Team Building
The effects of rope walking on the middle-aged employee

Carl Walenda, late patriarch of the world famous "Flying Walendas" circus family once said "walking a rope is living, everything else is waiting." While I admire people like Mr. Walenda and his zest for adventure, I suppose that I fall into that "waiting" category.

Last week the company that I work for bused a group of managers to a small farm on the outskirts of a town. The goal of the outing was to impart critical information about our company and combine that data with an outdoor group activity. Sounded like a harmless enough plan to me. I would go over some spreadsheets look at some cows, maybe pet a few goats and return to the office refreshed and educated.

Following lunch we were introduced to a large, burly gentleman who was twisting a rope into a noose as he spoke. "Could this be our new performance review process?" I thought, tugging on the top button of my shirt "Would an afternoon lynching denote a "Needs Improvement" score for a below par employee?"

As the man continued it became apparent to me that a mid-day hanging didn't sound like too bad of an idea afterall. He went on to describe a set of rules which we would need to adhere to as our groups strayed into the wilderness. We were then split into groups and were introduced to our guides. Our guide was a rustic, yet pleasant looking young lady who looked as though she had stepped from the meadows of Woodstock, New York in 1969. Short of wearing a Buffalo Springfield t-shirt, she was the real deal, floppy wool hat an all.

The first few events were somewhat benign, challenging the team to problem solve and work together. Our group mix was diverse, including people from many different departments. Everyone was ready for the next turn in the road and was good humored about all of the activities. I am fortunate to work with very nice people. Even I, an oft injured, belly heavy desk jockey relished the adventure, that is until we reached the rope course.

The group was to negociate the course without touching the ground one foot below the cables. Some of our more engineering savvy teammates were silenced by our guide, who hoped to spur some thought from the rest of the team. Once a strategy was conceived, the congregation mounted the suspended cables one person at a time and formed a human chain. The chain linked each person to another and the end people to trees that held the cable. The concept was strong, however, there was one variable that our engineers didn't consider, me.

With a fair amount of struggle, the group shuffled through the course, snaking through the turns like a slow moving python. I, on the other hand, traversed the course with the drunken grace of gorilla carrying a piano. I can't remember how many times I fell off of this apparatus, forcing me to start again from the beginning, but bet my teammates can recall that number. The hour was getting late.

Determined not to fail, I soldiered on. My teammates were waiting at the end of the course urging me on, their out-stretched arms hoping to reel me in. Rubber-legged I hula-ed on the cable desperately trying to steady my knocking knees. Anguish etched the faces of my poor teammates, hoping against hope that I would make it to safety and end the agony for everyone. If were alone and the wire was stretched across a hundred foot high gorge I would have stepped off the cable and perished into the abyss, but I was not alone, I was in front of my co-workers. I couldn't let these people down, not after all the effort and energy they exerted to reach the summitt! Summoning whatever strength that remained within me I hurled myself forward into the waiting arms of my brethren.

The rest of the day was a blur. My legs felt like soggy linguine.

On the bus ride home I recalled the words of Carl Walenda and thought "Hopefully Carl meant his message metaphorically, because if this was living, I will park myself and wait for the next best thing."