Finally facing my Waterloo!

by Natalie Ashdown

This is my short story of my journey to complete the Oxfam 100km walk - a walk (or run) that covers 62.1 miles (100kms) in 48 hours for charity. In 2010 I had formed a team of 4 people to complete the event.  We had spent hours and hours training, and raised $5000.00. 

We started the event early in the morning at 7am with the brilliant sun-rise which promised a crisp, great day and importantly no rain.  We walked through the morning, through the afternoon and into the night, stopping at checkpoints along the way and meeting our crew for peanut-butter sandwiches and energy drinks. 

At the 45km mark we decided to stop and sleep – it was 1am.  We fell into the make-shift tent, with 4 people, we begged some students to tape our blistered feet, but no amount of taping could keep my feet warm from the cold night which promised nothing but a challenge.  I put my head into my sleeping bag to let my warm breath warm the bag and my body and willed myself to sleep counting backwards from one-thousand.  999 inhale, exhale, 998 inhale exhale.

It was not yet morning but 21 hours into our journey, I got up at 4am as promised, I would not let the team down.  Ploughing on with a spirit in my step and being grateful for being alive, and for the opportunity to achieve something that I had set out to achieve months and months before.

I had a new relationship with health and what was possible, and now as I climbed the latest hill and crossed the dirty, dry grass, willing my body to get to the checkpoint with my personal trainer herself pushing me from behind we were headed for 37.3 miles checkpoint (or 60kms).

I had walked over some of the steepest hills, taking in the breath-taking scenery as part of the journey.

Then I heard a voice saying “perhaps you should call it a day”.  But it was not my voice.

I looked across to the checkpoint and all the support crew had already packed up.  The white tents had been pulled down and some where flapping freely in the breeze having one last dance before being stuffed into their carry bags and now, only the banging of steel poles could be heard as one by one the structures where dismantled.

Two people remained to check us in, encouraging us by saying we were not the last group to cross the line, but that they were worried about us because they couldn’t contact us on the trail.  Water was all that they could offer us, not even the energy drinks that we had grown accustomed to filling up on.

“Perhaps you should stop.”

It was not my voice.

“You’ve come this far, I’m worried about you.”

It was not my voice.

He cared for me, my husband, I could see the pain in his own face, and in his body.  He was one of the team members and going strong on the trek, but doing it hard.  His face was as muddy as his shoes and his energy was as grey as his unshaved whiskers. 

He cared for me.

Never had I considered stopping, not ever.

Until now.

It was not my voice.

It was his voice.

A voice of pain and caring, of not wanting to see me suffer.

Yet I was not suffering. Not really.  Not until that point.

I collapsed on the ground with my peanut butter sandwich.  Willing the energy from this squashed white bread, flattened beyond recognition, to come into my body, yet it seemed to refuse to give me the lift that I needed.  Betrayed by a poor excuse for a peanut butter sandwich. And some berry flavoured energy drink that drained out of my body as quickly as I could put it in.  Berry flavoured. I preferred orange.  Orange would give me energy.  But orange was not available.

Then my head filled with new voices. I was letting the team down by continuing.  I could continue but at what cost to the team.

I told the team I was thinking of stopping. I looked at my blistered and worn feet.  I willed them not to hurt, I willed the strapping upon strapping upon strapping to prevent my toenails from coming off.

And then the deed was done.

I made a decision.

I would stop, for the benefit of the team. 

I was slowing them down. 

Better that I stop and let the team finish, than to hold them back. 

A mercy killing on the side this pathetic road, in the middle of an abandoned soccer field, that nobody had cared to play on for many years now. “Take a bullet for the team” said the voice, and it was my voice.

The tears flowed now, pouring from my eyes uncontrollably and stinging my face in a cruel salty twist. And my nose joined the blubbering mess I was becoming.

“You’ve done the right thing”. Said a voice. It was not my voice.

“There’s no shame in stopping”. Said a voice. It was not my voice.

“You’ve achieved so much, you can be so proud”. Said a voice, it was not my voice.

Words of comfort, but not from my voice.

