You know why (aside from the fact that it’s a paradoxical statement)? Because the moment the word leaves your lips, it travels directly to the Gods of Irony, who will do everything in their power to see that you either admit your folly or suffer for your hubris.
Think about it: On a multiple choice test, the words “always” and “never” are dead giveaways. “Don’t choose me!” they scream, as answers that contain either one of them are typically wrong. And just as we should avoid darkening their ovals on tests, we should avoid using them in life. A few examples:
When I was a kid in Nancy Reagan’s just-say-no ‘80s, watching the “Brady Bunch” and “Happy Days” for spiritual guidance, I declared that I would never marry a smoker. And then I did.
As a teenager, I smugly proclaimed that I would never get a divorce because — duh! — I wouldn’t get married until I was sure I was with the right person. As far as I was concerned, it was that simple ... until it wasn’t.
Additional proclamations that I issued from the ivory-tower-glass-house-pedestal of my youth included, “I would never have kids without a solid marriage and career in place,” (been there), and “I will never drink so much that I throw up,” (done that, more than once).
Eventually I figured out that life — and life choices — were not simple black and white endeavors, and I stopped throwing my nevers around so casually. Pretty much every “never” I’ve uttered has come back to haunt me in some way, which is why, two years ago, I should have known better when I said, “I’ll never run more than four miles at a time.” Over to Back Cove, around the loop and home again, I had decided, was my limit. And then I signed up for — and ran — the Maine Half-Marathon. It was great, I have to say, and I actually felt good at the end of the 13.2 miles. Still, when someone asked if I would consider running the marathon, I responded, foolishly, with “Never.”
So guess what I’m planning to do this October?
It sounds crazy at the moment, especially since my running regimen has tapered off to basically no running whatsoever. And when I took my initial three-mile run the other day to kick-off my training, it hit me — as I gasped my way up my last hill — that I was gearing up to do that run eight times over, plus another 2.4 miles to boot!
At my pace, that’s four or five hours of running. Straight. And that’s pretty darned intimidating. But I said never, which more or less guaranteed that I would one day give it a try. And now I’m putting it in writing.
I’ve printed off my training schedule from the same website I used when I ran the half-marathon (www.halhigdon.com), and yesterday I visited www.run.com to plot out a few new routes around Portland. Now all I have to do is suck it up, start running and make it happen.
It’s good to have a new challenge — a new fear to overcome — and I know that one way or another I’m going to learn a lot from this process. Such as the importance of not saying “never.”
In fact, these days, there’s only one thing I’m willing to say never about, and that’s because I’m absolutely, positively certain that it will never happen: I will never, NEVER win $10 million. (Come on, Irony Gods ... get to work on that one.)
Belinda Ray is a homeschooling mother and freelance writer who finds time to write when her children and their friends have lightsaber battles in the yoga room (but only if the laundry is already folded and everyone’s been fed).