Here’s an old blog post I wrote on that very day: The Next Chapter Begins.

It was a day I’ll never forget. I spent the night at Haneda’s airport hotel before catching my morning flight to Tsuruoka. That evening, I sat in stillness, my mind racing through all the possible ways this new chapter of my life might unfold. Restless, I struggled to fall asleep.

The next morning, I made my way to the domestic terminal and sat by the gate, waiting for boarding. Out of nowhere, a Japanese man walked toward me with a warm smile, as if he already knew me.

“You’re from Saudi Arabia, right? Going to Tsuruoka?” he asked.

“Umm… yes,” I replied, still trying to figure out who he was and how he knew me.

Sensing my confusion, he explained, “I work at Spiber! I heard you’re coming in for an interview today.”

It was my first glimpse into just how small Tsuruoka was. Ever since, almost every flight in or out of the city has had at least one familiar face on board.

We chatted during the flight, and when we landed, he offered me a ride to the office since he was heading there too. Once we arrived and I saw how others greeted him, it became clear he wasn’t just another employee.

“Sekiyama-san, what exactly do you do at Spiber?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.

“Many things. Whatever needs to be done. I’m the founder of the company!” he replied, grinning from ear to ear.

After our final round of interviews, we went out for dinner. They offered me a monthly salary of ¥220,000 and gave me the contract. At the time, I had no real idea what that meant financially—and honestly, I didn’t care. I was a fresh graduate eager to learn and grow. I signed the contract on the spot. Only when I got home did I discover that it was about BD700 at the time.

I stayed with Spiber until the end of 2018. When I left, I didn’t close my bank account or sell my car. I left a lot of stuff. Part of me wanted to revisit Japan often. Another part of me simply wasn’t ready to cut the cord.

Then came COVID, making travel impossible. By the time restrictions eased, my residence card had expired. I could have applied for a tourist visa, but I never quite got around to it. Maybe, deep down, I wasn’t ready to face the past.

My father once told me about returning to his old university town in Oregon. The friends were gone, the familiar storefronts replaced, and the streets seemed to belong to someone else’s life. He realized then that the place he loved no longer existed anywhere but in his memory. I’ve felt the same way about my childhood home in Riyadh. How it used to feel a bit hollow, like a stage after the actors have left. Revisiting the past can be like opening a door to find the room empty, the echoes of what was lingering just beyond reach.

But my wife had always wanted to revisit Japan after a short but intense experience of the culture for work. Thanks to her enthusiasm, we started planning a trip, the first with our 4-month-old baby girl.

By late June 2025, after seven years away, I was ready to return. But escalating tensions between Israel and Iran, which led to drone and missile attacks in the region, led to airspace closures. The trip was postponed. Finally, on July 4, I set foot once again in the land of the rising sun.

It was surreal. The culture felt both familiar and distant. My Japanese was rusty, and I stumbled over basic words and phrases at first, but within a few days, it all started to come back.

Even my old mannerisms started resurfacing. Surprisingly, I could feel who I used to be. I could sense the points where I’d changed, where I’d grown tougher, more pragmatic. I was still me, but not the same me who first came here with naive, heart-driven optimism.

Walking the same streets I once strolled with my ex-girlfriend, now holding my daughter in one hand and my wife’s in the other, was a strange and beautiful contrast. Sitting alone in the hot springs where I used to spend hours reflecting, I thought about the years gone by and how much had changed. I also couldn’t help me think about how weirdly normal it feels to be taking nude baths with strangers again!

Seven years can pack in a lifetime. Alongside the joy, there was some grief. My dad’s stories had prepared me for that.

One difficult truth I confronted was learning that one of my friends from that time had been stealing from me. We’d been through incredible experiences together, and I’ll always cherish those memories.

He returned the money, and we’re on okay terms now. I don’t blame him entirely. Maybe I was too trusting. Oh and, as absurd as this sounds, he also scrapped my car without telling me. Enough time has passed that I can now laugh at how ridiculous that is.

On the brighter side, reconnecting with old friends reminded me of how powerful shared purpose can be. Years of no contact melted away instantly.

It happened early in my time in Tsuruoka, towards the end of 2015. A moment so simple, yet so deeply heartwarming. I rarely fell ill, but when I did, it was usually intense. That first time, I lay in my apartment feeling hollow and weak, too tired to cook, too drained to even step outside. The silence felt heavier than usual, and I didn’t know who I could call. Then there was an unexpected knock at the door. Ito-san stood there, smiling softly, holding a warm container of natto soup. Steam curled into the cold air as he handed it to me, its aroma rich and comforting. I sat down on the floor, took the first sip, and something inside me gave way. It was one of the most delicious things I’d ever tasted. So full of care that it literally brought tears to my eyes.

Ito-san was one of the many kind-hearted people I was lucky to reconnect with. One day, during this trip, he made my wife and I an ice-brewed cafe romano. It’s flavor unforgettable, and its gesture even more so. Seemingly simple moments like that felt deeply special. It was also lovely sharing these moments with my wife. She was able to catch a glimpse of a past chapter in my life, now unfolding right in front of her.

Catching up with Sekiyama-san and his family made me feel whole again. There’s something remarkable about sharing so many core values with people who, on the surface, seem worlds apart. They’ve always been my family away from home. I’ll never forget how, just days after I moved to Japan, they welcomed me into their home. I was a fresh graduate in a completely unfamiliar place, and they helped shape me into a more confident, grounded version of myself. Someone who could navigate not only Japan, but life itself, with a little more wisdom and a lot more heart. As always, he radiated hope, his eyes glistening with the endless possibilities of the future.

In an another old blog post, I wrote about Tsuruoka’s legendary hand-drip coffee master. Stepping back into his shop after all these years brought tears to my eyes. Even now, as I write this, I feel them welling up again. It was as if no time had passed at all.

When I think about the miracle of Japan — how a small island nation with limited natural resources and a modest population managed to rise from the ashes of World War II to become the world’s second-largest economy — I think of people like him. Kadowaki-san is the quintessence of that quiet, miraculous force. He dedicated his life to coffee, first spending 18 years under the guidance of a mentor at a renowned shop in Tokyo, before returning to his hometown to forge his own path.