The team carried on, they finished the journey, a remarkable feat of physical endurance, crossing the line at 3am with a massive crowd of 3 people cheering in the darkness as a beacon for them to follow and the sounds of Abba’s Waterloo blaring over the PA system to anyone who cared to listen.  Just my team.  Waterloo – I was defeated you won the war.

It has been over 18 months since the event finished. Yet my voice would not let me fully appreciate my journey.  What it takes to be able to walk 60 kms (37.3 miles non stop), what an achievement.

My voice called me a failure.

My voice said I let the team down.

My voice said I didn’t achieve my goals.

My voice said “how could my husband do that”.

My voice said “how could my team do that – leave me behind”.

My story said “that’s not what team members do, they should never have left me, we agree to cross the line together, the team sticks together, they don’t let each other down, they cross the line together”.

My voice, my story, would I have my happy ending? 

The words of the song, they are calling me now, beckoning in a new story.

Waterloo – I was defeated you won the war.

Waterloo – promise to love me forever more.

But how could I ever refuse, I feel like I win when I loose.

To feel like a winner, when you loose?

What did I loose? – nothing!

I gained so much from this journey and there is so much more to come, so much more that is possible because of the journey.

So much to learn, so much to celebrate, so much to forgive.

A new story to write.

Promise to love me forever more.

Now I’m a runner!  Just completed my first 5km run!  What a buzz!  Aiming for 10km and going strong.

Promise to love me forever more.

Footnote:
Oxfam was spurred on after a team member my business development manager had a heart-attack and nearly died.  My voice said I was a bad boss, I caused the heart attack, I put her under too much pressure. None of that was true. She had a generic heart disorder and naturally very high levels of cholesterol. Her mother had died at the same age that she had had the heart-attack. It didn’t help the voices. 

Promise to love me forever more.

How The Kings Became Friends

A beautiful moment in my very short story-coaching history, as I share an impromptu, very adapted, embellished, little story about friends and war at the prompting of my six year old.

By Natalie Ashdown.

I had a beautiful moment with story telling and found some amazing lessons that all of a sudden brought all of my learnings thus far to fruition.

My little boy Nathan walked into the bathroom just yesterday morning and said to me, “Mum can you tell me story about how people become friends”.

“Oh sure”, I said to him.  And then he said, “After a war! How they become friends after war.”

Nathan is six now and I have shared with him about how I am learning about story telling and how we can start a story or make up a story by saying “click, clack, click, clack, once upon a time….”

Lisa Bloom did this at a conference I attended and the whole audience responded to “clack” when she said “click”.

So before I knew it, he said, “Good mum, click…” and waited for me to say “clack”.

So I sat down on the toilet seat and with him just leaning in the doorway and I told him the story. 

“Click”, “clack”, “click”, “clack”

(p.s you can keep this going with a six year old as a way of buying time to come up with your story!!!)

The story I told, is a bit of a variation on the one that Lisa told us about the snakes on the island.  Now I mixed up the story a bit, and for those that know the story, you’ll see the difficulty that I got myself into calling the island – “Snake Island” and also distinguishing between “Ireland” and “island”, which sound similar in my Australian accent! And also mixing up “land” and “island”.  Anyway, I’m learning!

So once upon a time there where two kings - one king from Scotland and one king from Ireland. And they were fighting over a piece of land in the middle of the two countries - fighting over who owned the island. The island was called Snake Island.

“What world war was it mum?” interrupted Nathan, “World War 1?”

“Um I think so,” I said.

“No mum sounds like World War 2. Yes, it was World War 2 Mum.”

And I said, “Yes matey, in fact you’re right!”

So the kings sent all their troops down the mountain to battle over the island, and who would own the island.  And many, many people where getting hurt because that’s what happens in war.

Then one of the kings, the king from Scotland yelled out, “Stop! Too many people are getting hurt in this battle.  We have to settle this once and for all. I will make you a deal.  Let’s come down from our cliffs and look around the island and if there are snakes on the island that will make our decision.”

