Reading time ~ 3 minutes.
Mastery is the product of practice and repetition.1 Or so we’re told. If we do something a million times, like play a piano concerto or shoot a free throw, we expect to develop a degree of expertise, ingraining it in our muscle memory to the point we can “do it in our sleep.” We all have extensive experience breathing—powered by our brain stem, which impels us to inhale roughly 900 times per hour—we literally do it in our sleep. And yet, most of us don’t actually breathe very well.
I’ve read books on mindfulness and done belly breathing meditations, but within minutes I slip back into my default mode taking shallow sips of air. Occasionally, when I become aware that tension has locked my shoulders up by my ears, I recall how good it feels to draw in an enormous breath and exhale with an exaggeratedly slow release. But this is rare. After taking inadequate breaths my whole life, which at age 52 ½ amounts to around 380,000,000, I’m extremely good at doing it wrong.
In recent months, several of us have been training for a triathlon to mark a friend’s 50th birthday next Saturday. I’ve done a handful of triathlons (exactly a hand full, 5), because they’re a good psychological challenge and decent way to get fit. The most daunting part is of course the open water swim, especially for someone like me who is not a natural swimmer. Growing up I could paddle myself out of the deep end of a pool, but I mostly just splashed around doing handstands and playing Marco Polo. In truth, I’m not strong in any of the 3 disciplines, but I am stubborn and don’t stop, which is all you really need to complete a triathlon. When I trained for my first in 2014, I tried to learn proper swim mechanics and techniques for breathing. And though I never gained speed, I kept swimming because I found it soothing to be in the water. After our gym closed at the beginning of the pandemic, I hadn’t gone swimming for 2 full years until starting to train again this spring. Getting back into it has reminded me of my love for water and my hopelessly flawed breathing.
In high school biology, most of us were taught the physiology of respiration. Our blood’s acidity is tightly controlled by our breathing—if the pH is low, sentinels in our brain and blood vessels prompt us to slow the rate down; if the pH is too high, we vigorously huff and puff to blow off carbon dioxide. It was only later, through swim lessons as an adult, that I learned the panicked sensation of ‘air hunger’ is triggered more by the build-up of CO2 than from a shortage of oxygen. Swim coaches teach that you must overcome the instinct to hold your breath—face down mid-stroke, you have to exhale fully, empty your lungs of accumulated byproducts, and trust that you’ll take in sufficient air when you next turn your head. It’s the only way to develop a comfortable, rhythmic breathing pattern. The exhale is as important as the inhale. And recent research has shown that during normal breathing, a prolonged exhale powerfully activates the parasympathetic nervous system and helps calm our chronically overstimulated sympathetic drive.
The etymological root of respiration is spīrō (“to blow, breathe”), the origin of the word spirit with varied definitions that include: “an animating or vital principle,” “a supernatural being,” “an attitude or frame of mind,” and, “the distillate from an alcoholic mash.” Respiration combines the prefix re- (“again, anew”) with spīrō to mean: breathe again, breathe anew. To inspire brings spirit or breath in; to expire expels or blows it out. The lessons of swimming are equally valid in daily life on dry land. When I suck in air and hold my breath, it feeds my anxiety and panic. Respiration is a cycle. If I remember to exhale, let go, and trust the next inspiration will come, I may never be an expert swimmer or breather or coper, but at least I won’t feel like I’m drowning.
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More accurately, this should say: mastery is the product of deliberate practice, which is likely why we’re not master breathers—it’s automated by a survival mechanism that never requires us to pay attention to technique.
Always love your posts. ❤️