This might be similar to practicing drumming. You’re made to practice bass drum patterns only,
day after day. Then you spend days on just the cymbals. Then just the tom tom...Monotonous and
boring for sure, but once it all falls together you get a solid rhythm. In order to get there you have to
stubbornly, rigorously, and very patiently tighten all the screws of each individual part. This takes
time, of course, but sometimes taking time is actually a shortcut. This is the path I followed in
swimming, and after a year and a half I was able to swim long distances far more gracefully and
efficiently than ever before.
And while I was training for swimming, I made an important discovery. I had trouble breathing
during a race because I’d been hyperventilating. The same exact thing happened when I was
swimming in the pool with my coach, and it dawned on me: just before the start of the race I was
breathing too deeply and quickly. Probably because I was tense before a race, I got too much oxygen
all at once. This led to me breathing too fast when I started to swim, which in turn threw off the timing
of my breathing.
It was a tremendous relief when I finally pinpointed the real problem. All I had to do now was make
sure not to hyperventilate. Now before a race starts I get into the sea, swim a bit, and get my body and
mind used to swimming in the ocean. I breathe moderately in order not to hyperventilate, and breathe
with my hand over my mouth in order not to get too much oxygen. “I’m all set now,” I tell myself.
“I’ve changed my form, and am no longer the swimmer I used to be.”
And so, in 2004, for the first time in four years, I again entered the Murakami Triathlon. A siren
marked the start, everyone began swimming, and somebody kicked me in the side. Startled, I was
afraid that once again I was going to mess up. I swallowed some water, and the thought crossed my
mind that I should switch to the breaststroke for a while. But my courage returned, and I told myself
that there was no need for that, that things would work out. My breathing calmed down, and I started
the crawl again. I concentrated not on breathing in, but on breathing out in the water. And I heard that
nice old sound of my exhalations bubbling underwater. I’m okay now , I told myself as I neatly rode the
waves.
Happily, I was able to conquer my panic and finish the triathlon. I hadn’t been in one for so long,
and hadn’t had time to do bicycle training, so my overall time wasn’t much to speak of. But I was able
to achieve my first goal: wiping away the shame of being disqualified. As usual, my main feeling was
one of relief.
I’d always thought I was sort of a brazen person, but this issue with hyperventilating made me
realize a part of me was, unexpectedly, high strung. I had no idea how nervous I got at the start of a
race. But it turns out I really was tense, just like everybody else. It doesn’t matter how old I get, but as
long as I continue to live I’ll always discover something new about myself. No matter how long you
stand there examining yourself naked before a mirror, you’ll never see reflected what’s inside.
And here I am again, at nine thirty a.m. on October 1, 2006, a sunny fall Sunday, standing once more
on the shores of Murakami City in Niigata Prefecture, waiting for the triathlon to begin. A little