Now everyone knows that there are no snakes on Ireland, I continued to explain.  So if there are no snakes on Snake Island, then the land belongs to the King from Ireland.  If there are snakes on the island, then the land belongs to the Scottish king.

“I agree”, yelled back the king from Ireland. 

So they came down from their cliff tops and met in the middle of the field.  They shook hands, and it was one of those hand shakes where each man was trying to show his strength and they gripped each others hands tightly and the muscles bulged out of their arms and the veins in their necks started to stick out and their faces went red. 

(p.s This was the best bit of the story, because I was pretending to be one of the kings and the more I used imagery, the more Nathan lit up and got excited and he was holding his breath!!)

Eventually they let go and started searching around the island for snakes.

They climbed over rocky climbs, and climbed over the mountains and across the tops of the stony ground where the rocks were really sharp under their feet and after hours and hours and hours of searching, they didn’t find any snakes.

So the Irish king, true to his word, declared, “There are no snakes on Snake Island.  That means that the land must belong to Scotland, because there are no snakes in Scotland.  But we can’t call it Snake Island any more that doesn’t make sense, we will call it Scotland island.”

And both kings agreed.

Now for me, that was the end of the story.

But Nathan had a burning question – the story was incomplete for him.

He said, “But mum, how did they become friends?”

“Oh that’s right,” I said, quickly recovering from my unsatisfactory finish to the story.

Well what happened, was…

Because they where on top of the cliffs, when they where coming down, the Irish king slipped, and he hit his knee on one of the sharp rocks and blood started gushing out ….

(p.s. 6 year old boys love stories that involve a bit of blood, guts, poo, wee and snot – basically anything coming out of your body!!)

The Scottish king lent down and put out his hand (again I was being the king) and he said, “Here, let me help you”.

“Why would you help me?” said the Irish king. “You’ve taken the land, it is now called Scottish island, why would you help me? You have defeated me.”

And the Scottish king said…

(I lowered my voice here to make it sound wise and gentle)…

“Because you are the King of Ireland and you are a man of great honour. And you have made a promise and kept the deal that we made about the island.  You are a great man because of this and you are now my friend.”

And with that the King of Scotland helped the King of Ireland up from the ground, and they became great friends forever.

Nathan smiled, he was very happy with the ending.

He had a couple of technical questions about the story, because I had mixed up the Snake Island and Ireland and who had snakes and who didn’t.

So we did a quick run down: They where fighting over an island – you know a piece of land; Ireland had no snakes; there were no snakes on snake island and that’s why they knew that the land must belong to Scotland; that’s why it didn’t make sense to call it Snake Island, you know when there’s no snakes, so they called it Scotland Island and that’s why the king of Scotland got the land!

I didn’t need to explain the bit about how they became friends – the purpose of the story.  He got that clearly.

Then in flash he said, “Thanks mum, great story”, and he was off.

Now the funny thing is that I don’t know why Nathan all of a sudden appeared in the bathroom (it was 7:00am) wanting to hear a story.

I don’t know what he needed to hear about friends, and why war was important.

But I told him the story, and he got what he needed from it.

He checked a few technical mistakes I had made.

He made sure he got what he wanted, saying “but how did they become friends” and then he was off.

He came into the bathroom for a purpose – he wanted a story, and to put me in the right head-space he did the click, clack.  That’s the way I knew that he wanted was important. That’s why I sat down and took the moment and the time to really engage in the story.

It was a beautiful moment, because as soon as he appeared he was gone.

It reminds me so beautifully of Lisa’s coaching us around being in the moment; recalling a story in the moment that makes sense for the person; of being in the story; make the story your own and most importantly, people will take from the story what they need.

As the story teller, I didn’t need to know what he needed, or why he wanted a story, I just had to do my “job” and tell a good story.

It was such a beautiful moment and a gift of learning. 

But also a beautiful gift that I shared with Nathan.

I can imagine he might go to school and in a special moment, when kids are at war and fighting over something, he might re-tell the story that his mum told him. Or maybe in the future when he is much older.

