Am I Up To This?

By Valerie Marchant/San Francisco

I am upside down in a kayak in San Francisco Bay, fighting panic. I'm not sure I can hold my breath much longer. I yank away at the tab that attaches a rubber spray skirt--and me--to the two-person boat, the bottom of whose hull is bobbing on the surface.

Why is this impossible? It seemed so easy in that one-hour lesson back at the beach, where I worried only that I would never remember all the paddle strokes and regretted that I looked ridiculous in a green wet suit, fuchsia-colored shoes, rust T shirt and blue kayak skirt. Now I no longer care that my colors clash. I don't know if I'm cold. I don't know how long I've been underwater. I don't even know if I can see anything. I've forgotten that I have an expert partner who would save me if I were in any real danger. I'm trapped inside a boat in strong currents, far from home--a reckless fool. Then I give another mighty yank, and the skirt pops off. I shoot to the surface, a flustered human cannonball.

I have not completed what kayakers call a "smooth self-rescue." But I have survived just fine. I have even managed to hold on to my paddle. My partner, accomplished adventure racer Steve Hilts, who politely pretends that I am of some use, flips over the kayak, and I try to pull myself back over and into the boat. Yet even this seems impossible. Then I forget how I am supposed to get back inside the boat. Various people shout advice at me from other kayaks: "Settle your butt in first, then pull your legs in." The boat is full of water. If I were alone, it would take me 20 minutes to pump it all out. But then if I were alone, I would not have managed to get back into the craft at all. Minutes later, safely tucked in, water pumped back in the bay, our whole group skims on toward the Golden Gate Bridge. I notice everything: boats of all sizes and shapes, Angel Island, Alcatraz, the skyline, the murmur of Steve's voice, my own breath.

I am on assignment to find out whether a person who participates in a daunting adventure can actually learn valuable lessons that apply to work or whether an entire industry has sprung up around entertaining adults under false pretenses. To prepare, I ran up miles of hills carrying a 10-lb. volume of Shakespeare on my back and searched the Internet for information about adventure racing, a fast-growing sport in which small teams navigate over long, difficult courses by kayak or mountain bike, on foot and on horseback. I'm training with members of the Charles Schwab Adventure Racing Club, who believe the sport does wonders for corporate esprit and performance.

Daniel Hubbard, director of corporate communications at Schwab, which is America's leading online broker, created the club for employees at his company's San Francisco headquarters. He believes adventure racing will develop personal and team skills. He also hopes it will help his workers get to know one another better or meet for the first time, and will promote loyalty to the company. About 10 members of the club, a continuing Schwab endeavor, will later represent Schwab in a race Oct. 27 through Oct. 29. It will include some 30 corporations, so the program may also be used as a marketing and recruiting device.

Hubbard chose an activity he knew would fit his company well. The average Schwab employee is like the average adventure racer: thirtysomething, educated, affluent, competitive and team oriented. The organization Hubbard selected to produce the program, the Presidio Adventure Racing Academy, has a perfect safety record. Presidio had already organized events for Schwab and created programs for other clients, including IBM, Levi Strauss, Barclays, Autodesk and even the FBI. Presidio's founder, Duncan Smith, a former SEAL still active in the Navy Reserves, has also been an investment banker, so he understands the expectations of corporate types.

With the backing of his bosses, Hubbard e-mailed an invitation to the headquarters staff, ending up with 70 volunteers who were able to schedule training on summer weekends and vacation days. Activities and events will follow the outdoor training sessions so participants can remember what they learned.

Kayaking is just the first thing on the agenda of the Schwab training session that I joined in June. Our lesson done, we gather on the beach for a tasty box lunch and a lecture on survival skills from Presidio's Smith and Billy Trolan, an adventure-racing medic and a hospital emergency-room chief; they explain that a person can live without air for three minutes, without protection from exposure for three hours, without water for three days and without food for three weeks. Trolan also informs us that trash bags and condoms are survival gear: a trash bag provides as much warmth as a sleeping bag--and weighs much less; a condom can be used to hold gallons of water. We try that. I am able to fill mine with only a couple of ounces, but Schwab senior vice president Jim Losi is so adept at filling, handling and storing his unique water bottle that he wins a new title, Condom Man. Adventure racing is also good for introducing informality into the corporate environment.

An hour later, I am on the edge of a cliff in the wilds of the Marin peninsula, 25 miles northwest of San Francisco, about to begin a lesson in rappelling and mountain climbing. As it happens, I am terrified of heights. I envy the Schwab adventurers, who descend the sheer 70-ft. wall without drama. I fall to the ground at the top, clasping my head in my hands and muttering to myself, "I must be insane! I have a child and a dog. What am I doing here?"

Finally I allow Presidio's Bryant Swenson, an expert mountain rescuer, and senior climbing instructor Mark Schlueter, a Los Angeles County search-and-rescue sheriff, to thread the rope through the small metal device that allows a climber to control the speed of a descent. I balance on the edge of the precipice, stepping backward to meet my fate. Minutes later, my lifelong phobia has vanished as I make my way down safely, letting out just the right amount of rope at each hop. Schwabbies above cheer me on, calling out, "Rock! Rock!" from time to time, as dislodged stones tumble past me. I am beginning to feel bonded.

Leaving what now appears to me to be a mere molehill, we head off for a session in land navigation. We learn how to plot a route with a compass and a topographical map. We are then directed to find--as fast as we can--a set of checkpoints hidden in 50 acres of rolling hills, tree-dotted valleys and streambeds. I'm sorry that I, who cannot find my way around the Time & Life Building, have nothing to offer my teammates, Alison Murray, senior staff at Schwab's information technology enterprise, and Elisa Takao, senior event manager. Confused by the compass and map, I am alienated, bored and cynical. When forced to become head navigator, I wave vaguely at a tree. We return without finding all our checkpoints.

As it turns out, that was the easy part. Night has fallen, and we are going to find another set of checkpoints in the dark. This time I behave more maturely. My Schwab partners are Dan Hubbard and Rob Sinclaire, a service-enhancement senior manager. Our Presidio guide is Eddie Freyer, a longtime FBI agent and director of SWAT-team programs. We stride along enjoying the cool, moonlit night. Rob and I discuss our mutual fondness for Tony Hillerman's novels, even imagining we are helping Joe Leaphorn track a killer out there in the darkness. This time I focus and, encouraged by the goodwill of the other three, dare to suggest a shortcut, which saves us time. We quickly find all the checkpoints and then curl up together in our trash bags to rest. Dan, the father of two young girls, whispers, "Night-night, Rob-Rob," to which, Rob, also a father, responds, "Night-night, Dan-Dan. Night-night, Val-Val." We are a little family ourselves, more than just colleagues and strangers wrapped in black plastic in the California night.

When the Schwabbies get back to home base, they have more to tell Hubbard about the experience. Virtually all of it is enthusiastic. Simon Dalgleish, a senior analyst in the business-strategy group, says he learned that "I can do things way outside the realm of what I thought I could. And it can be a blast." He even advises others never to "shy away from a challenge. By doing so you're potentially choosing not to have fun."

I too learned a lot: that adventure racing is more fun than difficult and frightening; so I'll enter my first race in the fall. I also grasped certain truths (which may be evident to others): if you begin an endeavor with a sound strategy, and if you remain flexible, adaptable and patient, you will succeed. If you consistently respect, support and rely on teammates, you are better off than you would be alone. You are capable of far more than you realize and can transform the unknown you fear into the known you control and enjoy. Adventure offsites--like condoms and trash bags--can serve more than one purpose.