On roasting days, he arrives at his cafe at 5 a.m., covering every piece of furniture and tableware with care before preparing the machines. Using a simple handheld stopwatch, he times his roasts down to the second. After the beans emerge from scorching heat, he hand-sorts them one by one, discarding any that fail to meet his standards. His right thumbnail tells the story — worn and calloused from decades of flicking away imperfect beans. The patina on the walls and ceiling reflects the countless roasts he prepared during those early mornings alone.

When it comes time to brew, he warms each cup and spoon with hot water, then reaches for his old-school cloth drip. The ritual is slow and deliberate: drop by drop, he wets the grounds until they bloom and foam, giving him visual confirmation of their quality. Then, with practiced precision, he adjusts the flow in subtle circles until the cup is ready. Because the first drops are always stronger than the last, he gives the coffee a quick stir before sliding it across the counter.

When walking into Coffea, you’ll usually find him locked in quiet concentration. Yet even in that state, he notices everything — who walked in, where they sat — serving each person in proper order. Customers wait patiently until he approaches their table. That’s simply how it works at Coffea: with patience, precision, and devotion.

My relationship with him unfolded slowly. At first there was the language barrier; later, as my Japanese improved — and with the help of Japanese-speaking friends — I began to glimpse more of his world. Kadowaki-san always seemed to know the city’s heartbeat: who was dating whom, new developments, projects in motion. If he hadn’t seen or heard from someone in a while, he would ask about them.

He met my father and sister when they visited, came to know many of my friends, and eventually introduced me to one of his own. Until that moment, I had half-believed he was a character from fiction — someone who lived and breathed coffee with no room for anything else. He has friends? I laughed to myself. But in truth, it was a turning point: a glimpse into his private world. That friend, Kikuchi-san, became very dear to me, and we shared many unforgettable gatherings at his home, with his beautiful wife.

Kikuchi-san is a legend in his own right. We bonded over a shared obsession with long-distance running. He completed more than thirty marathons across the world and had gone on to organize Tsuruoka’s notoriously grueling 100km ultramarathon. Our regular runs drew us closer.

On weekends, just for fun, he’d gather a group of runners and map out 50–60km routes. He arranged the support cars, kept us on track, and set the pace. Those epic runs almost always ended the same way — soaking in the hot springs, letting tired legs melt into the water.

Thanks to him, I joined a local running club and trained with them twice a week whenever I was in Tsuruoka. It was a refreshing way to connect with people beyond my work circle.

I twice attempted Kikuchi-san’s infamous ultramarathon, which had a strict 10-hour cutoff. The first time, I made it to 60km. The second, 80km. (If I’d had a third go, I’m convinced I would have finished — it seemed I was gaining 20km each year.)

When Kadowaki-san mentioned I was back in town, Kikuchi-san came to see me. He’s still going strong. Though he no longer runs, he now enjoys long walks, while the ultramarathon has become part of his past. The final edition of his ultramarathon took place on September 4, 2022. He got to know my wife, and they shared memorable stories and pictures of races they enjoyed.

I felt the vacant void of so many who were no longer in Tsuruoka. Higashi-san, a mentor-like figure with the sharpest mind, moved to France. Ayana’s infectious smile was absent. Oliver and Sunita had long since returned to the States. Tom was no longer there to dream up wild adventures. Daniel had slipped away just days before I arrived. And Hata-san and his wife, once a constant source of warmth, were missing too. Many familiar faces were missing. Each absence was its own echo.

There’s a final aspect of retrospection I’d have loved to delve into, but I can’t right now. I’ll have to leave it to another time. Or maybe just keep that part to myself.

Returning to Japan after all these years taught me that revisiting the past isn’t only about the places — it’s about the person you were when you knew them. Streets, cafes, and familiar faces become mirrors, reflecting both who you once were and how much you’ve changed. It feels like stepping through an open portal into another time.

Yes, many things have changed, and a few chapters are better left closed. But others, like the warmth of old friendships, the taste of hand-dripped coffee, and the quiet comfort of familiar hiking trails are timeless.

I left Japan years ago thinking I’d return often. Life had other plans. But being there again, sitting beside my wife and daughter, I realized that while I can’t relive my past, I can weave it into my present.

Your world doesn’t shrink; it just refocuses. Suddenly, everything starts with your child. And in my case, with Lora.

I now think more about the long term. About legacy. About meaning. If I’m going to be away from her, it better be for something worthwhile.

It took time to understand my new role in the evolving family dynamic.

Looking back, here’s what I wish someone had told me—not the usual baby books stuff, but the real lessons that hit me along the way.

1. Focus on your wife’s well being.

It’s easy to think your attention should go straight to the baby. I did too. But you’ll (hopefully) be in awe of how instinctively and powerfully your wife cares for your child. It’s a force you can’t compete with—even on your best day.

The catch? She’ll likely neglect herself in the process. That’s not sustainable.

Think of it like this:

Husband → Wife → Newborn

It’s a chain of care. Keep the base strong.

That doesn’t mean avoiding diaper duty. Often the best way to help your wife is by stepping in directly with the baby. Other times, it’s simpler: remind her to eat, take the night shift so she can sleep, or suggest a nap while the baby rests.

Ease the pressure where you can. Reassure her that while breast milk is ideal, it’s not the only way. Be her emotional safety net.

2. Your wife will transform into a (beautiful) monster.

Yes, really.

Postpartum hormones are wild. Don’t take anything she says too personally. Her body just went through something unimaginable—and the cost often comes in the form of emotional turbulence and reduced clarity.

It’s not her. It’s the transition. Keep this in mind. Stay kind.

3. Step up when health concerns arise.

I hope you don’t need this advice, but it might help someone.

Lora struggled to gain weight early on and possibly had a UTI. Eventually, we figured out she had food allergies—which, weirdly, seem to be increasingly common in infants (thankfully, many grow out of them by six months).

Here’s the takeaway: your wife’s instincts will often be spot-on. She’s had a nine-month head start bonding with your child. But her concern might feel overwhelming at times. Minor issues grow into existential threats. As the father, you have a clearer vantage point. Use it. Calm her. Think rationally. Help guide the family forward.

4. Underpromise. Over-deliver.

My biggest mistake? I did the opposite.

In the heat of the moment, I made promises I couldn’t keep. Don’t do that. Manage expectations—especially your own.

5. Embrace the ups and the downs.

You’ll be tired. Stressed, Maybe even lost.

You might find yourself in a soggy, smelly poop storm.

But mixed into the chaos are moments so beautiful they’ll leave you speechless. Hang on to those. They’re what this is all about.