For me, I realised also that this created a moment, quite possibility where a story is told by one story teller (Lisa), adapted by the next story teller (Natalie) to fit the purpose and then passed to the “next generation” of story tellers (Nathan) – who no doubt will adapt it and make it his own.

Maybe he will, who knows, but in that moment he had what he needed - that’s the power of stories.

What story have you passed to the next generation?

How Much Fairy Dust Is Too Much Fairy Dust?

With a lovely story about "fairy dust" I discovered that just because I am trying to make things "better", doesn't make them so!

By Natalie Ashdown.

I had a lovely coaching session recently where I had the opportunity to reflect on a situation that I rather regretted.  A team member gave me a copy of an article that they had written for a blog and asked for some feedback.

I was in a bit of  a hurry and didn’t fully digest the article and wanted to be able to read it quickly and then post the blog. I was having an extremely busy day.

Anyway, as I was reading it I could quickly see how improvements could be made, so I asked if I could quickly type my thoughts in as I went.  She agreed.

What happened however, was that I was quickly re-writing the whole article – cutting and pasting and chopping and changing.  I rewrote the heading, explaining as I was going along what I thought it needed to be and say. 

I wasn’t doing any coaching and didn’t ask her anything about what she was actually trying to achieve.  I just got it to the point where I thought it was better and I felt that I was being really encouraging. Her work was a really great effort, really good thoughts, but I wanted to make it better!

Then I couldn’t do anymore, so I turned to her and said “by the way I’d cut that paragraph out too!”

The look of horror on her face.

“That’s the paragraph I liked the best”, she said.

“I’ve killed it, haven’t I,” I said and then tried to explain what I thought it should look like by showing her one of my blogs.

It was her first ever article.  First attempt at really writing and documenting something that was important, from the heart.

I had done more than killed it.  I had stomped, squashed, splattered and destroyed it.  So I quickly saved it and emailed back to her (in front of her) with a sort of line like “So anyway, you get what I mean!”

When I debriefed it with my coach, he asked “what role or character was I trying to be in this story?”  I said that I wanted to be a fairy - sprinkling fairy-dust over things to make things better.  But that I had totally destroyed the story and I was more like the King ordering “off with her head!”

How much fairy dust is too much fairy dust?  What was driving me to sprinkle fairy dust anyway?  Was I a good fairy or a wicked fairy?  All good questions!

Then I had this image.  I had sprinkled a little fairy dust, sure. But then I up-ended a whole bucket of fairy dust on the team member and her article. I had this vision of a little person smothered in fairy dust and trying to dig her way out saying “Ah, hello, anybody? Kind of suffocating here! Dig me out…anybody?”

Poor little person!   Too much fairy dust can smother a person!

So it was a good reminder about how important coaching is! Fancy the coach forgetting to do coaching!  Shame on me really.  And also a good reminder that you can have all the best intentions in the world and they can back fire if you go in too hard, too strong, or even inappropriately.  I was fixated on fixing the article, rather than thinking about the person who wrote the article and how she might feel – until the damage was done.

But it’s only shame if you don’t learn the lesson and I certainly did. I was a bit embarrassed.

I pulled the team member aside the next day, explained my positive intention and the fairy dust story and really gave her a heart-felt apology.  I wanted her to know the mistakes that I had made and the lessons that I had learned. It was a terrific conversation and we both got a lot out of it. 

We have cleared the air and everything is terrific - not that it wasn’t great beforehand, the rewriting of the article had knocked her confidence a little, but she understood where I was coming from and thought everything I was saying was great.  By the way, that’s no excuse for my behaviour, just because she’s ok with it!!

However, funnily enough, I do not feel that the story is finished because she hasn’t finished writing her article, and the article hasn’t been posted.  I killed the story!  I killed the opportunity!  So now, I feel that I will feel unsatisfied until it is actually resurrected and posted.  Oh I do hope she does it soon so that this story can have a happy ending!

What have you learned about "making things better"?

A Little Story About THEM and THEY

How many times have you heard "them" and "they" or "management" blamed for everything that happens in the workplace?  Here's a little story about Them and They!

