“Nose clip,” his coach screamed. “Nose clip!” His words cut through the fog, Alexey popped vertical and grabbed the rope again. He ditched his clip and flashed the okay sign, saying the words. The judges watched it all intently, and checked their stopwatches. His protocol was shaky, but clean enough. Only it took seventeen seconds, two seconds too late. Red card. Alexey had left the door open. Gold was there for the taking, and it was up to Will to grab it. If he could hit his 117-meter dive in Constant Weight the next day, it was his.
On the last day of Vertical Blue 2014, with eighty spectators watching, Will floated into place with six minutes to go. When the time came, he disappeared into the dark in just three swipes of his monofin. Streamlined, he felt good all the way down, averaging 1.1 meters per second. On the way up he was even faster. He whipped his legs with power and grace, channeling all his desire and passion, disappointment and love into his final competitive dive of the year.
Before he hit the 2:30 mark he’d already passed the safety at 30 meters and knew he had it in the bag, but he kept pumping, flying by the next safety diver at 20 meters, enjoying that blue hole dawn when the halo of turquoise light above bleeds into the darkness, and when the elegant sandfalls drift into his peripheral vision. It was like seeing a gorgeous yet familiar view, a friendly reminder that he was almost home. The last 10 meters were a joy. He floated up and rocked the protocol. Will had saved his cleanest performance for last. He flashed the tag to extended applause, shoved it in his mouth and chewed, enjoying the breakfast of a champion. Then he kissed his beautiful wife for good measure.
When the day was done and the final diver had surfaced after a humble 33-meter Free Immersion dive—proof that freediving is a sport with all levels of competitors—the athletes, judges, photographers, and safety divers relaxed on the beach as Will brought out two tubs of icy Steinlager. Johnny was first man to the cooler, and Will wasn’t far behind. They’d been hustling and training hard, and now it was time to play.
Even in defeat, Alexey had a blast. All competition long he’d been leading group swims, spending hours in the sun, enjoying homemade gourmet seafood dinners with the Eastern bloc—divers from Croatia, Russia, and Serbia—almost every night, chasing a former Latin American beauty queen around the island, and spending long nights with her under the stars. Perhaps that’s why his game was slightly off. But if so, he’d take living over a gold medal this time around. After all, there was always 2015, and he still hadn’t turned twenty-eight years old. His athletic prime had only just begun.
When his mother died eight months later, his belief in living for each day was only reinforced. He’d prove it less than two weeks after her disappearance when he celebrated her life by diving the arch in Dahab’s blue hole: her favorite underwater terrain in the world.
Will smiled as he watched Alexey laugh and swim with his friends, while he sipped his second cold one on the white sand. Three days earlier his hopes had been thrashed against the bluffs. Even the podium seemed ambitious. Two money dives later, everything had changed. Will’s was a comeback for the storybooks.
“It was a little topsy-turvy,” he said, staring over the blue hole, “but it does feel really good to have finished this way.”
On top, he meant.
Still the best freediver on planet Earth.
“We lost Nick,” Ren choked through tears. “I’m sorry,” he kept saying, “I’m so sorry.”
Belinda hung up and staggered out of the stall. It was a busy Sunday afternoon in IKEA and the bathroom was wall to wall. Her face was contorted with shock and pain, and all eyes were upon her. She pushed through the door onto the showroom floor and stood there, sobbing. Alone. Most gave her wide berth, but one stranger came over, held her, and prayed for her, until she found the strength to walk into the pale Orlando sunlight and drive to her daughter’s house to break the news.
When she heard, Jen went into type A crisis control, calling funeral homes and a friend who was a US attorney in Miami, trying to get her brother back home, but soon collapsed in tears on her living room carpet.
Ren showed up the following night in St. Petersburg. Paul had him flown in on a friend’s private plane with Nick’s things. The family gathered to meet him and he attempted to answer all their questions, though was often at a loss.
Will Trubridge and Vanessa Weinberg were among those who attended Nick’s funeral, held in St. Petersburg on Thanksgiving Eve. They mourned with Nick’s family and with members of his many tribes. Aaron, Justin, Clayton, and Sol from the Tally vegan crew were there. Akia and his theater friends showed up, and Morgan did too. A similar phenomenon occurred on an even larger scale at the Brooklyn memorial held a week later at Esther Bell’s thriving café in Williamsburg, where the full cast of characters from every period of Nick’s rich life came together to grieve and rejoice in his memory.