I didn’t always follow my own advice well. It’s been a humbling journey, and it’s only getting started.

• (From left to right: Fahad, Abu Fahad.) Around 2002?

This picture above was taken at the old Seef track. After countless laps, obsessing over how to gain fractions of seconds at each corner, we’d reward ourselves with a good meal at Burger Land: Mango juice and an extra thick chicken shawarma (with thin bread). A memory that defined my childhood.

The dream, of course, was to someday compete at highest level in the sport. To become a Formula 1 driver. Turns out I wasn’t good enough, but am fortunate to have had a lovely journey.

• My first win in the GT3 Cup Challenge, at 16 years old. (From left to right: Pr. Abdulaziz Alfaisal, Fahad, Bandar Alesayi.) 2009/2010.

In 2019, thanks to the huge support of the Ministry of Sports and the Saudi Motorsports Federation, I got the opportunity to race in a unique international championship called Jaguar i-Pace eTrophy. Covid kicked in during that season and made for some unexpected surprises.

Continuing with the Saudi Racing team, I returned to the GT3 Cup Challenge, winning the championship. This felt like reaching the summit, and an incredible note on which to begin to closing this chapter.

• (From left to right: Fahad, Abu Fahad.) 2022. After winning a race in Dubai.

It’s difficult to express how much I love the sport … how it challenges me and helps me grow … how, when I apply myself to this singular objective of driving as fast as possible - with every cell in my body, racing at the absolute limit feels like a form of spiritual transcendence.

Gradually, I began reaching a point where racing felt like something I had to do, as opposed to something I wanted to do. For example, time spent at the racetrack felt like a missed opportunity to be freediving. I vividly remember racing in Jeddah, a track right by the sea, and staring out into the distance day-dreaming of diving into the sea between sessions. I started to become annoyed by the things I took for granted; the loud noises, constant flow of fumes, and long periods of time we spend just sitting in the car - anticipating the start of a session. Not to mention the media obligations. Racing wasn’t simple anymore.

It got to the point where I didn’t think I’d race anymore. I had opportunities that I would’ve dreamed of a kid, but I just didn’t end up taking them because they didn’t excite me. My obsession with freediving undoubtedly played a huge role here, as it became the singular obsession over the last few years.

All of a sudden, in a way that’s difficult to describe, I found myself eager to try racing a motorbike. I had just come off a long and grueling freediving depth season, and was open to giving myself some room to explore this spur of the moment calling.

• (From left to right: Fahad, Hasan Alawadhi)

It all happened so fast. I got a bike, and within about 4 days I rode 1003km to break-in the engine. I was also extremely fortunate to reconnect with Hasan, one of the most talented riders in the region, who played a huge role in helping me find my way in this new world of two wheels. My first experience back on the track was a coaching session with him, and it felt like such a thrill to be doing something so new and yet so familiar.

I suck at doing things “just for fun”, no matter how hard I try to mislead myself. Just when I thought I was finally ready to say goodbye to the world of competitive motorsports, I’m back on track. First race is coming up on February 7, and I’m super excited.

• (From left to right: Fahad, Hasan Alawadhi. Without helmets this time.)

This reminds me of those good old days when I started karting!

It started off as a bit of laziness that went unnoticed. Gradually, the beard garnered more societal disdain the longer it grew. Here are my peer-reviewed scientific findings:

Some helpful notes:

• ‘Beard growth’ is measured in length.

• ‘Disdain’ is measured in the quantity and intensity of disdain that was explicitly communicated to me using spoken or written language. It does not factor in any implicit or otherwise unexpressed disdain that was undoubtedly  present as well.

• There were no personal attempts to reproduce these findings outside the Arab world (yet). I predict that the graph will have regional differences that will provide insights into the given area’s culture.

There are 4 main phases to the relationship between beard growth and disdain:

Phase 1: The safe zone.

• A certain amount of growth is not met with any disdain whatsoever.

Phase 2: Warning signs.

• During this phase, people start to notice that this beard is getting out of line.

• Disdain, here, is usually limited to a close circle of family and friends. It is also limited in frequency and intensity.

Phase 3: Serious business.

• Here the beard’s sphere of influence continues to grow (literally and metaphorically), although still mostly within the realm of family and friends.

• The beard becomes a repeated topic of discussion in gatherings. Jokes are made about it. Numerous theories come up to try to resolve the mystery of its existence.

• People you haven’t seen in a while will start off any interaction with an inquisition about the beard’s motives.

• Anyone who might have been holding back their feelings during phase 2, tends to come clean during this phase. Particularly true for my aunts, most of whom took me to the side and threatened to shave it off themselves if I didn’t resolve this matter on my own.

Phase 4: Public disdain

• The beard’s sphere of influence makes waves beyond people I know personally, into the public domain.

• My family gave up their resistance and despairingly surrendered to the beard’s relentless growth. Disdain still manages to sneak through.

• Strangers show signs of disdain. For example, one day, as I was driving across the Saudi causeway, the immigration officer blurted out, “What’s going on with the beard?! Why? I mean, you seem like a nice person.”

• During this phase, I occasionally experienced unusual signs of reverence from complete strangers as well. I was in a Majlis (‘sitting places' where community members gather, usually for particular occasions) during Eid, and as I was leaving someone I’d never even had a direct conversation with before said something along the lines of, “It really made my day to see someone like you. Holding onto our traditions and values, and doing so with such a positive attitude. You’re a great representative of our religion. Thank you so much. God bless you.”

• Every single day, often multiple times a day, I’d hear (usually, but not always, derogative) comments about the beard.

I must express that although the beard managed to thrive in spite of overwhelming disdain and opposition, there were occasional shows of extreme love and support that were duly noted. Although sparse, hard to come by, these displays of support were powerful … imbued with admiration, often a tinge of envy, and willing the beard to live on and prosper. For reference, throughout the lifespan of the beard, the ratio of disdain to praise was about 500:1.

The beard witnessed a total 7 counts of explicit praise. The single instances are mapped out in pink dots.

• Interesting to note a general increase in praise intensity proportional to beard growth, similar to what is experienced with disdain.

“Why are you growing your beard?!?!”

The beard garnered more societal disdain the longer it grew. For some reason, as soon as I became aware of this, sometime during phase 2, I wanted to lean into it more.

It was hard for me to acknowledge this feeling at first, but eventually it became clear as day.

