Hold your breath. Wait. The battle begins.

My third dive lasts 47 seconds. The turquoise water around me clicks and bubbles. I dive with my eyes looking upwards, one metre below the ice cover of the frozen quarry lake near Taivassalo. Small air bubbles wander around the ice above me as if looking for a way out. I stop, press the soles of my feet against the ice, stretch my body and look vertically into the depths.

Small air bubbles wander around the ice above me as if looking for a way out. I stop, press the soles of my feet against the ice, stretch my body and look vertically into the depths, my head now closest to the bottom.

During the first two dives, I couldn’t cover the 20 metres from the entry hole to the exit hole fast enough, but now I take my time; there is enough air in my lungs.

Group photo with course instructor Leigh Ewin (front).

A few seconds later, which feels like an eternity, my hands clasp the white safety line again and pull me further. I step back onto the ice cover via a short exit ladder. Now I’m swaying as if I’m drunk.

“Brain freeze,” laughs Leigh Ewin. “Your brain is lacking blood. It’s still inside your body to keep your heart warm.” The Australian freediving instructor, in his early 40s, stands in a black winter coat at the edge of the ice hole, his assistant beside him. Two safety divers wait in the water, and nine other guests wait on the shore of the frozen lake, 50 metres away.

Diving under ice – in just swimming trunks. Why am I doing this to myself? Friends asked me this question weeks before I left.

Three times the icy pleasure: Brain Freeze.

As a photographer, I look for images that no one will forget. As a human being, I am interested in where my limits lie. And as a journalist, I explore what happens when you cross those boundaries. To do this, I put general assumptions to the test, such as: “You’re going to kill yourself!” – something everyone who wanted to jump into the fresh snow in front of their house in their socks as a child will be familiar with. Is cold really so dangerous? Can’t you also gain something from it?

Studies show that exposure to cold has positive effects. A three-minute ice bath can significantly reduce blood markers of inflammation in the body for up to five days, making the body less susceptible to it. That piqued my curiosity. I experimented with cold showers, breathing techniques, and ice baths. Eventually, I discovered a course that offers freediving under ice. It was said to be the only course of its kind in the world. That made my explorer’s heart race. I signed up and traveled to Finland.

Aerial view of the lake near the seminar venue.

Breathe in 30 times and hold your breath

Three days before the ice dive. Just under 50 kilometers from Helsinki lies the Lakeside Cottage Villa Paratiisi in Otalampi – our home for the duration of the course. Among the participants are a former professional boxer from Hamburg, an Israeli crypto investor, a German cold-weather coach, and a British banker with his two sons.

The next morning, Leigh introduces us to Wim Hof breathing, developed by Dutch “Ice Man” Wim Hof, who has proven the health benefits of cold showers and ice baths in studies.

The technique consists of several breathing cycles, each with about 30 breaths. Lying comfortably on the floor, you breathe in very deeply with your diaphragm ( ) and then relax your filled lungs – without actively forcing the air out. This enriches the blood with oxygen.

First quick dip in the frozen lake. Many more will follow.

The 30th breath is as deep as possible. Then Leigh instructs: Hold your breath. Wait.

For the first minute, there is only silence. But then the urge to breathe kicks in, the diaphragm twitches. The struggle begins.

Normally, I would gasp for air now, but Leigh’s voice guides us through the resistance. “Relax into the pain,” he says. It is a paradoxical experience: while my mind sounds the alarm, my body slips into a state of deep vibration. Behind my closed eyelids, purple veils of colour begin to pulsate. Time loses its linearity; I exist without breathing.

All participants after several test dives in the ice.

At some point, Leigh counts down from ten to zero. Inhale. Next cycle. “Step it up a notch,” Leigh instructs, “pick up the pace.” Another 30 breaths, only faster. But now the command is: “Empty your lungs. Exhale completely. Gently.” Wait again. Now I feel a slight dizziness. For others, it’s more extreme, as I later learn: tingling all over the body, hallucinatory patches of color, time blurring.

With each cycle, we increase the breathing rate, ending at maximum speed. And how long did we hold our breath in the end? Leigh reveals: three minutes. Unbelievable.

Daniel warmed up in the sauna tent before his second dive.

During a break, I strike up a conversation with Daniel Ruppert, the cold-weather coach from Berlin. The former architect, in his early 50s, suffered from burnout twice before “the ice” and breathing techniques brought him back to life. “Our bodies are made for the cold,” Daniel explains. “Thousands of generations before us shivered through freezing winters, crossed bodies of water, and went hungry for months on end. Countless metabolic winters have made our bodies resilient. Today, we hardly use that anymore.”

“The comfort zone,” says Daniel, “is the new danger zone.” Many modern health conditions can be traced back to a lack of physical activity and overeating. “A three-minute ice bath won’t kill anyone,” says Daniel. “It increases the release of serotonin, melatonin, testosterone, and dopamine – by up to 300 percent in some people. All of this has been proven in studies.”