In Exist, while standing on the rooftop at 3rd and Berry, Nick’s character said, “I have faith in the fact that we never really die…that we perpetuate ourselves by the pieces we give others.”
Denny’s cane snapped the day after Nick died. When she heard the news, she was consumed by a crushing guilt, as if their last conversation contributed to his terrible mistake, but when her cane broke she felt Nick behind it, nudging her toward a better life.
On the verge of graduation with a masters in acupuncture, nearly a year after Nick’s death, Denny’s days had become active and full. She was a sales rep for a Chinese herb and holistic medicine distributor, had trips to Japan and the Yucatan on the horizon, and spent her free time with a community of new friends. Together they paddled the Delaware River, ate out at funky ethnic joints in Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Queens, and on her birthday they went skydiving.
With a handsome Aussie instructor strapped to her back, she leapt into the blue sky over a leafy western Pennsylvania countryside banded with autumn colors. She extended her arms, the wind rippling her cheeks, and experienced her first freefall. When Nick met her, she was a shut-in. Now she was new.
For those who don’t just love, but need the ocean, each surf, swim, paddle, or dive can be a baptism. It can wash away the dread and pain, loss and confusion of the day and deliver pure elemental connection, reminding them that no matter what else is happening in their world, the ocean exists—in all its beauty, mystery, and fury.
Each time Nick suited up and floated into the blue, with each reef dive and lobster hunt, whether he was in the Gulf, a blue hole, or the open sea, it was an opportunity for renewal and connection. A simple YouTube search will turn up freedivers riding the dorsal fin of great white sharks or surrounded by a pod of dolphins, 150 strong. They are dressed in monofins swimming with mantas and sperm whales, or they’re freefalling barefoot into Dean’s Blue Hole. Nick Mevoli’s 100-meter dive is there, and no matter the clip, each diver shares a common motivation. They do it because it is in the ocean where their soul feels free.
What was most important to Nick was to live, not merely exist. He reached beyond the norm, rebelled, chased dreams, worked hard, reused what others threw away, listened more than he spoke, and gave all he could whenever he could. Sometimes lost, most of the time right where he belonged, Nick was bruised and battered, but he had a soul full of goodness, a heart full of love, and he glowed, until he was gone.
The memory of Nicholas Mevoli was everywhere at Vertical Blue 2014, especially during the Apnea Games, held in his honor on an off-day during the competition. Athletes gathered on the beach and shared Nick stories, then competed in cliff jumping, tandem no fins diving, bubble ring blowing, and underwater somersaults. The cove was filled with their laughter all afternoon. It was just the sort of event Nick would have adored.
But Will and Brittany made sure there were opportunities to remember him every day. The 2013 medals—awarded for the top three in each discipline and for the top three overall men and women—were never handed out when the competition was canceled after he died. In 2014, they were left at the check-in table for folks to gra
b as keepsakes or, better yet, as an offering.
Some let them slip through their fingers and watched them disappear into the darkness. Their blue hole, their wishing well. Others placed them on a stone that Paul Mevoli had engraved in Nick’s memory. It read: Dive into Your Dreams with Passion.
Two weeks prior to Vertical Blue, Paul piloted his prop plane into Long Island with Nick’s father, Larry, and Scotty, Paul’s Bonzo buddy, to deliver the stone. After his son died, Larry suffered heart problems, and had a pacemaker installed. His second marriage had ended years before when his business tanked. So did a subsequent relationship with a woman who finally figured out he was broke. He would be homeless, living in Jen’s guestroom, if it weren’t for Nick’s life insurance policy. When he bought it all those years ago, he’d declared himself the beneficiary.
It paid $100,000 tax free, enough for a mobile home in Orlando and a brand-new black Mustang convertible. A hustler to the end, losing his son changed him. He’d become one of Jen’s most reliable caregivers for her two girls, who can frequently be seen in his backseat on the way home from preschool and first grade, top down, their hair tangled and wild, their smiles ear to ear. Their mother can only shake her head and roll her eyes when Larry roars into her driveway, and whenever a rainbow rises she points to the sky and says, “Look, girls. Uncle Nick says hi.”