There may be an element of stubbornness. I’ll be the first to admit that I can be quite stubborn. Not wanting to conform to norms just for the sake of conformity. But that’s not all it was …

I enjoyed being the butt of jokes. I embraced the challenge of accepting constant criticism with a smile, in complete equanimity. I wholeheartedly accepted being less aesthetically pleasing to people, and loved myself regardless.

For me, growing a beard was a meditation in letting go of my ego.

As a result of complex cultural and historical reasons I won’t get into, beards have the power to elicit extreme feelings in the Arab world. These can be negative or positive emotions. It was a fascinating experience … accidentally coming across a ‘phase 2 beard’, then using it as tool to try to become a better, more peaceful person.

(Left: hairless head, hairy face. Right: Hairy head, hairless face.)

Farewell, hairy companion. I’ve learnt a lot from you.

The biggest lesson you taught me is the power of smiling in the face of adversity, with nothing but love.

Maybe we’ll meet again someday.

falgo.jr

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“I’m taking a break from instagram. I’ve come to realize that my goals have been inadvertently affected by how I want to be perceived by others (ego), as opposed to what I truly want to pursue for myself (consciousness).

A blacksmith must keep the forge door closed to build the heat that can shape iron.

BFN ✌️”

I have an egoistic tendency to think about my life story. How can I make it more interesting? More engaging? More meaningful to others? Notice that the emphasis here is on the story part, not the life part. I don’t like this tendency.

When I thought about why I’m spending time and effort to put together this narrative for people to consume, then eagerly anticipate their feedback, I couldn’t really find a good reason. I used to have (what I considered to be) good reasons, but they no longer apply to this stage of my life. Previous goals included things like making new (female) “friends” and pursuing sponsorship opportunities for racing and freediving. I’m happily married now with no interest in being sponsored. I’ve outgrown my need to use this tool, but it’s taken me years to realize that.

News has its way of finding its way to me through conversations. Seeing friends and family in person is an opportunity to learn what they’ve been up to. I may end up missing the occasional wedding or event invitation, but I don’t mind that at all.

Instagram also served as a journal where I got to highlight some of the memorable moments to myself. An opportunity to take a step back from the daily grind and reflect on progress, appreciating the journey. Moving forward, I’ll do that on this blog from time to time. Here are some recent, post-instagram, highlights:

• October 14, 2023. I competed in a local Saudi pool freediving competition (DYNB). Lots of mixed feelings. Although I won, with a comfortable margin, I didn’t really enjoy the competition. I didn’t have any serious competitors and almost knew it was inevitable. I didn’t need to push myself in any way. I could stay comfortably within my limits and still win. Winning doesn’t feel good this way. Came to a realization that I’m no longer interested in local competitions for now. I need to aim much higher, and surround myself by people who are much better than me.

• November 2, 2023. Luckily this outdoor event managed to go ahead, barely missing the heavy rainstorm earlier in the day. It was Calo’s 4th anniversary. Proud of what this guy is accomplishing and excited to see his journey continue to unfold. It’s still day 1!

• November 24, 2023. Porsche Icons. Happy days with my father and bonding over our passion for driving.

• December 7, 2023. I competed in an AIDA pool competition, setting a new personal best and national record of 156m dynamic no-fins.

• Mid-December, 2023. We spent some magical days camping on the shores of Oman. Experienced a surreal sense of bliss thanks to all the lovely people that were around us.

• Christmas Eve, 2023. A happy day with the fam.

• January 3, 2024. I recently got the opportunity to be coached online by William Trubridge, arguably the best no-fins freediver in the world. Shortly after being my new training plan with him, I managed to set a new dynamic no-fins personal best of 180m. Grateful to my wife, sister, and brother for always looking out for me during these long dives.

• January-February, 2024. It had been a while since we had a family trip. I’ll never forget this experience that we all got to share. Antarctica is out of this world, and we all bonded over 2 weeks the equivalent of 2 normal years together. Lots of extreme ups and downs. Beautiful. Probably our last family trip too 😂!

• February 10, 2024. Casual, atmosphere-lifting run around Riyadh with Rawi.

• February 25, 2024. Got to meet William in person! Highlight of the day was our underwater chess game.

willtrubridge

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A couple more random moments that don’t need a description …

Happy days 💙

In some sense it starts even earlier. Way earlier. The physical adaptations that are required to expand your lungs (also known as a gas tank) to take in more oxygen (to increase mileage) take months, if not years. Your ability to tolerate high carbon dioxide and low oxygen levels will also improve over time with training.

We live in a world of constant distractions and stimuli. The idea of laying still and doing nothing seems surprisingly foreign and uncomfortable to many. Being comfortable spending time with yourself is non-negotiable. You’re about to go on a long road trip without any form of entertainment to keep you distracted.

You’ve done many breath holds in preparation of this one. You know that you are safe. Even if this the brakes stop working and you end up crashing the car, you know that you’ll be completely fine. You know that because you’ve been there before. Sure, it’s sometimes doesn’t feel great to blackout, but you know that your life’s not in danger.

A huge aspect of this comes down your safety buddy, the person who’s watching over you. It feels like your life is in their hands (maybe because it is!). Competitive breath holding is a team sport, and there’s no way you’ll be able to progress or perform well without a safety you have absolute confidence in.

• Elyas is extremely alert and focused, keeping a close eye on the time and checking in with me to make sure I’m still responsive. Felt very fortunate to have someone like him by my side.

You have about 45 minutes before you’re going to start your maximal breath hold. You’re here at the pool early to get ready by floating on the surface as comfortably as possible. Relaxing every part of your body. Your mind quiets as your muscles release any lingering tension.You mentally scan up and down your body until you feel a light tingling sensation all over. Your mind has entered a meditative state, and your body feels like it’s peacefully floating through space somewhere in distant galaxy full of bright stars and colorful planets.

You go through a series of easy, warmup breath holds to activate your mammalian dive reflex. After your last warmup, it’s now time to relax. Deeply.

Your last inhale starts from the lower part of your lungs, pushing your belly outwards. As you continue, your rib cage and chest expand outwards. Some people might stop here, but not you. You begin ‘packing’, swallowing mouthfuls of air into your lungs, to store an additional 20-30% of air. After about 45 packs, you relax your upper body to make space for a few more gulps of air to be pressed into your lungs. You’re now well equipped to immerse your face into water, and go on your breathless journey.

The sudden intake of this huge amount of air feels like taking a light hit from a bong (not that I know what that would feel like, of course). This makes it easier to relax and keep floating through the endless, ever-expanding universe you’re now experiencing.

