Swimming is a sport I have loved and done for many years now. I joined a swim team and I swim there year-round, even through the winter, where the temperature is a few degrees from freezing.

Frequently, we would swim in the summer and I would swim with my parents. The other day, my dad and I decided to do a holding-breath contest. Whoever could hold their breath the longest would win.

I held up three fingers. Then two. Then one. I took a huge breath and dived underwater.

I held it, and I willed my entire body to relax. But not too much, or the lifeguard would think I drowned or something. I floated in the water. A few bubbles flew from my nose.

It felt like a few minutes past, but it was only half a minute. I held my breath. I saw the air in my dad’s mouth blow in and out. He was using a technique called “changing the air”, exchanging the air from your mouth into your chest. That meant he was running out of air.

Eventually, I was running out of air. I started changing my air too. But my dad’s face shot up and I stood up finally. He looked at me.

“A year ago, I could beat you at holding my breath,” he commented, out of breath.

“Yeah,” I replied, “but it’s not a year ago anymore, is it?”