Parachuting and Personal Courage (#159)
The Seven Army Values
Since 1997, the United States Army has used seven core values to help guide and shape soldier’s attitudes and actions. To help inculcate the values, the mnemonic device LDRSHP is a helpful way to remember them all. The seven values are:
Loyalty - True faith and allegiance to the US Constitution, the Army, your unit, and other soldiers.
Duty - Fulfill your obligations.
Respect - Treat people as they should be treated.
Selfless Service - Put the welfare of the nation, the Army, and your subordinates before your own.
Honor – Perceived quality of worthiness and respectability.
Integrity - Do what’s right, legally and morally.
Personal Courage - Face fear, danger, or adversity.
I’ve talked about the importance of understanding your group’s values as part of building a gritty culture (see Post #107 for more). For 25 years, the US Army has put its values front and center in training, garrison, and combat. For example, all soldiers had to wear an Army values card as part of the dog tags. And, for many years both officers and non-commissioned officers in the US Army were evaluated on how well they lived up to the Army values. A “No” block in one of the Army values was a career ender. Are your leaders being evaluated on their commitment to your organization’s values?
Personal Courage
One of the seven Army Values is personal courage. Personal courage encompasses facing fear, danger, or adversity both in the physical and moral realms. With physical courage, it is a matter of enduring physical duress and at times risking personal safety. Facing moral fear or adversity may be a long, slow process of continuing forward on the right path, especially if taking those actions is not popular with others. Personal courage is built by daily standing up for and acting upon the things that you know are honorable.
The converse of courage is fear. Fear is a very real emotion that must be acknowledged and dealt with. For some, fear may manifest itself in numerous ways: a reluctance to try new things; self-sabotage such as procrastination, failure to follow-through, or anxiety; low self-confidence; or perfectionism, such as a willingness to try only those things that can be finished perfectly. Overcoming that fear is a big challenge
Paratrooper and Building Personal Courage
One of the earliest tests of my personal courage happened at Airborne School. As a cadet at West Point, I was sent to Fort Benning, Georgia to overcome my fears, build my personal courage, execute five parachute jumps, and earn my airborne wings. Falling out of an aircraft that is flying at 140 miles per hour at one thousand feet above the ground takes personal courage. Paratroopers have to overcome their fear of heights and fear of falling, while at the same time trusting their training, trusting the competence of the jumpmaster, trusting the competence of the parachute rigger that packed the parachute, and trusting that all the equipment works properly. Overcoming the fear and developing trust are enormous obstacles to overcome.
One way that the Army helps build personal courage is through training and rehearsing all the steps needed to have a successful parachute jump. First, paratroopers practice everything that happens during the parachute jump. Then paratroopers practice falling down, or as the Army calls it a “Parachute Landing Fall (PLF).” A paratrooper is supposed to land by hitting the balls of the feet, the calves, the thighs, the buttocks, and finally the lats (or the “push-up muscle.”) I never executed a good PLF. Mine were usually like feet, butt, and then head. Finally, paratroopers then rehearse the entire ritual of what happens in the aircraft and potential emergency situations in the aircraft. Rehearsing every aspect of what is going to happen during a parachute jump builds personal courage.
Even though it has been 30 years since my first jump and five years since my last one, I still remember the rituals that the Army used to build personal courage and reduce fears in its paratroopers. We loaded a C-130, a large four engine, propeller driven plane, on the hot tarmac of Lawson Army Airfield in the summer of 1991. Squeezed together with 50 other airborne students it was not a comfortable flight. I could smell the sweat, adrenaline, and fear on me and my fellow airborne students.
As the plane taxied down the runway, the jumpmaster started the jump command. I later learned that these commands were very similar to the ones used by jumpmasters over Normandy during D-Day, at Munsan-ni during the Korean War, Panama during Operation Just Cause, and northern Iraq during Operation Iraqi Freedom. He shouted, “10 Minutes.”
The plane of paratroopers replied in unison, “10 Minutes!” The ritual had started. My throat was dry as the C-130 left the ground and took to the air.
Once the plane reached 1,000 feet and completed its bank, the jumpmaster ordered, “Get Ready.”
The plane of paratroopers responded, “Get Ready!” The power of the group repeating the commands made my fear manageable, I unbuckled my seat belt.
The jumpmaster commanded, “Outboard Personnel Stand Up.”
The command and response ritual had its desired effect of building courage. I echoed, “Outboard Personnel Stand Up!” On shaky legs, I stood up and helped stow my seat.
The jumpmaster motioned, “Hook Up.”
The paratroopers and I responded with, “Hook Up!” I took my snap hook and placed in on the cable that ran the length of the aircraft. After several attempts, I managed to get the safety wire through the hole to ensure it didn’t come unhooked during the first seconds outside the aircraft.
“Check Static Lines,” the jumpmaster commanded.
“Check Static Lines,” the paratroopers and I yelled. I traced my yellow static line. Everything looked good to go.
The jumpmaster yelled, “Check Equipment.”
The students responded, “Check Equipment!” I checked my helmet to make sure it wouldn’t fall off. I then made the most important check -- to make sure the parachute harness straps were running across my thighs, not in my crotch. Decelerating from 140 miles per hour to less than five miles per hour in less than four seconds can be painful if the straps are in the wrong place!