The first two minutes feel blissful, peaceful, quiet. You’re in a happy place. You could stay here forever. But as oxygen levels gradually decrease, your carbon dioxide levels are increasing. You begin to feel that as a slight unease. Your environment is becoming hostile. You used to call it discomfort, but with practice, you’ve become adept at finding deeper levels of comfort as you enter this next phase of the journey.

You begin to experience some very light contractions, with 15-20 seconds in between. These are involuntary movements of your intercostals, physically trying to pull oxygen inwards. You realize that this subconscious reflex has been hardwired into your biological system, and it’s there for a reason, but that doesn’t concern you one bit. Not today at least. You still have a long way to go. You’re just about half way there.

With every contraction, you relax deeper and deeper into your meditative state. The contractions begin to become more severe, and more frequent. Your physical body is turning against you. Not only that, your mind is beginning to do so as well.

Your mind is going to try to get you to stop. It’s not your intellectual mind that’s speaking here, because that one has been working towards an 8 minute breath hold for almost two years now. It’s a different part of your brain … the primal part concerned primarily with your survival. It’s going to start playing tricks on you. Today just isn’t your day. Why are you doing this? Give up, c’mon, just take a breath and you’ll feel much better. You find yourself face to face with your worst enemy.

• Intercostal contractions towards the end of a breath hold.

You’ve been here many times before, so you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is just a trap. You continue on your path, because you there’s still fuel in the tank. There’s still untapped potential.

After another minute or two, you start to tread carefully. You’re nearing the most critical part of the journey. This is where you can make it or break it. It’s a fine balance. You want to extract as much potential as possible, but you also don’t want your oxygen levels to get too low, because then you might blackout. You’ve learnt from past mistakes when you’ve pushed too far.

• Slightly over the limit! I have absolutely no recollection of what happened between 00:13 and 0:53. I was left wondering what in the world just happened. I could tell by the way people were looking at me that it probably hadn’t gone well.

Once again, you’ve been here before, and you know your body well enough to know when you’re within seconds of your limit. You may feel a numbing, tingling sensation permeate your arms, or an unusual sudden sensation of comfort. It’s time.

You lift your head and take a few strong hook breaths to ensure a strong recovery. Your intensely depleted oxygen levels begin to rise, thanks to air that haven’t tasted this good in a while.

Welcome back. I hope you enjoyed the journey! That was breathless (no pun intended).

I’m addicted to the endorphins that are released into my body after a tough workout. I’m compelled by the story that I can use each day to sculpt and adapt myself physically and mentally to excel at a particular skill such as freediving. I relish the process of extracting lessons from those who are more experienced and figuring out how to implement them into my own routine. It’s an endeavor in which curiosity, creativity, dedication, kinesiology, and equanimity intertwine. It’s a pursuit I’m compelled by for reasons I’m not fully aware of.

Addictions, of course, aren’t particularly good for you. When I use this hunger as fuel it may even work to my advantage, assuming things are going well. However, the downside becomes evident to me when I’m prevented from making physical progress towards my goals. That’s when this addiction comes around to bite me in the ass.

I haven’t been able to do any serious physical training over the past two months due to a recurring injury. It’s been a testing time, that’s led me to question my involvement and aspirations in the sport of freediving. It’s the one thing I want to work towards more than anything else right now, but I can’t. I’m a painter without a brush, a surfer without waves, a seed without soil.

For me, it’s times like these when I question things, such as my experience as an animal on this unusual rock locked in an orbit around an exploding star. I tend towards spending more time alone. I meditate more deeply. I write introspectively to explore my subconscious.

I find myself in this state, only to recall the ancient Chinese philosophy of Wu Wei (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wu_wei), which loosely translates to “non-action”. I think that the reason I find myself feeling so restricted is because there’s a disparity between what my mind wants to do and what my body can do. It may seem like a simple realization, but I was blind to it as a began writing this. It’s why I love writing. It’s a powerful tool for self discovery. A mindset of trying to force one’s will regardless of the surrounding, varying situation is a recipe for disaster, and I’m glad that’s been brought to my attention

Now that I’ve identified the source of my frustration, I can work towards resolving it. I need to work towards cultivating a mental environment with a focus on what is, as opposed to what should be. To relax into the states of resistance, discomfort and conflict we regularly encounter in life. To relax enough to see that there’s not such a stark difference between those states and their opposites (peace, harmony, pleasure). They are experienced for a moment, and then they pass. They are waves at sea.

That afternoon, as I sat in an outdoor restaurant by the sea with my wife, I thought about how I might go about answering that question. Where could I train? Who could I learn from?

As the sunset, I wrote a short list of potential sponsors to consider reaching out to:

Given my involvement with the Saudi Racing team, I thought government sponsorship might be a possibility, but unless a team or initiative already exists, response and engagement tends to be slow. Unfortunately, as of this writing, Saudi doesn’t have an official freediving team. Redbull came to mind because they have a clear mandate to sponsor athletes involved in so-called extreme sports. Looking back, I’m not sure why I ended up writing them down … I wouldn’t want to represent a company that sells a product I’m not a fan of, let alone one that I’d never even consider ingesting. It’s just not in alignment with my values. That left only one option. I drafted the following message and sent it through Deep Dive Dubai’s website contact form.

—— message starts ——

Nov 25, 2021, 15:28 UTC

Hi there, hope you’re doing well!

My name is Fahad. I started freediving last year, and have since become completely obsessed with the sport. My goal is continue to explore my aquatic potential, particularly in the no-fins discipline, to see how far I can go.

I’m currently in the process of reaching out to potential sponsors and partners to help me achieve my goals.

Having visited Deep Dive Dubai for a few sessions recently, I thought it might be worth reaching out to you to see if there’s a chance of working together.

I see that you’re investing in different forms marketing to help raise awareness about your beautiful facility and also to raise awareness about the sport in a broader sense. But I believe that there’s an untapped opportunity that we could potentially collaborate on, which is … documenting the journey of reaching the bottom of the pool, using the purest form of freediving. I believe this could add a relatable, “anyone can do this” kind of story that would complement your current promotional activities very well.

What I can offer:

• Mindset and dedication to do whatever it takes to get to the bottom, safely.

• Being a native Arabic speaker, I could help create a compelling story that resonates with locals.

• I’d be willing to move to Dubai, at my own expense, until the goal is achieved.

