The Death of an Ego

Last weekend, I stood on the pool deck in Sydney, ready to compete in two disciplines that have shaped much of my freediving journey: Dynamic with a monofin (DYN) and Dynamic No Fins (DNF).

Four years ago, during COVID, I touched a milestone in training: 200m with a monofin. I surfaced from that dive with a smile not just on my face, but deep in my soul. That dive became a marker in time — because of the number but more importantly because of how I did it and how it felt: effortless, aligned, joyful.

And this weekend, I was ready to repeat it and maybe add a few metres to it. Or so I thought. Competitions have a way of holding up a mirror and show the side of you, you don't want to see.

Day 1 – Dynamic with Monofin

I stood at the edge, breathing, preparing. I packed air into my lungs, I always do for long performance dives, but strangely, my lungs never felt full. Instead, I felt… empty.

The dive began, and as I glided under the surface, I wanted desperately to drop into flow. To feel that weightless familiarity that had carried me before. But my mind was too loud. It was busy cataloguing discomforts, magnifying every negative sensation from my body.

I tried to silence it. “Just feel the water,” I told myself. “Find softness.” But the body does not lie, and its messages grew louder.

Kick after kick, I headed toward the distance I had declared. At 149m, I surfaced — one metre short of my 150m announcement, a yellow card in hand. I felt drained. Empty. Spent. This was not the dive I had envisioned.

But I told myself: Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow is DNF — my beloved discipline.

Day 2 – Dynamic No Fins

From the moment I arrived, I shifted my mindset. I promised myself that this dive would be different. If not long, then at least beautiful.

I announced 100m. My plan was clear: I would swim with grace, with presence, with joy. If I arrived at the wall at 100m feeling great, as I usually do, only then, I would turn. But I would not chase numbers.

The video later showed it clearly: my power fell away in the second 50m. Kicks weakened, pulls lost their strength. Yet I held my form as best I could, determined to honour each stroke.

I surfaced at 100m — not from hypoxia, not from unbearable CO₂, but because it wasn’t the dive I wanted. It wasn’t worth forcing.

Because freediving, to me, is no longer about force. It's about surrender.

The Lesson

Just before 100m wall, I recognised the voice of ego. Ego wanted me to keep going, to turn at 100m no matter what, to push simply to “prove” something. But that voice no longer leads me.

Freediving has taught me to listen more deeply — not just to the water, but to myself.

For me, true performance is not just about big numbers. It’s about alignment: body and soul, power and softness, all moving as one.

And last weekend, I didn’t find that alignment. Instead, I found something else: the quiet death of an ego.

Looking Ahead

Do I believe the dive I seek is still coming? Absolutely.
I feel it in my bones. And when it comes, it will not be just another distance.
It will be closing of the full circle.

Until then, I am grateful for what this competition gave me: the reminder that sometimes the bravest thing we can do is not to push. To honour where we are in that moment. To let go of what no longer serves us.

Because freediving, in the end, isn’t about conquering the water. It’s about surrendering to it.

Over to You

Have you ever felt the fight between ego and surrender — in freediving or in another part of life?

I’d love to hear your story. Share it with me, because together we learn, grow, and remember what this journey called life is truly about: [email protected]