“Sound off for equipment check,” commanded the jumpmaster.
“Sound off for equipment check!” shouted the planeload of paratroopers. From the nose of the plane backwards one potential paratrooper after another tapped the person in front of them to let them know everything was good-to-go. The message slowly went up the line “OK. OK. OK. OK.” When the person behind me tapped me, I yelled “All OK Jumpmaster.” The jumpmaster slapped my hand in acknowledgment.
The Air Force opened the paratrooper doors to the C-130. The hot Georgia air came rushing in followed almost instantaneously by the nauseous smell of jet fuel. I didn’t think I could get any more scared, but the open door doubled my anxiety. After the jumpmaster checked outside the aircraft for safety issues and spotted the drop zone, he came back inside and yelled, “One Minute!”
The future paratroopers and I echoed, “One Minute!” I could feel my pulse pounding in my temple and I caught glimpses of clouds out the door.
The jumpmaster did a final safety check outside the aircraft and came back inside. “30 Seconds!” he yelled, looking me in the eye.
The point of no return was fast approaching. I tried to fake appearing confident and I stammered, “30 Seconds!”
The jumpmaster commanded “Stand By.” I shuffled into my position in the doorway and tried not to look down. The red jump light was at eye level on the right edge of the door. The Georgia pine trees on the horizon zipped by. My body was tense. Sweat streamed down my face. My hands, on my reserve parachute, were shaking.
Without warning the red light changed to green. “Shoot,” I thought.
The jumpmaster yelled “Green Light! Go!” and slapped me on my thigh. Instinctively, I took a big step out the aircraft and into the slip stream. I kept my hands on the ends of the reserve parachute as I tumbled, fell, and decelerated simultaneously. The yellow static line did its job and helped pull the parachute out of its packaging. Unsure which way was up, I counted loudly “1000. 2000. 3000. 4000.” My parachute opened and billowed above me. I checked the parachute. Everything looked ok.
As I floated in the sky, I checked out the sand and stream that runs across Fryer Drop Zone. More parachutes filled the sky. Somewhere, an airborne instructor was on a bull horn barking instructions to the descending paratroopers. Suddenly, the ground rushed up to meet me. I braced for impact and tried to keep my eyes on the horizon. In a rush, I hit my feet, my butt, and the back of the helmet. I shook my head, undid my parachute, packed it up, and ran to turn the parachute in.
That day, June 17, 1991, I took my first step in becoming a paratrooper and building my personal courage. I eventually did 102 parachute jumps during my Army career. The first one was just as scary as the last one, but the Army helped me build my personal courage through training and rehearsing every step of the jump, as well as using rituals to manage my fear.
Starting a Business and Building Personal Courage
The day I started my company, the Fivecoat Consulting Group, I was filled with fear. Fear of failure. Fear of losing money. Fear of making a fool of myself. I had as much adrenaline pumping through me as when the door of the C-130 opened over the Georgia pine trees during my first jump.
Starting a company during the pandemic isn’t easy. I thought back to my experience as a paratrooper thirty years earlier. Just like the jumpmaster did back in 1991, I yelled “Ten Minutes.” My dog, Samantha, looked at me strangely. No one echoed my commands. Then I said “Get Ready.” Samantha looked towards me, hoping this meant a treat. The house was quiet. Clearly, my old rituals weren’t going to be much help in the new corporate environment.
As Yoda, from the movie Star Wars, once said, “Named must your fear be before banish it you can.” Rather than use rehearsals or rituals like Airborne School, I listed my fears and developed a way to reduce some of the risk of each fear. To help build the list, I used some questions developed by Tim Ferris, noted author, podcaster, and entrepreneur. My responses follow each question in italics.
Define your nightmare by thinking about what is the absolute worst that could happen?
For me, it was the company not bringing in any clients and being forced to have to close TFCG because I was gradually exhausting my savings.
Is any of this permanent?
No, only a loss of some savings.
What steps could I take to repair the damage?
Find a corporate or contractor job to recover the savings I’d spent.
What is a more probable outcome?
The business helps people become better, grittier leaders while bringing in enough revenue for me to make ends meet.
What are the outcomes or benefits, both temporary and permanent, of more probable scenarios?
I learn new things as I create a company, I learn more about myself, and clients become grittier and better leaders.
How much time will you spend on the new endeavor?
I would commit everything to TFCG for one year. (This time frame also helped me with reframing my definition of success and failure.)
Listing my fears and developing mitigation measures built my personal courage so I could start my own company. 18 months later, I have published a book, helped a dozen executives through my coaching practice, and helped grow hundreds of leaders through my blog and in-person training events.
Conclusion
The seven Army values are Loyalty, Duty, Respect, Selfless Service, Honor, Integrity, and Personal Courage. For me, building my personal courage happened at airborne school and again when I started my own company. There are many ways to deal with your fears and build your personal courage. You can rehearse every aspect of an upcoming event and use rituals like the Army does with airborne operations. Or you can list your fears and a mitigation strategy like I did when I started my company. Whatever tactic you choose, go on the offensive in 2021, manage your fears, and build your personal courage.