In exchange, something along these lines would be amazing:

• Complementary access to the pool to train with an instructor during unbooked hours, or possibly before/after official operating hours.

If this is something that might interest you, I’d be more than happy to get on a call and think things through in more detail.

Here’s a link (https://fahadalgosaibi.notion.site/Fahad-s-Bio-ea4848dfd3634d15a7dc5d91f822f241) that includes information about me, to simplify your background check :).

Best regards,

Fahad Algosaibi

—— message ends ——

You can only image how excited I was when I received the following response:

—— message starts ——

Dear Fahad,

Thank you for your interest in Deep Dive Dubai. We already have a few freedivers working with us to achieve goals similar to what you are proposing, but we feel that you could be a good match.

We would like to invite you for a meeting at the facility, and discuss the details of the collaboration.

I am looping in Nataliia, one of our resident freediving instructors, and also Saska and Sened who is on the marketing team with me.

Let us know when you are in town and available for a meeting.

Many kind regards

Jesper

—— message ends ——

Not knowing what to expect, I flew to Dubai for our initial meeting in early December. I was pretty nervous as I walked into Deep Dive Dubai. I knew this could be the start of something special and I didn’t want to mess things up. The team was extremely friendly and welcoming. Right off the bat, from the way everyone spoke, it kind of seemed as though everyone was on board with the general idea and keen to get the ball rolling. We very quickly moved onto to discussing minor details, which made me very happy. Generally speaking, we were all in alignment!

Being able to train at Deep Dive Dubai was a dream come true because …

• It means access to depths up to 60m is just a 15 minute commute away. I became so accustomed to spending anywhere from 45 minutes up to 2.5 hours to reach a depth of 20 - 40m in Bahrain or the Eastern Province of Saudi.

• It means guaranteed perfect conditions … every, single, day. The pool is temperature controlled at around 30 degrees Celsius. Zero current. Truth be told there might be the occasional scuba diver that might get in your way, but that’s just part of the love/hate relationship we share wherever we go.

• It means no compromise when it comes to safety. The crystal clear visibility means it very easy for your safety diver to keep an eye on you even when you’re 30+ meters away. It’s a controlled environment with over 50 underwater surveillance cameras.

Little did I know, I was about to get so much more than I could even dream of. Having access to a world class facility is one thing, but having access to the right mentor or coach is equally, if not more important. The team behind Deep Dive Dubai includes some of the most talented people in the world. Lucky for me, this project (codename: DDD Bottom Challenge), was being spearheaded and managed by none other than 5 time world champion, 100m+ freediver, Nataliia Zharkova. Woah!

From left to right: Yours truly, Coach Nataliia, and Jess. Jess is my partner in crime on this mission to the bottom of the pool. She’s using the bi-fins discipline (CWBF), while I’m focusing on the no-fins discipline (CNF).

Natallia’s wealth of knowledge and experience became clear as soon as I started training with her. It was my first time learning from someone who can dive over 100m. I absorbed every word she said like a sponge, and wrote down notes and reflections diligently after every training session. Nataliia’s level of care and commitment to our development as athletes felt extremely empowering. Before attempting a deep dive, it felt as though she was more nervous than I was. Upon setting a new personal best, she seemed even happier than I was. The dream team was in place, Deep Dive Dubai was our new home, only one factor remained … diving deeper.

Of course, things don’t always go according to plan. Setbacks, hurdles, challenges, problems … they are bound to arise. It’s not about how to avoid them because they’re inevitable. It’s about how to confront them with the right attitude and make the best of each situation. If you’ve come across an earlier post, Dahab Setbacks, you’ll know I’ve had my fair share of setbacks, which have helped me build resilience to face the looming challenges.

Contracting Covid-19 towards the end of December after just 2 weeks of training was my initial setback this time around. Fortunately, the symptoms weren’t too bad. I did lots of reading, kept up to speed with work, became obsessed with chess, built a Taj Mahal out of lego, and did some light yoga and breathing exercises when I had enough energy. As I eased back into training I was happy to quickly get back to the depths where I left off without a tangible impact on my performance.

About two weeks later, I experienced one of the most intense sensations of pain I’ve come across. It was a severe pain in my left ear, which made it impossible to sleep all night. By around 3 am, in sheer despair, I began calling all the hospitals in Dubai, only to be repeatedly told that I’d need to see a ear specialist later at normal working hours. I was a bit scared because I’d never experienced anything like this before. Turns out it was an ear infection caused by a build-up of excessive earwax that ended up trapping water inside. The doctor removed the earwax, which was one of the most satisfying feelings. All of a sudden, I could hear things in high definition … all this time I had no idea what I was missing out on! She said that I needed to stay out of the water for at least seven days. Two days later, I was back in the pool. Leading up to this point, I had been having difficulties equalizing, specifically in my left ear. Finally, those issues were completely gone. Now I know why!

About another week later, on the 24th of January, we were gathered for a special occasion: Nataliia’s birthday. It was a lovely outdoor gathering at a park, where we played frisbee and barbecued food. I love frisbee … well, I used to at least. As we started throw the frisbee around, I felt the monkey inside me break free. I began doing handstand, forearm stands, front / back rolls, and theatrical dives to catch the frisbee. During one of these completely unnecessary dives, my hand was wide open as I neared towards the grass to try catch the disc at the last second. To my surprise, my ring finger got caught in a slight bump, and it didn’t stand a chance against the sheer momentum of my body in flight. I heard a really loud snap. When I looked towards my hand, expecting to see something not too pleasing, here’s what I saw:

This isn’t actually my hand. I found this picture online. But this is pretty much how my right ring finger looked.

My first thought: I’m not going to have a ring finger on my right hand anymore.

Second thought: I’m pretty sure I can keep freediving without this finger … ah, what a relief.

Third: Maybe I should try snapping it back in place? … Snap!

Snapping it back into place felt a lot more painful than the initial dislocation, but I had an instinctual feeling that this had to be done (and thankfully, in hindsight, I was right).

Meanwhile, a few people around me witnessed this process. I laughed it off, picked up the frisbee, threw it, and said “Alright, let’s keep playing!” Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) the group was a bit too traumatized to keep going. Up to this very moment as I type these words, my finger is still swollen, and hasn’t regained it’s range of motion. It’s slight discomfort basically, but otherwise I’m pretty much back to normal.

Saska made this awesome splint while we were at the park using tissues, a hair band and cardboard. Thanks Saska!

