Summit: CEO Mandatory Course

Author: Mike Ussim and others
Translator: Zhou Xuelin
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2004-06-01
Features: When a pregnant woman passed by us, we felt embarrassed. It was a sunny and warm day, and a group of people with almost no climbing experience were scaling the Via Ferrata peak in the Dolomites Valley in northern Italy. This highly challenging activity was the main focus of our outdoor training, with most participants coming from New York and being seasoned business elites. Despite strict safety measures, climbing such a high peak still gave us a sense of novelty, excitement, and tension. We were all eager, full of determination and ready to take on the challenge.
The mountain path to the summit was rugged and narrow, barely wide enough for two goats to pass side by side. At an altitude of 9,000 feet, the scenery was breathtaking, almost "soul-stirring," but its steepness was also intimidating, as a single misstep could lead to a plunge into the abyss. We were all a bit scared, worried about tripping, or worse. Although our legs sometimes trembled, we still thought we were performing bravely. At that moment, a pregnant woman passed by us—I guessed she was German—and her eyes showed clear disdain.
Our goal that night was to reach the designated mountain camp, where a hot dinner and comfortable beds awaited us. To give everyone a greater challenge, we decided to abandon the closer camp. However, unexpectedly, the slightly farther camp became our "long bridge." At 4 p.m., we started running low on water. To speed up our pace, we handed the heavy packs to fitter team members. By 8 p.m., everything was shrouded in darkness, yet we were still far from our destination. We were exhausted, disheartened, and scared. We knew from the start that this wasn’t a leisurely stroll in the park, but no one— the three instructors—expected us to be in such danger.
As night fell, we divided the team into two groups to ensure control and communication. Those with headlamps wore climbing helmets, but the dim, flickering light made the leading group instinctively slow down and stop. Comfortingly, the moon soon rose over the mountain, illuminating our path. We moved forward again under the beautiful moonlight, though our pace was slow and required intense concentration. Yet, we remained spirited.
On that unforgettable night, the person beside me was Bob Smith, an investment banker and a member of the New York outdoor training center. Bathed in the enchanting moonlight, our legs no longer trembled, and the snow-covered landscape around us seemed elegant under the glow. We patiently waited as other members lowered the ladder slowly. In this nearly perfect stillness, we burst into laughter. It wasn’t the laughter of nervousness or exhaustion. It was a hearty laugh of relief, a primal joy in life. Though after 19 hours of climbing, we still didn’t know when we’d reach the camp—until 2 a.m. the next day—we knew we had endured the test together and would face the storm as one.
Excerpt: Over the years, I’ve studied many companies that have stood the test of time, and I’ve seen that many outstanding leaders have grasped this principle through instinct. When Darwin Smith faced the choice between "defeat or failure," he made a critical decision that helped the company achieve excellence. For over a century, Kimberly-Clark’s performance had been mediocre, with its main business coming from traditional papermaking. Smith knew that to transform the sluggish Kimberly-Clark, the best opportunity lay in the consumer paper market. However, the company had very little presence in this field, and the existing "Kleenex" brand, like Coca-Cola and Xerox, was already household names. To demonstrate his all-or-nothing determination, Smith decided to sell off all traditional industrial paper factories and invest in consumer paper, going head-to-head with giants like Scott and Procter & Gamble. Wall Street laughed at him, financial media called it a "stupid move," and market analysts offered harsh criticism. To many, a mediocre company challenging industry giants was "playing with fire"—a futile act of overestimating one’s capabilities. But Smith’s decision succeeded. Kimberly-Clark became a global leader, with six of its eight product lines far outperforming Procter & Gamble’s. In climbing terms, Smith abandoned the choice of "asking the belayer to tighten the rope and lower him slowly." Of course, Kimberly-Clark didn’t have a 100% guarantee of success—pulling down a leader wasn’t easy—but Smith knew that the only path to success was to go all out, choosing defeat over giving up. Without this spirit of full commitment, Kimberly-Clark might never have become an outstanding company.
Today, I see life as a series of choices between defeat or failure. Like a first ascent, the next "grip" in life is often unclear, and this ambiguity makes us hesitate, unable to commit fully. So we give up in our hearts and let go. We’d rather land safely than risk a fall.
Afterword: Becoming a professional beginner After 25 years of climbing, I decided to hire a full-time coach. I realized I had reached a certain height and wondered if I could still break through at 40. My friends thought it was. For a climber with 25 years of experience and thousands of attempts on treacherous routes, what could even the best coach teach? The question turned out to be wrong from the start. What I learned most from my coaches, Nick and his wife Heather, wasn’t what I needed to learn but what I needed to forget.
The routes of the late 1970s were very different from today’s sports climbing. They were typically much steeper, some nearly vertical, making them more challenging. During descents, your body was almost always pressed against the rock. Modern routes, by contrast, usually have angles of 10, 30, or even 50 degrees. Every 100 feet of vertical drop includes 40 feet of horizontal movement. When descending, you’re like flying in the air, unable to touch anything—or it’s more like bungee jumping, tense but safe. Climbing old-style routes, however, is a completely different experience. You often slide down, crashing hard against the rock surface, with skin scrapes and even broken limbs being common—even when the harness is in perfect condition. (Old-style routes offered less protection, with ropes frequently slipping off rocks. The sturdy bolts widely adopted in the late 1980s provided better safety.) On modern routes with extremely high safety factors, the chance of falling is negligible—even if you want to do so, it’s not easy—and on traditional old-style routes, you need to be fully focused, doing your best to avoid a high-altitude drop.
When I first trained with Nick and Heather, I still feared falling from a great height. Years of vertical climbing had made me cautious, and I avoided modern routes with higher difficulty ratings. These routes constantly tested your "defeat" threshold. Climbing routes that pushed your limits required you to endure dozens of falls before success—without falls, it meant you hadn’t reached your limit. So, Nick and Heather saw me as a beginner and taught me how to fall bravely. Heather gave me a task: "Next year, I want you to prepare to fall 1,000 times." I was honest, so I started practicing jumping down. At first, I took small steps, like a baby learning to walk. After 100 small falls, I began jumping with bigger steps. Gradually, I started to enjoy this challenge.