There is something about seeing thousands of people give up their Sundays and run around for 26 miles that makes me think: "Hmmm, maybe I should do a spot of exercise too." But this moment of delirium soon vanishes while I am hurled around my hectic daily routine.

However, my strenuous, demanding business aside (where is that remote control and the latest edition of Hello! Magazine?) it is true that as time takes its toll and I mature into a sensible and thoughtful and kind and caring person (aargh, get that phone someone will you, I can't do everything myself) I do think that there is a downside to ageing.

I have never believed, unlike Hollywood starlets, that youth is the golden era of your life. But then again, I'm not a Hollywood starlet (I'm sure if I could persuade someone to pay me hundreds of thousands of dollars for getting out of bed I'd rethink my beauty routine), but what I mean is that I always thought that people get better looking with age.

Remember those Biactol days of teendom? I wore thick, Deirdre Rashid-style spectacles (my optician will vouch for that). And had designer spots. I looked forward to the day I'd be able to sweep my six centimetre long fringe off my face and thus stop walking into lamp posts.

All the older people I knew had fabulous skin, straight teeth, shiny hair, clear skin and no personality defects, while I would rant and rage till the close of day and even more worryingly, kept developing inexplicable crushes on Keith Chegwin.

I looked forward to a life of calm, of peace and tranquillity which I figured would happen when I got older and wiser. No more foolish decisions like getting on the wrong bus. No more fancying Noel Edmonds. No more spots and worrying about whether my friends will dump me because I'm not wearing the right sort of tights (you get ribbed if your tights aren't - don't worry - it's a female thing).

But despite all these positive things, there is something awful about getting older. You get fat. It doesn't matter what you eat, or what you do, one minute you are slim, spotty, grumpy and the next you are spot-free but frumpy.

And the thing is, you don't have the energy to do anything about it. I have tried dieting but that makes me even hungrier. Exercising also has the same effect. I look at those reduced fat items in the supermarket - low-fat yoghurts, apple and cinnamon rolls, fruity flapjacks - but I never ate that type of thing in the first place so why start now?

But doing something like the London Marathon is not only about being fit, it's about stamina, staying power. The will to carry on even when you are being overtaken by an 83-year-old man dressed as a fluffy bunny. It would be an achievement and a half to stick with watching it on the telly, never mind actually doing it yourself. Maybe next year I'll give it a go. Mind you, I'd have to have my supplies with me - a box of doughnuts and some chocolates. I'd get through them in record time.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.