I didn't want to go!.

Or rather, I wanted to have already gone. The "where" in question was a backpacking trip with Outward Bound, the organisation that takes folks out into the wilderness to toughen them up. It's the one known for dumping you off in the woods alone for three days with a fig bar and a book of matches.

Frankly, I'm the last person you'd ever think of finding on one of these nature gigs. Urban to the bone, I care for the concrete comforts of city life. Such as insides. And buildings that have warm ones. And though I'm adventurous, I never like being more than a block away from a Diet Coke.

But I had cul-de-sacked myself into a state of mind where all I could think about was eating, sleeping, working and Seinfeld. And I wondered if something like Outward Bound could forklift me out of the rut.

Eventually, I called the North Carolina chapter and asked one of the counsellors about its nine-day trip to Costa Rica. I didn't hear much of what she said past "50-pound pack" -- that being over half my weight -- but she managed to assure me that Outward Bound is for the average person, not jocks, and that I wouldn't be abandoned in the rain forest for three days (this happens only on the longer courses) -- maybe 24 hours at the most.

And so I went. But I headed for the airport like a crash-test dummy going to work.

Only a third of it turned out to be correct. The service project wasn't anywhere near the coast or a biological preserve. And there was no rafting, period. But as I discovered, learning to deal with such unpredictability is what Outward Bound is all about. Started during World War II as a survival-training program for young British sailors, the organisation takes its name from a nautical term describing the moment a ship leaves the safety of the harbour for the unknown challenges and adventure of the sea.

Our adventure began in San José, Costa Rica's capital, where the group convened. Including the two instructors, we totalled four men and nine women. The first person I talked to was Margarete Danckers, a 32-year-old anaesthetist from Chicago. Sceptically dusting me with the whites of her eyes, she asked if I'd spent a lot of time getting in shape for the trip. "I just stepped up my jogging," I answered. "What about you?"

"I'm German," she said simply and walked off.

Later, I found out that she'd just given up smoking a few hours previously. Then, too, I discovered she had a sense of humour that could save any bad situation and would endear her to me for life.

Compassion is one of the four pillars upon which Outward Bound is based. The other three are self-reliance, physical fitness and craftsmanship or skills.

Learning to Cooperate

So it was that I found myself eyeing huevos and papayas at a rustic bunk-and-breakfast in a coffee-growing town at the base of Chirripó. The hour was 5:30 A.M., which in my book would be called a respectable bedtime. But at least I wasn't watching the hours tick away on my wrist, since Dan and Trina had collected our watches back in San José. Before I knew it, we were hiking through the thick of the rain forest that crawled up the mountain.

All I remember about scenery that first day was Wendy's rear. Wendy Greenblatt was a tough-talking 40-year-old environmental fund-raiser from New Jersey, who, by her own admission, did not like to run with the wimps. She had spent her honeymoon, for Pete's sake, on an 11-day Outward Bound course in the Cascade Mountains.

As it turned out, Wendy was the one who got me up that mountain, patiently showing me where to step so I wouldn't slip in the mud and reminding me constantly to relax my shoulders -- advice that saved my whole upper body from getting stiff. And it was Wendy whose life stories got wilder the higher we climbed. By the time she started talking about her go-go dancing years, I had completely forgotten that I had ever been dreading this day.

We reached our destination in the afternoon and dispersed into the moist, dense foliage for some reflection time. The curtained and canopied rain forest seemed a private, introverted place -- one that held me politely in the palm of its hand but wouldn't open up to me with its secrets. At least, not right away. I had to prove my stillness before the bird songs would poke through the silence, followed by the birds themselves, popping out all around me.

"Duermen con los angelitos," said Trina from her sleeping bag that night. Sleep with the little angels. Lying there zipped up and warm, I realised that I made it through the first day of backpacking without a moment of misery -- not to mention a Diet Coke. Somebody must be watching over me.

Repentance Hill

That day we hiked out of the rain forest. It was like being hauled up from the depths of a dark green well into the light where a million flowers greeted us with colourful applause. And for the first time we saw the other mountain peaks around us. Happy campers, we stopped for lunch on a grassy clearing. According to the crude line drawing that served as our map, we'd done the hard part; the last 1.5 kilometres of the day's hike would be pretty flat.

The map was wrong. Or we read it wrong. Whatever the case, we were not prepared for an unforgivingly steep stretch of trail called Repentance Hill (need I say more?). Somewhere along the way it started to rain. Having tossed off the warm shawl of the rain forest, we were getting chilled.

