Let me set the scene. It’s a Tuesday night in July, my windows are open because the bedroom hits 80 degrees without the breeze, and my sister — visiting for the week — knocks on my door at 6 a.m. holding her phone like evidence at a trial. On the screen is a voice memo. Someone is snoring with the conviction of a foghorn. That someone, I learned in one horrifying second, is me. I’ve spent twenty years teaching people how to breathe better during workouts. Diaphragmatic breathing, nasal-only intervals, box breathing before competition. And apparently, for six or seven…