Weighted down by the stone, Will walked it across the sandy bottom, underwater, as the three men swam on the surface. Together they placed it beneath a small overhang in the bluffs near Dean’s Blue Hole. They shared a round of thoughts and a moment of silence before Scotty said a final prayer.
“I gotta let him go now,” Paul said, fighting tears. “I gotta let him go.”
Nick, age 3, suited up and ready to dive into his family pool, takes time for a photo op with Uncle Paul. Courtesy Paul Mevoli.
A teenaged Nick hugs his mother, Belinda Rudzik, in his grandparents’ garden in South Plainfield, New Jersey. Courtesy Katie Rudzik.
From left, Aaron Suko, Soliman Lawrence, and Nick Mevoli at the Cloisters museum in Washington Heights, New York City, March 2006. Courtesy Aaron Suko
The DVD cover and poster art for Exist, starring Nick Mevoli and directed by Esther Bell. Courtesy Esther Bell
Nick and Esther pose above Niagara Falls in July 2003. Courtesy Esther Bell
Nick and the US Freediving Team join the parade of athletes on their march through the streets of Nice, France, during the opening ceremony of the 2012 AIDA Team World Championship. Courtesy Ren Chapman
Nick and Jen, with their father, Larry Mevoli, enjoy the sunset on St. Petersburg Beach in August 2011 while Jen is pregnant with Nick’s goddaughter, Alexandra. Courtesy Katie Rudzik
After a prolonged hunt at Seven Mile Bridge off Marathon Key, Nick surfaces with the biggest fish he ever caught, a 35-pound amberjack. Courtesy Paul Mevoli
With Slovenian champion Samo Jeranko in the background, Will Trubridge flashes a grin after scoring a white card with his 120-meter Free Immersion dive at the 2014 edition of Vertical Blue. After a rocky start and a failed world-record bid in Constant No Fins, that dive placed him back in the hunt for gold. Photo credit: Daan Verhoeven
Russia’s Natalia Molchanova, the greatest female freediver of all time and one of the very best of all time regardless of gender, waves to an adoring crowd after breaking the women’s world record in Dynamic Apnea with a swim of 237 meters at the 2014 AIDA Team World Championship in Sardinia, Italy. Photo credit: Daan Verhoeven.
Natalia Molchanova glides down to 96 meters at the 2014 AIDA Team World Championship, where she led the Russian women to the gold medal. Natalia remains the only woman ever to eclipse 100 meters in any of the competitive freediving disciplines. Photo credit: Daan Verhoeven
Alexey Molchanov completes the surface protocol and flashes the tag he fetched from the bottom plate after a dive to 123 meters in Constant Weight, while fans and athletes look on. With that dive, Alexey secured overall Caribbean Cup gold and defeated Will Trubridge for an overall title for the first time in his career. Photo credit: Lia Barrett.
Former Royal Marine and England’s best freediver Michael Board on the beach in Sardinia, where he competed for Great Britain at the 2014 AIDA Team World Championship. Photo credit: Daan Verhoeven
Kerry Hollowell poses with her monofin on the beach in Roatan, Honduras, where she competed in the 2015 edition of the Caribbean Cup. Photo credit: Lia Barrett.
Ashley Chapman celebrates after breaking Natalia Molchanova’s world record in the Constant No Fins discipline at the 2012 edition of Deja Blue in the Cayman Islands. Natalia would take the record back within days, but Ashley’s mark still stands as the American record. Photo credit: Logan Mock Bunting
From left, Ren Chapman, Ashley Chapman, and Nick enjoy stogies and rum on their road trip through Pinar Del Rio, Cuba, in 2012. Courtesy Ren Chapman.
