KILIMANJARO - My Greatest Lesson in Leadership

The Chaggas people live at the foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro They believe that the mountain has supernatural powers. Those who attempts to climb "Kili" descend as a different person. The climb to the peak is indeed magical. The change that happens on Kili is personal and spiritual. For me, it also shaped who I am as a leader, opening my eyes to the dangerous pitfalls of leading through pleasing.

With a 60% fail rate, Kilimanjaro is not a walk in the park. From the muddy rain forest of the Mkubwa to the craggy tufas of the Barranco pass, nothing is simple about the non-technical climb. Each day presents new and different challenges. If you're not feeling the pangs of altitude sickness in your temples, you're busy trying to not roll your ankle in scree or cut yourself on loose shards of obsidian (a.k.a. Dragon Glass - for all the Game of Thrones nerds).

From the start of our trek, there were minor issues here and there. By Day 3, one person in our party, a doctor, self-diagnosed her own altitude sickness and left us 10,000 ft. Younger trekkers that were bouncing along the trail started to regurgitate their food at 13,000 ft. I knew that this was just the beginning - the higher up you go, the faster the wheels come off the wagon.

It was the second to final night before our scheduled summit. We were at Camp Barafu (15,000 ft.) and I was at the end of my nightly check-ins and noted that no one was as bubbly as the night prior when we were at 13,500 ft. Faces were palid. Dark circles rested beneath everyone's eyes. “Shit. They're not going to summit.” And so I made the one decision that most leaders avoid at all costs, especially when the end is in sight: I changed what I originally promised.

The safety card always wins in a game of How Do We Rationalize Changing a Product, but it doesn't always make it easy to convince your team that it's the best course of action. Especially when your team is comprised of Type-A overachievers who have spent tens of thousands of dollars for the experience of a lifetime.

I arrived at the mess tent and dinner was untouched and nearly frozen. No one had an appetite. This should be easy. I launched in with my spiel. "If you remember me for one thing on this trip, it's that I always had you in mind when I make my decisions. Unfortunately, after gauging everyone's health I've decided that we will summit tomorrow and descend back to this camp. There will be no overnight at 18,000 ft. inside the crater." The group erupted with joy. Everyone except for one person. Let's call him Mr. Hero.

Mr. Hero was a great guy. Every interaction and conversation I had with him up until this point was amazing. In hindsight, I recognize that this was because I was always able to do the things that he wanted me to do. Our relationship was frictionless, as long as I delivered. "What the f**k do you mean we're not sleeping inside the crater," he screamed. "This is my trip and I want to sleep in the crater. Do you know how much I paid for this trip?!" Dissent is never an easy thing to manage. It spreads like wildfire and can shift the focus of a group.

Mr. Hero was not an unreasonable man, so I opted for a more personal approach. I took him aside and explained that if I didn't think that sleeping at 18,000 ft. wasn’t a real threat to the safety of everyone in the party, I would not have made the call. And since he was one of the more outgoing fellas in the group, could he help me build a sense of esprit du corps as we make our final ascent. Mr. Hero wasn't pleased, but he begrudgingly agreed.

The following morning, we set off amidst the cold and darkness. That's all you feel at 15,000 ft. at 3:00 a.m. The idea of climbing 19,430 ft. isn't that terrifying once you embrace that it will be done in stages. The idea of climbing 4,400 ft. in one day isn't that bad either. The reality of climbing from 15,000 ft. to 19,400 ft. is terrible. Anyone who says that the last stage of the climb is no problem is either lying or experiencing victor’s amnesia: the final ascent is murderous. Depending on which way you’re facing, the skin on your face is either burnt by the sun or cracking from the dry whipping wind. For every step you take, you slide back ½ a step in the loose scree. And your lungs are working overtime. At the peak of Kili, the atmospheric pressure that helps your lungs absorb oxygen is 50% of what it is at sea level. You’re breathing at 2x your normal rate while climbing 4,400 ft.

By the time we reached Stella Point, and with another 1,500 ft. remaining to the final destination of Uhuru Peak, our group was spent. The only thing keeping us going was that we could finally see the peak. We took a much needed water break and I noticed that Mr. Hero didn't have a lot of water. In an attempt to make amends from the night prior, I gave him my extra water, hoping this would get him to rediscover his trust in my leadership.

At Uhuru peak I hit the sign, took some photos, congratulated everyone and took a moment to look around and absorb that I was standing on top of Africa. After about 30 minutes of taking it all in, we had to head back down to our camp - this is a mandate by park officials. That's when an extreme fatigue washed over my body. I rationalized that it was due to the past several consecutive nights of little to no sleep. But then my feet started to tingle and I couldn't feel my steps. Understanding the signs of dehydration and altitude sickness, I tore off my backpack and scrounged around for my water bottle. It was empty. I had given my reserves to Mr. Hero during my attempt to regain my throne as a beloved leader.

I quietly continued down the mountain, without asking for help, until I started feeling dizzy. I took a knee in a mound of scree beneath a shaded cliff. A tap on my forehead from one of my travelers brought me to the realization that I was on my back. I had blacked out and fallen backwards. "You look like shit." said the face staring down at me. I felt like shit. The combination of dehydration and altitude sickness made me want to barf and sleep at the same time. Too proud to ask for water and too stubborn to look weak, my trekkers had to force water into my hand.

As I sipped on the life giving water and made my way down the mountain, I thought about the reasons behind my decisions that landed me on my back: I had tried to gain someone's fidelity by risking my own well-being; I was too stubborn to ask for help because I wanted to appear strong and in control; the worst is that I didn't give others the chance to help me. In that moment, I realized the truth in what I had been taught to me by great leaders in my life: leadership is not about being the strongest or most intelligent person in the group. The best leaders are the ones that admit their mistakes, acknowledge when they are weak and give others the opportunity to provide assistance. Great leaders make sure that everyone contributes.

The Chaggas people are right about the magical powers of a 19,000 ft. mountain. Though I didn't experience anything supernatural in nature, I know that when I started the climb I relied on strength and persistence as my bona fides. After Kilimanjaro, I rely on my ability to recognize my weaknesses and embrace assistance, even if it’s just asking for a cup of water.