Don’t Breathe

When I was a swimmer many years ago, we used to do these things called “hypoxics”. I’m not even sure if that’s a word, but my coach said it, and he was in high school, so he knew everything.

The goal was to swim 25 meters taking five breaths, then another taking four, then three, and so on. Until you could build the endurance to swim 25 meters easily without taking a breath.

Because no matter how good a swimmer you are, breathing is going to slow you down.

One time, I just couldn’t make it without taking a breath. I got to one. But not zero. I clung to the side of the pool with my head down, panting and disappointed.

My coach, who again, was in high school, stood above me like an imposing Greek statue.

“I don’t understand why you can’t do this. It’s the easiest thing in the world. Just don’t breathe.”

It was that simple and that hard. And the next time I pushed off, the next time my lungs cried out for air, I just… didn’t breathe. Even though it went against my basic human instincts. Even though I could feel myself starting to panic. I pushed and pushed and made it to the end, panting and triumphant.

I think about that moment all the time. How well that advice has served me. How deeply it has messed me up.

How my coach didn’t even notice. He was busy with some other kid.