By Natalie Ashdown

Them had had enough!  He was sick and tired of being blamed for everything that happens in the workplace.  He decided to go and speak to his mate, They on another floor and found out to his surprise that They had been accused of many things recently too!

“They always say We can’t do it!” and “They never listen to Us”. 

Poor old They, he couldn’t even recall having a conversation with Us, let alone not listening to her.  He couldn’t understand why people kept saying this, day in and day out. 

And people where saying it was “Us against Them” and quite frankly Them recently hadn’t had much to do with Us lately at all!

Together they decided to do something about it!  They and Them would go and speak with Culture.  But the trouble was that nobody had seen Culture recently. 

Last time that someone had seen him he looked pale and gloomy, and sick and he was hanging around in the darkened corridors and lurking around the water coolers having whispered conversations.  He was also seen to be hanging out with Rumour, and everyone in the workplace knew that Rumour was bad news!

Rumour was a sort of party girl! She hung out and caused trouble for no reason, just to spice the workplace up a little and supposedly to have a little fun.  She always appeared when Communication was on inter-state trips.  So it worried They and Them that Rumour and Culture had been hanging out together a bit lately. 

And Communication? Well he really didn’t know what he was doing!  He was coming and going, leaving incomplete messages, some people heard him, some people didn’t, he was in a bit of a mess himself and again, nobody had seen him for a while.  Communication was a natural born leader in the workplace, when he was around everyone seemed to be happy and content.  When he was absent everyone just started to go, well, a little bit funny.  Then funny turned to stress and stress turned to anxious and then everyone went to see Rumour because she was having all the fun.

“Come on” said They to Them. “We can do this! We can set the record straight. Now where could Culture be?”

As they started out looking earnestly for Culture, They and Them bumped into three friends, I, You and We.   They started to explain what was going on in the workplace and how he was being blamed for everything and very quickly We cut him off and said “Well hope You don’t think I was to blame for anything?” 

“Oh of course not!” said You definitely.  “Let’s leave I out of this!”

“Well,” thought poor They and Them, “it seems that nobody wants to own up to what’s really going on around here.  It seems that Everybody wants to sweep things under the carpet!”. 

Now Everybody had been doing some sweeping in a nearby cubicle and he overheard the conversation and yelled at the top of his voice “This is not about me!  Leave me out of it!”

Oh the situation was becoming more and more confusing and more and more frustrating and more and more hopeless. 

They and Them where no closer to solving the mystery when who walked around the corner but Culture himself and striding along-side him was Communication!

“Oh my goodness” shouted the pair. “Where have you been? Oh Culture you look positively dreadful!”  He did too!  Culture was looking really shabby and he smelt of something that they couldn’t quite describe, but let’s just say it was not good! 

It was true. In the absence of Communication, Culture had really let himself go.  He had been partying all night with Rumour, and now he looked really sheepish, almost embarrassed.  He hadn’t always been this way, but lately he’d been on a slippery down-hill spiral and he was recruiting people and parts of the organisation along the way.  He’d converted at least three major departments to join him on his perilous and self-destructive journey.

Communication called a meeting.  He asked for They, Them, Culture, I, You, We, Everybody and Rumour to come into the conference room, for he had something very important to say. 

“We can’t go on like this” he said. “This is not how the workplace should be!  They get’s blamed for everything; Everybody just gives in; it becomes Us against Them; and Rumour starts up!  Look at Culture, look how he is suffering.  Something has to change!  If nothing changes then I’m very afraid that Culture will be destroyed and nobody will want to work in place where that happens to a person.  Slowly, one by one people will leave until finally, Everybody leaves! 

“I’ve got an idea” said a small voice in the corner.  Nobody had even noticed the tiny spark in the corner of the room - it was Creativity.  “I’ve got an idea”, she said again and as she did, she stood and it was as if she started glowing.  “We need to bring back Responsibility” she said, and she said it with such passion and conviction that even Everybody was listening!