One metre below the ice

Outside, the temperature is just below zero degrees Celsius. Wearing only our swimsuits, we walk in single file to a small hole in the frozen lake, 20 metres from the hut.

Leigh Ewin gives final instructions before the ice dive.

Leigh joins them. Experts among themselves. Now a technical discussion unfolds about vasodilation, brown adipose tissue, neuropeptide Y, and theta brain waves – I can’t keep up anymore.

I ask Leigh how he, as an Australian, ended up on this ice-skating course. “I came to Finland for love and started out as an intern in Espoo. My coworkers lured me into an ice bath with their phones in hand. After just a few moments, I ran out screaming. They laughed, shared the videos, and commented, ‘Look at our intern. He loves the cold!’”

Oki cuts a triangular hole in the ice. Within just an hour, it freezes over again.

The humiliation repeated itself the following winter. Leigh vowed never to go through that again. He experimented with meditation, biohacking, and breathing techniques. “Eventually, I was able to stay out in the ice longer than my colleagues. Then there was only one of us left laughing.” Encouraged by his success, Leigh began to delve deeper into the subject.

He trained in various breathing techniques, learned free diving, and became a certified Wim Hof instructor. “One day, I was someone who led others into the ice. More importantly, I was able to free people from something that had been holding them back their whole lives: fear. It felt like breaking free from chains.” He began to combine his passions. That was the birth of freediving under ice.

The seminar venue is about a two-hour drive from Espoo. In the foreground, you can see the two ice-swimming spots.

Under Leigh’s close supervision and guidance, each of us slips into the water one by one.

The first moment is a shock, an assault on the nervous system. As the black water reaches my chest, my skin burns like fire – a paradoxical reaction of the nerve endings to the extreme cold. My breath catches, a gasp escapes, but I force myself to stay calm. Exhale. Slowly. Only after 30 seconds does the stinging pain give way to a strange, tingling numbness.

After the ice bath, we take it up a notch: rolling around in the snow with abandon.

On the first dip, you keep your head above water. This is followed by a warm-up in the sauna.

Immediately afterward, the second dip begins, this time with goggles and underwater for a few seconds.

During the third dive, a snorkel is used to extend the dive time. The exercise is designed to help the diver acclimate to the cold water. The goal is to get the body used to the cold water through repeated dives, to reassure the body that there is no danger, and to reduce any flight responses. After all, such responses could have devastating consequences under the ice, where there are no escape routes.

Seven minutes of humming in an ice bath. This stimulates the vagus nerve, which in turn slows the heart rate.

In the afternoon, the three of us climb into a large triangular pool that his assistant has just cut out of the frozen lake. Humming, we remain in the ice for seven minutes, each in a corner. The humming stimulates the vagus nerve, which enhances communication between the brain, stomach, and heart and slows the heart rate – making it possible to stay in the ice longer.

Early in the morning of the third day, our final day of diving, we leave Villa Paratiisi and drive about 2.5 hours to a frozen quarry lake near Taivassalo.

There, we are greeted by a man in an extravagant, gold full-body dry suit. His name is emblazoned on his back in large letters: Miro Suonperä. He is the Finnish record holder in distance diving with over 200 meters and one of the two safety divers. The other is his father. Thanks to them, we feel safer.

Daniel is ready to dive and gives safety diver Miro the thumbs-up.

On the shore of the lake, a tiny sauna tent – big enough for three people at most – is steaming; it’s used to warm up after ice dives. We strip down to our swimsuits.

If you like, you can put on a swim cap, gloves, or diving socks to protect the parts of your body most sensitive to the cold.

It’s my turn. Leigh waves me over and fastens a safety harness around me. It’s connected to a line that runs from the entry hole to the exit hole. That way, I can’t get lost. Miro and Leigh give me a thumbs-up. Here we go.

Aerial view of the boarding and disembarking points.

I dive in, grab the white safety line, and quickly pull myself along about a meter beneath the ice. After 17 seconds, my head emerges from the water. I couldn’t really enjoy it.

On the second dive, I take it slower. A few meters from the exit, I pause. My legs are buoyant. I press the soles of my feet against the ice and gaze into this strange world. The light refracts in the water, and tiny air bubbles rise to the surface.

A group photo to mark the end of the trip, after each of the ten participants had completed at least two free dives under the ice.

I’d barely climbed out of the water when Leigh encouraged me to dive in a third time. I did, and less than two minutes later I emerged from the ice. I was staggering like a drunk: brain freeze. Luckily, the ordeal was over after a few seconds. The dive, however – no one will forget that anytime soon. It doesn’t get much colder than this. Nor should it. Off to the sauna tent.

Physically, I’ve learned to endure the cold. But my true reward lies elsewhere: whoever can control their body’s panic in icy water, whoever can hold their breath for three minutes, can bring a deep sense of calm back into their hectic everyday life. The ice has taught me that my limits do not lie where my fear projects images of horror, nor where pain begins. Rather, they lie much further than I ever believed.