Taking Cancer Down

As RAND's Marketing Director, I rarely get my hands dirty visiting job sites as our hard-working engineers, architects, and project managers do hundreds of times a year. While they're walking on hot tar roofs in the summer, braving stiff winds on scaffolds in the winter, and climbing on sometimes shaky fire escapes year round, I'm sitting in the comfort of my climate-controlled cubicle navigating nothing more dangerous than a keyboard and mouse.

So when I heard about a chance to do something adventurous, and to do it for a good cause, I signed up at the drop of a hat—or rather, the drop of a rope. On Saturday I rappelled 470 feet down the side of Harborside Financial Center Plaza 5 in Jersey City, NJ for Over the Edge, a fundraising event sponsored by the American Cancer Society.

Having sky dived from 10,000 feet, bungee jumped from a hot air balloon, and zip lined through a rain forest, I'm not terrified of heights, although I certainly have a healthy respect for them. Until Saturday my rappelling experience was limited to about 30 feet while rock climbing and ice climbing. Descending 37 stories down a sheer glass facade was something entirely different.

Suiting Up
To prepare my fellow rappellers and me, the Over the Edge crew gathered us in a staging area on the ground floor of the building and equipped each of us with a sturdy (and, um, snug) harness; a two-way radio for communicating with the rope handlers; and a helmet. I'm not sure how much the helmet would help in a fall from several hundred feet, but it nonetheless made me feel more secure.

The crew then took us up to the roof of the building, which offers a magnificent view of the Manhattan skyline, from the new construction at the World Trade Center at the southern tip all the way up the Hudson River. Enjoy it now, I thought, because I may have more immediate concerns on the way down.

We were then given a brief training session on proper rappelling form (feet wide, knees slightly bent, butt out), how to feed the rope through the release mechanism, how much pressure to put on the release handle, and how to unlock the safety device on the back-up rope if it engages, which happens if the rappeller drops too fast, as a car's seat belt does in a sudden stop.

The two ropes securing our harnesses were slim but deceptively strong, each capable of supporting 7,000 pounds. ("It could hold your car," our trainer assured us.) We then took a practice rappel down an interior 20-foot wall, which went smoothly. Now it was time for the real thing. "Let's do this," I said in a bit of false bravado.

I was assigned Rope 1 of the six ropes that were running. Don, the crew member hooking up my harness, did one last safety check on my equipment, which he confirmed was not purchased second-hand on Craigslist that morning. "What's the fatality rate for doing this—less than 10 percent, right?" I asked him in one last stab at gallows humor.

"You're stealing all our lines," Don said, as he gave one last tug on my harness. "Are you ready, Peter?" Ready as I'll ever be to go off the side of a building.

No Going Back
I stepped up onto the wooden platform with my back facing the abyss. Don then told me to position my heels so they were hanging off the side. Now came the moment of truth and/or consequences—leaning back "over the edge." Once I leaned back, there was no going back.

So without hesitation, but not without apprehension, I leaned back, placed my feet firmly on the side of the building, and sat into my harness. I now had 470 feet of nothing but air between me and my destination, which I hoped to get to soon but not suddenly. Despite the facetious advice of friends who had told me not to look down, that's exactly what I did to see just what I had gotten myself into. What I saw were two red and orange ropes snaking their way off to a distant land below me, and a bunch of tiny, tiny people.

Though I couldn't hear it from the top, the DJ on the ground was giving each rappeller a shout out and playing the song we had selected for our descent. I had considered several tunes, passing on the obvious (Springsteen's "I'm Going Down"), those that tempted fate (Tom Petty's "Free Falling"), or ones I couldn't live up to despite my precarious position at the moment (Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild"). Instead I chose the free-spirit vibe of the Allman Brothers' "Ramblin' Man," though "Danglin' Man" might have been more apropos.

Keeping my feet on the glass, I started slowly stepping backwards, feeding the rope into the release mechanism with my right hand and carefully squeezing the handle with my left, finding a rhythm that steadily lowered me several feet at a time without too much bouncing. On my left was that amazing view of Manhattan I had seen from the roof, albeit now from a more horizontal orientation.

The view in front of me offered its own charm. The facade of Harborside Financial Center Plaza 5 has alternating bands of windows and reflective glass, and as I dropped down over the windows, I could see up close into people's offices. This being a Saturday, no one was inside, but I did get a glimpse into their work lives. (Somebody on about the 28^th floor is reading the 2006 edition of New Jersey Zoning and Land Use Administration, and a Mr. Davis on approximately the 19^th floor has a very messy desk.)

The peeks into the offices were interspersed with mirrored views from the building's reflective panels in between floors. I saw not only myself in action but also the breathtaking skyline behind me all the way up the Hudson River to the George Washington Bridge and beyond.

I took my time descending, occasionally stopping to rest my hands, spinning around to wave to people on the ground, and taking it all in. For a brief moment I imagined how exciting it would be to work as a window washer on a skyscraper, only to remember that I don't even wash the windows from inside my own apartment.

End of My Rope
My rappel went without a hitch until I was about two stories from the ground and the safety device on the back-up rope engaged after I dropped a little too fast. Our trainer had told us what to do when that happens: Pull the rope down and the device up. Or was it rope up, device down? In the heat of the moment, and with the finish line tantalizing close, I couldn't remember. I yanked on the rope and the device every which way but to no avail—I was stuck. Here I had descended smoothly for 450 feet only to be left hanging the last 20.

I fiddled with the rope and the safety device for a minute or two more, and before someone could yell "Cut the rope!" I somehow managed to unlock the device and lower myself into the waiting arms of my patient rope handlers. As much as I enjoyed my vertical adventure, which took about 25 minutes from top to bottom, it felt good to be back on terra firma.

With my ropes unhooked, I stepped back and looked up at the shimmering structure towering above me, which I had just experienced up close and personal. "Been there, down that," I told myself, feeling a mixture of accomplishment and relief.

While the pure thrill of releasing my inner Spiderman was admittedly one of my motivations for participating in Over the Edge, I also had a more important reason: My brother Tom is successfully battling leukemia, and my colleague Constantin is recovering from lung cancer. Neither of them would be alive today if not for the dedicated and innovative work of cancer researchers, doctors, and specialists who are saving millions of lives. Guys, this rappel was for you and for them.

Thanks to the support from family, friends, and colleagues, including a generous matching donation from RAND, I received 68 donations for a total of $3,401. (For a 470-foot drop, that's $7.24 a foot!) I'm proud to say the amount I raised placed me among the event's top five fundraisers. Thank you everyone who contributed to the cause! In total, 115 rappellers in this weekend's Over the Edge event raised more than $270,000 dollars in the fight against cancer. (Here are some cool photos from the event.) And despite my jibe about rappelling's 10% fatality rate, the only casualties were a couple of bad cases of helmet hair, mine included.

Over the Edge was a thrilling experience for a wonderful cause, and one I would do again. In the meantime, when I leave RAND's office from the top floor of our building, I'll be taking the elevator.