Of Hundreds and Hernia's

I would appear to have a grossly inflated sense of my personal fitness level.
"Much like your sense of your own worth, really," he said, laughing rudely in the face of my intolerance to pain.

Last night, I was conned- conned, I tell you!- into agreeing to something of a foolish bet; I should have known better, but I don't. I still don't, actually.
*whimpers*
I bet a certain someone, who I'm currently working hard at sulking at and who therefore doesn't deserve to be named in these hallowed pages, that I am quite clearly perfectly capable of doing a hundred sit-ups; the tactful implication that I was in no way capable of doing a hundred of the things meant I did of course have to show him better.

Ouch.

What a time for my somewhat misplaced feministy streak to kick in.

Not so very bad at the time, although the last thirty were absolutely, completely and utterly hideous. The real pain kicked in this morning, when I tried to sit up in bed and failed miserably; waking my companion with a long drawn out "fuuuuck" sound. Although that said, there are few better ways to greet the day.

I think I have a hernia.