Deep water

In the high-stakes sport of freediving, athletes descend as far to the ocean depths as they can on a single breath. They are used to putting their lives at risk. But a new concern is now splitting their community: drug use. Lydia Gard investigates

- Lydia Gard

It begins with stillness. A freediver spends two or three minutes lying on the surface of the ocean, face to the sky, breathing slowly and deeply. Though they may be surrounded by boats, safety divers, cameras, action, they must leave it all behind and find focus. It's not about flooding your body with as much oxygen as you can – it's about release, letting go of anxious thoughts, noise, stress. Seventy, 80, 90 metres beneath the surface, all of that becomes a risk. Panic is the enemy of the freediver.

In 2022, I was working as a travel journalist, failing to balance work and a frenetic life as a mother of three boys, when I was invited to review a retreat in Spain. Towards the end of my stay, we ran to a local lake. The coach suggested we try a static dive: submerging our faces in this glorified puddle to see how long we could hold our breath. New to it all himself, the coach waxed lyrical about the physiological benefits how holding your breath activates the parasympathetic nervous system and reduces stress. I was sceptical. But I emerged euphoric.

I fell in love with a sport that is as simple as it is confounding: to dive as deep as you can on one single breath. I soon discovered that I'm not alone. Freediving attracts a broad spectrum of people who, at hotspots around the world from Kas in Turkey and Kalamata in Greece to Dahab in Egypt and Dominica in the Caribbean congregate all year round to train and compete together.