Last gasp

/ 01 September 2009

Survival training
You can’t argue with the idea of bettering yourself, but does it always have to be outdoors, asks Stewart Gowans

I suppose my formal development began at school, which was a bit rough – so rough, in fact, that the school newspaper had its own obituary column. Still, I survived and went on to spend three years at university, where the only things I developed were a few chemical dependencies, a nasty rash and a fondness for afternoon TV.

It was only when I started out in business that it dawned on me that you were actually meant to develop your skills and talents. It was a shock. Naturally, because I had a degree, I expected to rise swiftly through the ranks of middle and senior management to the CEO’s office. Sadly, it didn’t quite happen like that, though I’ve no idea why.

City softie

Managers looking to develop their staff always seem exceedingly keen on outward bound-style team building. I once went on one of those outdoor courses. I say went – my boss forced me to go. Now, I’m a City boy whose idea of roughing it in the great outdoors is sitting on a park bench on a slightly cloudy day. The hardest obstacle I ever want to encounter is for the bar to run out of olives for my martini.

This outward bound course described itself as being all about ‘Leadership, team building and self development in a challenging outdoor environment’. Now, Hackney on a Saturday night is what I call a challenging outdoor environment, but they meant trees, rivers, moors, mountains, mud.

I was frogmarched from the office and bundled onto a train which disgorged me somewhere called Much Raining on the Wold in the Peak District (these courses are always in the Peak District). Now, Much Raining wasn’t exactly the most cosmopolitan of places – in fact, it was still 1969 in Much Raining. Morrissey would have loved it.

I was swiftly herded into a minivan and driven off into the mist. Eventually, we arrived at the outward bound centre where I was met by Lance Thrust, the chief instructor. To say that Lance was tough was an understatement – he was so butch he made Arnold Schwarzenegger look like Alan Carr. He took an instant dislike to me when I handed him my luggage and asked for the room service menu.

I was introduced to my fellow inmates – sorry, trainees – and we were issued with our anoraks. Anoraks were going to be a big feature of the week. It was only then that I looked around me. I got the feeling there wasn’t going to be a little complimentary bottle of shower gel in the bathroom, and indeed when I asked to use the loo, they handed me a spade and pointed towards the forest.

Another big feature turned out to be food – or rather the lack of it. Every night we were fed gruel apparently made from mashed up cardboard boxes. During the day, we were expected to forage for ourselves, ‘living off nature’s bounty’, like a squirrel, or Ray Mears.

What followed were three days of misery, during which I totally failed to live up to Lance’s low expectations. My canoe sank, I broke my compass and I completely failed to manage crossing a ravine by building a bridge made of twigs.

I spent restless nights dreaming of mobile phones, late night shopping at John Lewis, chilled chardonnay, parmesan cheese. It was awful – civilisation (and an inside toilet) seemed so far away, and perhaps worst of all, I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve such punishment. I wasn’t a bad person – why had the company sent me?

The worst thing was knowing I was being watched as Lance closely monitored my progress – or lack of it. He did a lot of shaking his head, tutting and writing things down on a clipboard. I just knew the sort of report my boss was going to get.

The great escape

It all got too much. I decided that if this course was all about showing initiative, daring and resourcefulness, then I would demonstrate all of these qualities – by doing a runner. One night, I slipped past the guards disguised as a sheep dog and made it as far as the nearest big town. They found me the next day in Starbucks, guzzling my fourth cappuccino and trying to stuff three muffins into my mouth at once – and whimpering.

Perhaps I didn’t give the course enough of a chance, but I’ve never since come across a situation in my career where I needed to know how to ford a stream or make shoes out of bark. Still, one of the great truths in life is, ‘When you stop learning, you stop earning’ and it really does pay to invest in yourself. So, my advice is to pay for any training you can afford and accept any offered. Just watch out if anyone mentions the Peak District.