Below is one of my accounts of my sabbatical in SE Asia, learning an teaching freediving. It was a trip that consumed my consciousness for 5 years. I can't tell you how gratifying it was to address my desire to learn a cryptic art! If you have such a quest in mind, I do encourage you to go for it!
Until then, enjoy my recount!
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The wind makes finding deep, calm water nearly impossible. We content ourselves with a paltry 100 feet and train as best we can. I grow seasick while floating in choppy water which causes me to be cranky until I can descend and finally relax. Warm-ups consist of two dives to 33 feet and another to 45. Once at depth, I grip the rope, watching the particles in the water as they float by. The goal is total relaxation. I stay until I have the urge to breath, then pull my way to the surface. This is after arguing about the anchor, setting the lines and getting students in the water. Warm-ups are just what I need to get focused on diving for the day.
My coach (Shifu) challenged me to dive to 100 feet VERY SLOWLY. My goal was to have a total dive time of 4:15.
The key, I’m sure you know, is to be very relaxed. Gripping the line I take a full breath and start to pull myself down.
The most logical way is to go headfirst, but I do the opposite. Like hauling a bucket up from a well, I pull myself deeper until I become negatively buoyant and sink. After that, it is like being on an elevator. I close my eyes, feel the line pass between my fingers, play music in my head and turn up the volume. I just equalize my ears and relax as my fins act like duck-feet brakes. When I get to 100 feet, almost three minutes have passed.
I’m sure you are thinking that I am nuts by now. Hell, you’ve known that all along!
So, you understand me when I say that coming up is the hard part. By this point, my brain is screaming “breathe, you idiot!” I ignore my brain (as usual) and the urge to pull up as fast as I can. My diaphragm starts contracting- an involuntary reaction to high levels of CO2 in the bloodstream. I start counting them. Ascending past 33 feet, I’ve counted 20 very strong contractions. After 21 contractions, they grow ‘softer’ and less painful.
My buddy has met me and is swimming slowly with me from 33 feet to the surface. He can see my mask puff out and suck back on to my face as I move the good air from my mask into my lungs (secret trick!) for that last little bit of oxygen. I’ve counted 41 contractions on one dive, but I might have miscounted. Higher brain functions, like counting, start to shut down when low on oxygen.
I float to the surface with a minimum of movement and grasp the buoy. Recovery breaths are similar to the “Hic Maneuver” fighter pilots (and lowly flight school aerobatic students) use to prevent loss of consciousness due to high g-forces. Blah, blah, blah! I just breathe and hold full lungs for a second before exhaling. This forces the good blood into my head and prevents a Samba.
On the surface, my buddy watched me take the recovery breaths.
I was training with Bat. Bat prepares for his freedive sessions by chain smoking. Bat has spearfished on the island for longer than I have had a driver’s license, so I can’t really scold him. He is cantankerous like you would expect, and excessively capable at sea.
And Bat hates the long dives. He gave up at 3:45. “It is four minutes,” he growled at me after checking his watch. “This watch is wrong.” If Bat could smoke a cigarette on the way down, he would be more relaxed.