Working with the doctor through this experience was interesting. Long story short, he really wanted to put some sort of cast as a brace that I’d have to keep on for a month. The brace isn’t waterproof which would mean no freediving. I told him that this wasn’t an option. He said there was another option of using a removable brace, but he strongly advised me against this. I went for the removable brace, and three days later I was back to training at the pool. It was a bit painful initially, but got easier over time.

On the 16th of February, less than a month later, after a training session, I felt a sudden urge to cough, and a slight heaviness in breathing. I did a spit test. And found out that I had significant internal bleeding. It felt like a trachea squeeze. I’ve found that, with every freediving injury, comes a lesson, and it worked on analyzing every possibility with coach Nataliia until we found our takeaways. Since it can be risky to go back to diving with a wound that isn’t fully healed, we agreed that I’d need to take at least two weeks off training. These are the times when mentally things get very challenging. Self-doubt creeps in as I start to wonder if I’ll ever make it to the bottom of the pool. It can be crippling to think of the big picture at every step of the way, so I tried my best to stay with the present moment. After all, life is just a series of present moments.

On March 5,  I did a very light open water freediving session. On March 11, I finally went back to the pool, continuing to gradually ease back into it.

April 6 marked a huge milestone. I touched the bottom of the pool for the first time, but I pulled myself down and back up using the dive line which is freediving discipline known as Free Immersion or FIM. Now I knew I was able to equalize my ears down to 60m, I was ready to switch back to diving without fins.

What followed were a series of really blissful dives (without fins) where everything kept going according to plan. I rode a wave of confidence that kept getting bigger and bigger. I conserved as much energy as possible between dives. The only physical activities I did, besides diving, were yoga and walking. My emotional state was as calm the time before a storm.

• April 8: 50m.

• April 10: 53m.

• April 13: 55m.

After this dive, later during the day, a sebaceous cyst that I’ve had on my back for the past two years or so popped and started bleeding. When I went to see the doctor she said that this might get infected, and that I’d need to go on a 7 days course of antibiotics. I asked her if there were any signs of infection, and she said that there were none but it’s a necessary precaution. I tried to asked her why it was necessary but she brushed me off and said that I should just take them it I wanted it to heal safely. Little did she knew, I had other things in mind.

Studies have shown that antibiotics can have strong side effects and could lead to a decrease in physical performance. I know it’s risky to go against your doctor’s orders, but I decided not to take them (and luckily I didn’t end up getting an infection … phew). I needed my body to be in the best state possible for the days to come.

• April 17: 56m.

• April 20: 58m.

• April 22: 60.2m.

Here’s what part of the dive looked like from the perspective of a scuba diver at 30 meters (swipe right to see the video):

falgo.jr

A post shared by Fahad Algosaibi (@falgo.jr)

The 60m dive felt relatively nice and easy, and less physically stressful than some of the previous dives. It’s exciting to know that I’m still not close to my limit. And equally exciting that Deep Dive Dubai will continue to support me as continue to set my sights deeper. I’m still just as curious as I was the 25th of November … how deep can I go?

“When we can respond to suffocation with equanimity, we are truly on the path towards maximizing our aquatic potential.”

William Trubridge

About a month ago, a thought crossed my mind. A fleeting thought, one that might’ve slipped through my awareness had I not been amused enough to entertain it; “What would happen if I tried to get in touch with and learn from William Trubridge?”

William is arguably one of the best freedivers, ever. No matter what I say, or how I try to describe his accomplishments, I think nothing can come close to actually seeing him in action. I’ll leave you with this video. I’ve probably watched it close to 100 times. I know quite a few people that were inspired to learn freediving after watching it.

Over the past few months, I’ve been obsessively consuming every form of information by William I could come across; his autobiography, podcast appearances, YouTube videos, blogs and articles. Rather than try to learn everything from scratch through trial-and-error, why not stand on the shoulders of giants?

After lots of research, I ended up with more questions that answers. There were areas I really wanted to keep exploring, but I couldn’t quite figure out how. For example, William mentions a technique where he applies ancient yogic locks (also known as “bandhas”) to lower his heart rate — an incredibly useful skill if you want to preserve precious oxygen underwater. I dived into books and blogs about yoga and experimented on myself, but wasn’t quite able to make any meaningful progress.

I decided to get in touch with William through his website. He mentioned that he hadn’t done any remote coaching before, but was willing to give it a try for $300 / hour. I couldn’t believe it!

We’ve had two sessions since, and I’ve been fascinated by the knowledge and approach that he’s so openly shared. Having this invaluable opportunity to learn from William has been so surreal. Sure, partially because I’m a huge fan1, but also because I’ve been able to make tangible progress in such a short time.

In the graph below, William demonstrates being able to drop his heart rate, at will, down to 30 beats per minute! I used to think this was superhuman.

After two weeks of daily practice, something that seemed completely alien to me, is all of a sudden something I’m capable of, too.

Who is someone you aspire to be like?

Have you tried reaching out to him or her?

Disclaimer: There are two factors, I think, that definitely helped me in this case. The first is that the freediving community is still pretty niche. If freediving was more like basketball, trying to get in touch with William would be akin to trying to get a hold of Michael Jordan (i.e. a lot more difficult).

The second factor … freedivers are awesome people!

The first time I came to Dahab for a week, I had become bed ridden after just the third day of diving. My approach to freediving, back then, was the same approach I’d gotten used to applying to other sports; train hard until exhaustion, and repeat. I learnt (the hard way) that freediving stresses the body unlike any other sport. The way fatigue settles in is also very unique. Freediving fatigue manifests in the form of a strange sensation that makes you feel not quite right, or not quite motivated to get back into the water. Every time I’d try to eat, I’d struggle to keep my food down. Sleeping become extremely difficult. Physically, my body settled in a seemingly never ending state of deep fatigue. Mentally, I wasn’t feeling so good. The toughest part was not knowing what was wrong with me. I did stool tests, blood tests among other examinations, and still wasn’t one step closer to the root cause. Most doctors would conclude by saying something along the lines of “Are you stressed out? Maybe depressed? Seems like that’s what this.” Hear that enough times from more than a couple of people, and then you really start doubting yourself. Am I really depressed? No, it can’t be … Or is this what it actually feels like? A few difficult weeks later, I was finally diagnosed with G.E.R.D. (https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/gerd/symptoms-causes/syc-20361940). It took a couple of months to work through it and heal my stomach, and I think I’ve made a fully recovery. My guess is that it was induced by the physical stress caused by suddenly exposing my body to difficult conditions.