From the back of the line, Dan bellowed his well-worn refrain. "Outward Bound. Get psyched to hike." But I was more psyched to kill at that moment. He and Trina had known the hill was coming, yet they let us assume we were home free. I understood this was an Outward Bound tactic. I understood the value of learning to take things as they come. But they had been overdoing it, never telling us from the get-go what lay ahead -- even for the day -- taking our watches, doling out limited funds for us to buy food. Here I was, a responsible adult, and I did not like having my control taken away.

Others in the group felt similarly, and to their credit, the instructors dealt sensitively with our gripes.

"I decided not to say anything (about Repentance Hill) because I thought it would be really good for people to dig deep and say, ‘What do I have left here?’ " Trina later explained. (She's been with Outward Bound for 15 years and is coordinator of special projects for the national office.) "It's just like in life. A lot of times, you think you've got something nailed, and you don't".

Wake-up Call

Eventually the sun started massaging the sky with its fingers of light. As it did, we found ourselves standing on a ridge staring at what we'd been blindly walking toward all these days -- the craggy rock peak of Chirripó. If we hadn't learned the lesson by now, here it was written in stone: Don't focus on the goal, because it's not real until you get there. Instead, the very act of living in the present will take you where you want to go.

The final climb was a vertical rock scramble. I could feel the altitude clawing at my lungs as I levered myself up to the top, right into a cloud, which ringed the summit like a tutu. Once there, we danced proudly on our tiny stage -- taking photos and congratulating each other. Soon the sky cleared, and we looked down at this green gem of a country. Before hiking down again, Trina handed us each a piece of paper and asked us to write the thing we most wanted to let go of in our lives. Then, without speaking, we burned our secrets.

The way back was long, and the sun scorched our skin through the thin air. By the time we reached the camp, we were all spent, thinking only about sleep.

That's when we learned it was time for our solos. Dan and Trina told us to grab some lunch, and anything else we might want for a six- or seven-hour stint alone on the mountain. As they spoke, huge black storm clouds rolled in, and it started to pour. "I don't want to go out there," said one woman. Trina told her to buck up.

I didn't want to go myself, but followed Dan into the bushy mountain meadow. Within moments of his leaving, I was drenched, yet so exhausted I lay myself out like a welcome mat in the rain and crashed. When I woke up, it was raining harder and had gotten decidedly cold. I sat with my head in my hands, cursing the day I'd signed up for this trip, pleading for the rain to stop.

And then the oddest thing happened. The rain didn't stop. I did. I stopped clutching my rules, my limits -- "don't stay out in the rain," "don't just sit there and do nothing," "don't.." -- and opened my eyes. Everything looked different in this weeping continuum of wetness, and instead of hiding from my surroundings, I had the urge to become intimate with them.

I got out my camera and stood up, using the mechanical eye to focus on the details around me -- water droplets suspended on branches, colours softened by the muted light, beaded grass blades -- wonders I'd never have seen living by my old rules.

I was so absorbed, I almost dropped the camera when Trina appeared through the viewfinder. She said it was raining so hard it would be okay to come back and finish the solo inside the hut. I stayed out in the meadow for a while, though, taking pictures, knowing I'd worked through whatever it was I had come here to do. I had truly expanded my comfort zone -- pushing my boundaries a little farther out both mentally and physically. It was something I couldn't capture in a photo or on a journal page but would take home with me and apply to the rest of my life.

Back Home

About two weeks after I got back, I began to notice a deep change in myself. With a sense that some inner score had been settled, I started doing things I'd been unable to do for years -- getting control of my finances, committing to a relationship, going after higher goals at work. Call it self-confidence or a sense of responsibility; all I know is that I left my safe little harbour for a while and discovered I could swim in bigger, saltier seas. And that I liked it.

Reprinted with permission from Shape Magazine. May 1995.

Outward Bound offers more than 700 courses a year in the United States and has chapters in 21 other countries. The trips last from four days to 85 days with activities that range from backpacking to dog sledding and telemark skiing. Some are coed, others are for women only, and still others are for families and couples.

Almost every course includes a solo, where each student is left alone in a designated area anywhere from a few hours to three days. Many courses also include a service project. Expect to pay $90 to $100 a day, which will cover meals, equipment, and instruction.

You definitely do not have to be an athlete or outdoorsman to survive -- and enjoy -- Outward Bound. According to Dave Genova at the North Carolina Outward Bound School, two months of regular power walking will prepare you (even if you're now unfit) for most courses. More important, you should be open to travelling inward as well as outward.