Breath

Like a spaniel that needs walking to avoid gnawing the furniture, I need to get out of the house at least once a day and fill my lungs with fresh air. I love the spontaneous ease of running to keep my blood flowing and clear my head. Iwas regularly throwing my shoes on and flying down the hill until last year when one of my Achilles tendons went ping and I had to stop. After a marathon’s worth of boring and painful physio, and just as the country went into lockdown, I decided to see if my heels would cope with cycling. Being out of the house moving fast to get somewhere remote felt like freedom and also safety from contagion. I loved the sensation of air stroking my cheeks and drumming at my ears as I sped along, or cooling my head after a long climb. But I live in a hilly part of the world and as I started to increase my distance, I became aware that my legs just weren’t up to the job. The first few climbs would be painful enough and then after a while, as I strained to get to the crest of each hill before my thighs sent up a white flag, I had to stop and let the pain subside. I’m competitive and it killed me to stop halfway up, but I couldn’t go on until that burn had passed. I assumed that my legs were just getting old. After all, that message surrounds us – older legs should do a bit less, put some comfy slippers on and have a rest.

Around this time my husband picked up a book called Breath by James Nestor. It’s fairly pop science but the main thrust is that a lot of us breathe badly, even to the extent that it shapes our faces, ruins our sleep and negatively affects our blood profiles. As Nick read me edited titbits from the book, I realised that I already knew but had forgotten a lot of what he was telling me, because I grew up in a place where people were super conscious of breath. I had been immersed in a world of pranayama, rebirthing and meditation and yet I left it behind bit by bit when I grew up and moved away to London, like a trail of breadcrumbs I didn’t remember dropping. He reminded me that breathing through my left nostril would regulate the parasympathetic side of my autonomic nervous system, helping me to feel relaxed, receptive and creative – tied as it is to the right side of the brain. So, I started breathing more consciously around the house, silently drawing breath in through my nostrils rather than my mouth. I felt calmer and more aware of how I breathed in a shallow way when I was anxious. I noticed that I was often breathing through my left nostril, as my body tried to maintain the balance in my nervous system and lower cortisol levels – early lockdown certainly was a stressful time. I felt smug – I was all over this breathing thing, a natural nose breather. Not like those poor unfortunate mouth breathers with their wonky faces.

Or so I thought. It was only when I became aware of how much I panted and mouth-breathed on my rides that I began to see what needed work. I tried cycling whilst breathing only through my nose and felt like I was drowning at the smallest hill. My nose streamed and chest felt tight. How did people breathe like this? Nick had also told me another brilliant fact about the breath that you draw through your nose being infused with nitric oxide, which makes the breath more efficient, allowing the blood to absorb more oxygen. Mouth breathing doesn’t do this. Low levels of oxygen in the blood lead to a painful build-up of lactic acid in the muscles during exercise. In fact, a study of athletes that had tried breathing this way found that their blood pressure and heart rate also remained lower and recovery times were faster. The penny dropped and I resolved to practise breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth on rides. Pretty soon, I was past the feeling of suffocation and managing to breathe this way on all but the most challenging hill climb, when mouth breathing can be exactly what you need to get to the top. I found that I could snort air into my nose and huff it out of my mouth at the same rate I did whilst mouth breathing. Although other road users may have worried I was having a stroke, it served me well. My thighs felt supercharged and I recovered my breath quicker. Strava told me that I was getting faster – even on my old flat handlebar bike. I also noticed that I felt calmer, got an endorphin rush quicker and suffered less from bike rage when others were reckless around me (although I’m not entirely cured of this, unfortunately). Somehow the breath felt more nourishing and I noticed that I was able to breathe down into my diaphragm without flaring my ribs – like I had more space in there.

At the same time we started sea swimming – something I’d always been scared of because it left me breathless. I’d carried my mother’s fear of the water right through to adulthood. The sea was warm this year due to a mild spring and some friends tempted me into the water for a distanced swim. ‘I won’t go out of my depth!’ I protested as they swam out to sea laughing and splashing like seals. So I swam breaststroke back and forth in the shallowish water and noticed for the first time that I wasn’t out of breath. The breath came in and out of my nose as my mouth sat hippo-like under the surface. I noticed the clean, iodine-tinted smell and the way the late afternoon sun played across the water. My body relaxed and I felt no panic as the sea held me. Over the coming weeks we swam as often as the weather would let us and each time I ventured further, swam for longer and found myself entering a blissful trance-like state if the water was calm. Nothing was different but my breathing and yet the cascade of positive consequences had changed my relationship with the sea.

I’m sharing this with you not because I think you should start running or cycling or sea swimming necessarily – although I urge you to try all of them if you don’t. But because everybody breathes. It unites us. It’s free and simple and vital to breathe well. Changing the way you inhale and exhale could lower your cortisol, help you move better or tame your fear of doing something you long to do. It could liberate you. No matter how old you are, you can relearn and make changes. None of us are a fixed point, but are beings that need to shift and adapt to everything around us. At a time when so much is changing and we are required to be creative about how we live, deeper, slower breathing could be the thing that brings you back into your body when you need it most. Taking a moment to reflect on what you’re doing and why can reveal so much about the direction to take next.

Naomi Devlin