The second time I came to Dahab for about 10 days. A few days in, I experienced a throat squeeze doing a negative (empty lung) dive to about 5 meters. It wasn’t deep, but  since my lungs were already close to their residual volume (after a full exhale and two reverse packs), the pressure I felt at 5m simulated the pressure one might feel at depths of 40 meters or more. Upon resurfacing, I felt a strange feeling in my throat, and coughed up a bit of blood. This incident, along with some equalization issues, prevented me from continuing to dive for the rest of the trip. Nevertheless, I continued to return home with take home value. Unintentionally experiencing what it’s like to black out during a breath hold (after about 5 minutes and 45 seconds) was so fascinating. I learnt to completely ignore “false” urges to breath like discomfort / contractions, and identify more accurate signs of low oxygen such as numbness and a surreal sense of euphoria. Funniest thing is that I had absolutely no recollection of blacking out and wanted to stay underwater to keep holding my breath after regaining consciousness. I was actually upset at my safety buddies for pulling me out of the water.

Now I’m back in Dahab, third time around, for a week. I decided to focus on the CNF (constant weight without fins) free diving discipline, which involves diving down and back up  without the assistance of fins, a rope or anything else. To me, it’s the purest and most enjoyable way to dive. I’m currently reading Oxygen (https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35284961-oxygen) by William Trubridge, an autobiography by the only person in the world to dive 100+ meters without fins. I can’t stop dreaming of what doing something like that would feel like. Of what it would take to mentally and physically prepare for such a trip to the depths of the ocean (and back up!). My training was going really well, and it became clear that I’d be able to contend for a national record soon. I was gradually and carefully progressing to deeper depths with ease, planning to match the current record by the end of my this training week.

After the second session of our third day, I surfaced comfortably after setting a new personal best of 36m CNF. It was the most enjoyable dive I’ve experienced to date. After spending a few minutes on the buoy to relax and lower my heart rate, I took a full breath, and began my duck dive. My left arm got caught around the lanyard which caused a bit of a delay, but I was comfortable to keep going down. The first 3 strokes are powerful and in quick succession, to fight against positive buoyancy. After the third stroke, I begin to glide between arm strokes and kicks, as my chest compresses and my body sinks. After two more easy strokes, I’m at 20m and begin my free fall. Legs straight, arms by my side, head facing the rope with my chin close to my chest. This is the meditative part of the dive, where you can let go and just enjoy the ride. I feel the water flow around my body as I get deeper and deeper. I begin counting my equalizations to get a rough indication of how deep I am. After free falling for about 16 seconds, my final depth alarm vibrates and I can see the end of the line. I grab it with my right arm and my body continues falling until I’m upright. I give the rope a nice pull and begin the toughest part of the dive, the way back up. 1 stroke. 2 strokes. 3 strokes. What a feeling. In moments like this I completely lose my sense of identity, my sense of where I am or what I’m doing.There’s no “I”. Just existence. Just experience. 4 strokes. 5 strokes. I have company now. I smile to reassure my safety diver that I’m feeling great. By now I can feel the air in my chest begin to expand once more. I can begin gliding upwards as I return to being more positively buoyant. 6 strokes. I’m about 10m away from the surface. The 7th stroke is easy and effortless, and I can continue gliding back up to the surface gently. I go through my recovery protocol, and just can’t believe how enjoyable that was.

A few minutes later, I checked for traces of any internal bleeding by spitting on my palm, as I’d normally do after setting a PB. It was disappointing to see bright red blood. I knew that this marked the premature end of yet another trip to Dahab. 

As part of the safety protocol the follows, we went straight out of the water and straight to a doctor. There seemed to be nothing major, and I was told to return back in a couple of days for a follow up. Towards the evening, it became progressively harder and harder to breathe. After dinner, I felt a bit scared. It felt like a heavy rock was pressing down against the middle of my chest, making it painful to breathe. The rock kept getting heavier and heavier. What’s happening? Am I okay? Would I ever be able to dive again?

I’m grateful to my friends that helped me get to the hospital right away. The doctor made a few inspections, took an x-ray, put me on drip and some sort of ventilator. My blood pressure was quite low. He told me get two different types of inhalers to help me breath, and some antibiotics. The strange part was that we still didn’t have a clue what was going on. I didn’t want to take anything he subscribed, but my wife made me use the inhaler before going to bed just to be on the safe side. Unfortunately you’re average doctor isn’t a freediver. Luckily, there is in fact a doctor who specializes in freediving injuries, and a freediver himself for that matter. He has a somewhat legendary status among the freediving community. The next day at 4pm, half an hour before his clinic opens, my wife and I made our way to Dr. Haikel.

The moment I walked into his office, he gazed into my eyes as if he was peering into my soul. He’s extremely friendly, and has a cool confidence about him that can only come from years of experience. I was comforted to be in his presence. It’s going to be okay. He proceeded to explain to my wife how to assess diving injuries in case the knowledge would ever come in handy in the future. Dr. Haikel proceeded to examine my ears, nose, throat, trachea and lungs. 

He eventually diagnosed me with a laryngo-tracheal squeeze, and told me to take a break from diving for 3 - 4 weeks. He also prescribed two types of medicine, one to reduce inflammation and the other to help speed up the healing process.

Drawn by Dr. Haikel to illustrate location of the squeeze.

I’m immediately comforted to know that I’ll be able to get back into the water in about a month. What remains is finding out exactly what went wrong, so that I learn from my mistake. Once an injury is sustained, even after a full recovery, some scar tissue is formed creating a weak link. I need to make sure I don’t do this again.

After speaking to dozens of experienced free divers, here are some of the possible causes of injury:

• Using my arms too strongly during the first few strokes after reaching the bottom. A sensitive part of the dive where all movements need to be soft and gentle.

• Lack of shoulder mobility, causing my chest to over-extend while compressed at depths

• Lack of inward chest flexibility

Over the next few months, I’ll try to make these weak points my strengths. I’ll work towards increasing my shoulder mobility and chest flexibility. I’ll also practice improving my swimming technique at depths to put less stress of the chest area.

Huge thank you to Haya, Eyad and Ahmed for all your help. For taking care of me. For bringing up my spirits when I was down.

Dahab, I’ll be back again soon. Next time will be different. I know it.