply:

~~~Hey! I already thought we need to walk. I’m making Mimi’s chocolate mousse for dessert. Can’t wait to see you all........

It looked like a simple agreement to meet my needs. We would walk and feel better about trying to be a healthier us.

Maybe I should have read between the lines. Somewhere in between "chocolate and mousse"....there was a clause in fine print. I've never been good with fine print. She's a lawyer....they created fine print.

She arrived Saturday morning to begin our walk. Announcing at the breakfast table that she had mapped a route for us, which at the end of the first leg, would bring us to an auction in a nearby neighborhood. Where upon we could rest for a bit, taking a gander at the wares available, and then trek back home again.

The auction was 3 miles away from point A, where we sat. Which meant, using all my best mathematical skills, that would mean, it would also be 3 miles back....which would be a total of 6 miles. In the heat of the day. At noon. Right when the sun decideds to perch itself directly overhead so that all of your body is completely enveloped by it's heat-emitting light source. In August. In the South. At noon. Without cloud cover or shade trees. Which we traded for pavement and sidewalks.

Did I mention that there were moments, while going uphill, when she smiled and said in a jovial tone...."okay, now it's time to run. I know you feel like running. Just lean into it and you'll do fine."

I'll tell you what I feel like....I feel like laying down on the road and letting something run over me....because that would feel better at the moment than running uphill.

But you know what, I love her, and decided to do what she suggested. I leaned into it and followed along assuming I would be fine, as long as I didn't perish. Which I thought I might. Perish, that is. I never really, for an instant, thought I would be fine. Not an instant. Even when she allowed us to start walking again, and I realized, as my heart was beating outside my body that I was in fact, still alive, I still never thought I would be fine.

We arrived at the auction destination, stayed a few minutes, I managed to buy something in the 12 minutes we were there, and then it was time to turn around and go home. On our way out, we passed an elderly woman near the auctioneer's stand, a white-haired, hunch-backed, elderly woman, who was holding tight to an oasis of sorts in her left hand. I have never been more ashamed to admit such sin as when I turned to Elizabeth and my thoughts spilled out of my mouth.

"I covet her bottle of water. Really, I do."

Forgive me father, for I have sinned, but I wanted to snatch it from her, and run. Except, I hate to run. And I was afraid Elizabeth would mistaken that for an enthusiatic burst of energy and make us continue with the running.

She did manage to find some people she knew outside enjoying their Saturday, in two different neighborhoods, who were ever so kind to give us water. God Bless their souls. I have never loved anyone more who offered me a water bottle in my entire life.

I managed to survive. Even though she made it feel at times as though we were trying to make an attempt to break Usain Bolt's record. And I'm not even a Kenyan. Oh, wait, he's Jamaican. I'm not that either. Whatever, my point is this.....I survived, but you will never see me as a sprinter in the Olympics representing any country.

However, you may see me on an upcoming IcyHot or BenGay or TigerBalm commercial soon. If I can stand the smell long enough. However, if you are in need of clearing your sinuses, come sit by me for a while. Just don't touch my legs. They hurt.

By the way, the chocolate mousse....it was worth every mile.