Nick and Iru make arepas for all comers in Nick’s makeshift DIY kitchen during the 2013 AIDA Individual Depth World Championship. Courtesy Iru Balic
Safety divers assist Nick to the surface after a deepwater blackout during his failed Free Immersion attempt at Deja Blue 2012. Photo credit: Logan Mock Bunting
On May 27, 2013, Nick kicks down toward an American record of 100 meters and back on a single breath, in Constant Weight at the Caribbean Cup in Roatan, Honduras, just thirteen months after his very first competition. Nobody in the history of the sport reached that milestone in such a short time. Photo credit: Lia Barrett.
After the white card comes, Nick lets loose. Photo credit: Logan Mock Bunting.
Fifteen-time world-record holder William Trubridge in his element at Dean’s Blue Hole. Photo credit: Daan Verhoeven
Nick’s last dive. Dean’s Blue Hole, November 17, 2013. Photo credit: Daan Verhoeven.
Dr. Mary G. Gilliland (foreground) and competitive freediver and physician Dr. Kerry Hollowell inspect slides of Nick’s lung tissue in Dr. Gilliland’s office in the forensic pathology department at East Carolina University. Photo credit: Lia Barrett
While on what I thought would be a routine assignment to Long Island, Bahamas, covering a top competition in a niche adventure sport for the New York Times, fate turned when Nick Mevoli died, and the scope of both that assignment and my interest in the athletes and the art of competitive freediving changed forever. This book is the result, and it would have never happened without the inspiration and collaboration of photographer Lia Barrett, or the interest, faith, and responsiveness of Jason Stallman, Tom Connelly, Sam Dolnick, Becky Lebowitz, and Jim Luttrell at the New York Times sports desk, as well as fellow reporters John Branch, Mary Pilon, and William Broad.
I would also like to thank my friend and agent Byrd Leavell and the wonderful Julianna Wojcik at Waxman Leavell as well as Nathan Roberson, my editor at Crown, who believed in this book from the beginning and saw what it could become before I did.
Of course, there would be no book at all without the patient collaboration of so many generous people. For over a year, they shared memories—painful, beautiful, and hilarious—and pushed me to do my best work. If you’ve read the book, you already know who they are and I won’t list them all here, but I would like to especially thank Nick’s family. They were partners in this book from the beginning and for that I am forever grateful. So thank you, Jen, Joe, Elizabeth and Alexandra, Belinda, Fred, Kristine and Katie, Larry, and Terri, Ashley, David, and Paul. I’d also like to thank Nancy and the late Josie Owsianik, Nick’s grandmother, who passed away just fourteen months after Nick. It was a joy to meet you and watch your last dance.
Nick’s nonfreediving friends were just as generous. Thanks especially to Justin Pogge, Aaron and Katie Suko, Soliman Lawrence, and Clayton Rychlik from the Tally Vegan crew; Esther Bell, Morgan Sabia, Yasunari Rowan, Denny Kowska, and Akia Squitieri in New York City; Jessica Mammerella and Jennifer Kates in Philly, and Jana Turcinkova and Roman Susil in Czech Republic.
I’m also grateful to the many dozens of competitive f
reedivers, judges, safety divers, pioneers, innovators, and AIDA board members who shared their stories and opinions with me, but special thanks goes out to my most staunch allies from the freediving realm: Meir Taub, Ashley and Ren Chapman, Kerry Hollowell and Steve Benson, Mike Board and Kate Middleton, Yaron Hoory, Bobby Kim, Marco Consentino, Goran Colak, Alexey Molchanov, the late Natalia Molchanova, Carlos Coste and Gaby Contreras, Lena Jovanovic, Marina Kazankova, Mandy Sumner, Kyle Gion, Carla Hanson, Grant Graves, Beatrix and Ricardo Paris, Tomoka Fukuda, Hanako Hirose, Misuzu Okamoto, Tetsuo Hara, Sofia Gómez Uribe, Iru Balic, Kirk Krack and Mandy Cruickshank, Francesca Koh Owings, and William Trubridge. Big respect also to Daan Verhoeven who was shooting both stills and video the day Nick passed. With a tragedy unfolding, Daan let his camera roll and thanks to him there is a video record of everything that happened. I relied on it heavily throughout my research and showed it to dozens of doctors—including the generous and thoughtful Larry Stock and Ashraf Elsayegh. Without it, Nick’s cause of death may have remained a mystery, and a family left wanting for closure.
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