Mud Sweat & Tears - Bear Grylls [119]
Money is some way down the list of priorities – but weirdly I am sure that is one of the reasons the whole thing works so well. Profit is such a boring goal in comparison to time and fun together – both as a family and as friends.
Dave Segel, Del, Todd, Michael, Colin, Jen, Nora, George and the others. My goodness we go through a lot of juice, sushi, air miles and conference calls. And it is, above all, a blast.
Nowadays, I tend to be more the front man for this extraordinary team of people, who are not only the best at what they do – whether as adventure cameramen, clothing designers, lawyers or producers – they are also my buddies.
Much of the success of the business side of things, though, is simply the product of great people, great ideas, tidy execution and a sprinkling of good luck. (Although, I guess I have always fought hard to make the most of any luck that has come my way.)
There is no doubt, though, that I feel quite detached from that official persona of ‘Bear Grylls’. The man looking back at me in the mirror each morning, a bit bleary eyed, with annoying scars and persistent aches, is a different person.
I consider the Bear Grylls from the TV to be just my work and a brand. The team call him simply BG.
The man in the mirror, though, is the husband to Shara, father to our boys, and just a regular guy with all the usual struggles, self-doubts and flaws that tend to go with life.
And of those there are plenty. Trust me.
I’ll let you into two secrets: sometimes I get so anxious in front of large groups of people that I get a little nervous twitch. The twitch makes me feel embarrassed and ashamed inside. It becomes all I can think about. It makes me hate the fact that people are looking at me.
It is called fear. And I am scared.
Just a regular guy.
Then there are heights. Sometimes when I am climbing, or hanging from a helicopter, I get struck by this all-consuming fear. But no one ever sees. I hold it inside. One minute I am fine, the next I am shaking like a leaf.
For no reason.
I know I am safe.
But am I?
It is called fear. And I am scared.
Just a regular guy.
Relieved?
I am.
EPILOGUE
I am going to wrap up this book somewhere around this point, as in many ways it was these pivotal, early experiences – from childhood to the SAS, from Shara to Everest – that shaped so much of my character.
These are also the elements that helped to open the doors to many of the adventures that I have been lucky enough to have been a part of since.
These include tales such as leading one of the first teams ever to cross the frozen North Atlantic Arctic Ocean in a small open boat. This was in aid of the Prince’s Trust, a charity that helps young, disadvantaged people have the chance to follow their own dreams.
The mission nearly turned ugly when we were caught 500 miles offshore, in an arctic, force 9 gale – with crashing waves, and driving wind and hail. All our electronics and tracker systems went down, and the Navy had to notify Shara that we had vanished off the radar, potentially lost in the eye of this ferocious storm.
In the nick of time, with Search and Rescue on the verge of launching, we emerged off the coast of Iceland, scared, near hypothermic, but alive. Just. And running, literally, on vapour fuel. The whole expedition of some 3,000 miles was an awfully long time to be utterly cold, wet and afraid.
Then there was the crazy TV idea of signing up to go to north Africa to endure the simulated basic training that the French Foreign Legion was notorious for. Gritty, exhausting and as hot as hell in the Western Saharan summer.
Twelve of us recruits got whittled down to four at the hands of some of the most brutal and draining military training techniques imaginable. Marching, crawling, fighting from dawn to dusk; shifting hillsides of rocks, being buried alive and running everywhere 24/7. Blister-ridden