It's peculiar where one's sense of achievement lies. A lot of people think that writing a book is an achievement, but I don't feel it as such. I am always thoroughly delighted when a novel comes out, but I feel it more as an achievement on my agent's part than I do mine.

Ditto my son. I am puzzled by people viewing their children as "achievements" - it seems a horribly egotistical stance. Having children is a miraculous partnership of body and spirit as far as I can gather. I think of my child as an act of God rather than anything I've done. Hopefully I will rear him well enough to keep him out of prison but if he does end up a drug-dealing child molester - I very much hope I shan't be blamed.

Ditto if he becomes a brain surgeon it will be his achievement and not mine.

As I reached the end of the mini-marathon (after an hour and a half of, for me, very brisk walking), I felt my eyes well up and my heart almost burst out of my chest with pride. The last time I felt this good was when I passed my driving test 15 years ago. I guess it is something to do with doing things that you don't want to do.

I've always loved writing and being a mother was easy - but I was petrified of driving and only ever learned to do it because, as a young woman, I was entitled to a company car and my bosses pushed me into availing of it. Passing my test was a painful, frightening experience - so it meant all the more when it came.

A year and a half ago I was so unfit I nearly collapsed with exhaustion walking to the end of my road and back. Despair, age and an expanding thigh-line brought me to Curves Gym in Ballina where Deirdre, the motivating American who runs it, gradually whipped me into shape. Then last Summer Sinead, my friend the PE teacher, started dragging me kicking and complaining on 5km hikes; I became addicted to the aqua-aerobics classes with Orla and next thing I knew I had all these great women in my life to encourage me to get fit and healthy.

When Deirdre at Curves offered to do the mini-marathon to fundraise for a Kenyan girls' school I am trying to support, I was daunted by the prospect. But the reality of walking with thousands of other women, the atmosphere, the sense of pride and community and social responsibility was immense - more that I could have imagined. I think I was probably the slowest woman on the Curves Ballina bus - we had a few runners and one or two exposed themselves as surprisingly competitive - but I believe I was the proudest.

This junk-food addicted heavy smoker became the sort of woman I never thought I would be - a reasonably fit and healthy one who could complete the mini-marathon without needing to be driven home in an ambulance. I am so swelled with pride that I am having a real problem taking my medal off. Perhaps I'll get away with wearing it for one more day. I'll keep my coat closed in Tesco.