Freediving isn’t learned in comfort.

Freediving — Week Two

I Almost Quit

The last two days were heavy.

Not physically — mentally.

I could feel the weight of the commitment pressing on me. The ocean wasn’t the problem. The pressure wasn’t the problem. My mind was.

When you’re a few feet below the surface, holding your breath, feeling the water compress your body while you pull yourself down a rope, everything in you wants one thing: don’t panic. Don’t inhale. Don’t lose control.

The stress is real. No matter who you are.

On top of that, I had coursework to study — over a hundred pages — plus first responder training. As advanced divers, we’re expected to be the most knowledgeable people in the water if something goes wrong. That responsibility hit me hard.

I couldn’t focus long enough to read. My mind was scattered. Overloaded.

And that’s when the doubts crept in.

This shit is hard.

I started questioning everything — and I realized something important: this is exactly why most people don’t do it. If it were easy, everyone would. But it isn’t. And that’s the point.

Instead of forcing it, I crashed. I napped. I was mentally exhausted. But deep down, I knew I had a choice to make.

“Put it off” is just another word for quit — at least for me.

And if I quit now, I might never come back.

I slept fine, but I knew I had to talk to the master instructor.

Am I in — or am I out?

The Moment of Decision

During Angamardana that morning, it hit me:

This is supposed to be hard.

So I messaged him. I told him I’d study that day and be ready to train tomorrow.

His reply:

“So happy to hear. Boat leaves at 11:00. See you at 10:30.”

It was 7:30 a.m.

WTF.

Well… if the universe thinks I’m ready by 11, then I guess I’m ready.

And here’s what mattered most:

Five years ago, if you threw an unplanned hike, canyon, or climb at me, I was out. No discussion. My “logic” masked fear. I needed time to prepare. To control. To strategize.

That wasn’t logic.

That was trauma.

I spent most of my life preparing for battles — mentally rehearsing survival — because I’d learned that no one was coming to help me. That habit followed me everywhere.

But sitting there, I saw it clearly:

Worrying about a future event is anxiety.

Anxiety is unnecessary suffering.

And uncertainty?

Uncertainty keeps you present.

If you’ve done your part, and you truly trust that life will meet you with what you need — with or without your permission — then resistance is pointless.

Ever since I started embracing uncertainty, my life has changed in ways I never could have planned.

Show Up

So there I was.

Buck up, buttercup — you’re going diving.

No time to whine. No time to think. Just do what’s always gotten me here.

Show the fuck up.

Once the boat stopped and the lines were set, I was paired with a younger female diver who had more experience.

“Oscar, you’re first,” the instructor said.

I’m not stupid. I read manuals. And one small line changed everything:

When a student gets anxious, they take three chest breaths to calm themselves.

Chest breaths?

I’d been breathing only into my diaphragm — avoiding my chest entirely. That’s why the pressure felt overwhelming. My chest was collapsing.

So I adjusted.

Belly breaths first.

Then one full breath — diaphragm down, chest expanded — all the way full.

I took my time.

Snorkel out.

Gentle equalization.

Roll. Rope in the left hand. Nose in the right.

Equalize. Switch hands. Pull.

Slow. Smooth. No tension in my neck.

And then — before I knew it — I was 45 feet down, holding the white marker at the end of the rope.

I just paused there.

Plenty of air left.

No rush.

Slow ascent.

You’re home.

The ocean hit me like a drug.

I surfaced, took my three recovery breaths, and the instructor raised his hand and slapped me five.

“You looked comfortable down there.”

Hell yes I did.

Everything Clicked

The next ten to twelve dives were the same — calm, controlled, joyful.

He dropped the line to nearly fifty feet. I stopped anticipating. Stopped planning. I focused only on what I was doing while I was doing it. When I missed an equalization, I adjusted. When the water temperature shifted, I knew exactly where I was.

A few more pulls.

White marker.

Every time.

Day two felt even better. The fear was gone. I’d crossed the threshold. The rest was experience.

By day three, I told my instructor:

“I think I’ve earned the title freediver.”

He smiled.

“You sure did. You are now a freediver.”

WTF.

Wow.