“Responsibility went away when We started telling Everybody what to do! It’s true. I couldn’t take Responsibility and since They and Them where being blamed for everything it seemed that he just didn’t have a place in the workplace anymore”, explained Creativity.  “But if he is to come back”, said Creativity, “then things are going to have to change.  We are going to have to accept Responsibility. I will have to embrace Responsibility and They and Them and Rumour will have to take a back seat.”

The group all looked at each other and one by one smiled and nodded.  In their hearts it was true - this really was the way forward.  It really was the way to turn Culture around and most important create the workplace to be really proud of.

It didn’t take long at all to bring Responsibility back and Communication really led the way with great listening and coaching questions (he had been on a training program recently and was keen to try out his new skills).  And little bit by little bit, as the team grew stronger and worked together, Culture started to come out of his funk and started to grow.  He was looking really good, really healthy, and the workplace was becoming a happier place to be.

How it happened or what caused the whole terrible situation was no longer really important.  What was important was that Them and They where no longer blamed for mistakes, in fact mistakes where welcomed in the workplace and seen as something that could bring Lessons, Learning, Growth and Innovation.  Each of these wonderful people had recently joined the team and together, everyone flourished best when Culture felt strong and alive. 

Funnily enough Rumour felt that she wasn’t really serving a purpose anymore, especially since Communication was around all the time, so she sauntered off to find another workplace to hang out in. 

Let’s hope she’s not causing havoc in your workplace!  You better go check on Responsibility in your workplace and check on the other friends and make sure your Culture is strong and supportive.  And best you go and check under the carpet and make sure that no nasty surprises are lurking there too! 

I wish you well!

How I discovered story coaching...

by Natalie Ashdown

I attended the ICF Global Conference in Las Vegas in September 2011 and was looking to attend sessions that would stretch my coaching skills and to explore areas of coaching that I had not previously had exposure to – the topic on story coaching caught my eye!

But as all good stories go, a marvelous sequence of events and personal discoveries shaped my introduction to story coaching.

As adventure would have it, I didn’t initially have clear goals for going to the ICF Conference which is very unlike me!  I felt like I should have set business outcomes and planned meetings and business contacts to "maximise my time in America".  But alas the best I could do was: that I knew that I had to go overseas; I had to find out what was happening in the coaching world outside of my box (Australia) and I knew that I HAD TO GO to America!  

I had to explore, find out new things, expand my skills and learn.  

Eventually I narrowed it down to a simple goal: Find my “next big thing”.

So I find myself at breakfast, scouring the program for “story coaching”, only to hear the announcement that the session had been cancelled.  I was a little disappointed and headed off to opening plenary - Sir Ken Robinson. 

What a privilege to once again hear Sir Ken Robinson speak.  He spoke about one of America’s greatest male gymnast Bart Connor and how as a young boy he described stepping into the gym for the first time to be “intoxicating”.  The ropes, the horses, the bars, the rings, everything about it – he loved and he had discovered in this moment “his element”. Connor’s bio can be read here:  http://bartandnadia.com/bios/48-barts-bio

I will post the full story that Sir Ken shared about Connor shortly!  Suffice to say that Sir Ken wove a story throughout his talk that inspired and truly made me happy to be coaching, to be alive and to be living in my element!

At the end of the break, another announcement – the story coaching session was back on the agenda, but it had been moved to a new location, a room at the far end of the building – I found it eventually!

The story coach leading the session was Lisa Bloom.  You can find her website here: http://story-coach.com/

Cut a long story short (if you pardon the pun) by the end of Lisa’s 90 minute presentation I felt a sensation that I had experienced only once or twice in the past 8 years.  Well the first time I felt this way in my recent history was when I discovered coaching, 8 years ago now. And more recently when I delivered a keynote talk and workshop in Malaysia (in March 2011). 

I knew, in my heart and body that I was awakening.  To what, I’m not sure, but to something that I knew for certain would be my “next big thing”. 

For me, discovering story coaching was like in the words of the young Bart Connor “intoxicating”.

I introduced myself to Lisa at the end of the session.

I felt emotional.

I hurriedly told her the story shared by Sir Ken. 

And I told her, I just had a “gymnasium moment”.

What is your gymnasium moment? Share here!