Upper Petranik in Albania is one of the most interesting, though little-known, caves — and one of those you really have to work hard to reach. The approach leads over steep rocks, partly along fixed ropes (which you have to set up yourself), which may make the climb easier, but they won’t do the work for you. What’s more, in the heat of nearly forty degrees. You have to carry all your kit on your own back, in several trips: a twinset or side-mount tanks, reels, fins, regulators, a diving suit and torches. Each of these items seems manageable on its own. Together, after the third trip uphill, they cease to be kit and become a burden that tests what you’re worth on land, even before it puts you to the test underwater.
I was sure of one thing: as soon as I submerged underneath the surface, I’d be ‘at home’. My gas consumption is minimal, poor visibility doesn’t bother me, and the dive itself in this cave — one of my favourites — was supposed to be pure pleasure. But before I enter the water, a gruelling ordeal awaits me. And it was this, not the dive itself, that decided how my day would unfold—a contest for survival.
This is what much of the cave diving I do looks like: in the Albanian mountains, in northern Italy, in Bosnia, Serbia, Romania and Macedonia — the caves are where they are, not where it’s convenient for someone carrying several dozen kilograms of kit. Sometimes it’s an hour’s walk uphill with a double set of gear on my back, sometimes a stroll along slippery forest paths, sometimes a deft manoeuvre through a hole in a fence. Sometimes it’s an abseil down into a sinkhole, from which you then have to haul yourself back up – already tired, having just finished a dive, and with no illusions whatsoever about your own immortality. But someone has to get that kit there, after all! That ‘someone’ is me — for over eleven years now (which goes some way to showing just how stubborn I can be), so I know full well what this part of the expedition is like, the part that nobody takes photos of for the report.
For a long time, I thought that everything could be sorted out with purely technical know-how and sheer determination. Yes, it can — more or less until the moment when your strength runs out; along with determination, unfortunately, won’t lift the tank for me. Determination is a fantastic character trait, but a terrible substitute for quadriceps.
‘Effortless’ diving is a myth.
Diving is often advertised as an almost effortless activity. Underwater, with good trim, it really can be that peaceful: the water bears the weight, movements are slow and balanced, and everything seems virtually meditative. The problem is that diving begins and ends on land, where buoyancy doesn’t come into play. Gravity, unlike a cave current, never takes a day off.
Carrying tanks. Walking in full gear over uneven terrain. Climbing the boat’s ladder whilst a wave rocks it like a merry-go-round for which nobody has bought a ticket. Swimming against the current. Assisting a tired or unconscious diver. Hauling oneself out of the cave once the adrenaline has worn off, whilst your arms subtly inform you that they’ve had enough for today.
Suddenly, it turns out that diving is, after all, a very physical activity — it’s just that this physical aspect mainly takes place where nobody is filming it for a trip report.
That is why I believe that physical fitness should be treated as part of a diver’s competence, rather than as a nice bonus for those who enjoy the gym anyway. Not a bonus. Part of the competence — on a par with the ability to plan gas consumption, except that no one has yet made it an exam requirement.
The reserve I’m referring to in the title
Imagine two people swimming against a strong current. For the first, it’s an exertion at 80 per cent of their capacity. For the second — 40 per cent.
Viewed from the side, both are ‘managing just fine’. The difference is that only one of them still has something in reserve if there’s a problem with their kit, if they need to help their buddy, get their breathing under control, or make a clear-headed decision. The other is already running at full throttle, and their engine is about to give out anyway.
We shouldn’t dive whilst using 95 per cent of our physical capacity, simply because diving itself usually requires 50 per cent. That difference is your safety margin. And whilst we discuss gas or decompression margins on every course, we rarely talk about the physical margin.
This uncomfortable topic
In the diving industry, we rarely speak openly about something that should be obvious: not every diver is physically fit enough for the kind of diving they want to do.
This isn’t an article about shaming anyone for their appearance – there are other, far less useful corners of the internet for that. Being overweight, a sedentary lifestyle and poor fitness are problems affecting whole societies, not just divers. But diving adds another dimension: your physical fitness doesn’t just affect your comfort. It affects your ability to react when something goes wrong.
DAN has been highlighting for years that physically unprepared divers put not only themselves but also their dive buddies at risk, and that being overweight is associated with an increased risk of cardiac incidents underwater — which is quite different from a clear link to decompression sickness, as the evidence for the latter is much weaker. One of DAN’s earlier reports, based on data from 2004, showed that amongst fatal accident victims for whom the BMI was known, as many as 74 per cent were overweight or obese (source: DAN, *Report on Dive Accident Data*, 2006 edition, covering data from 2004). This does not mean that being overweight ‘killed’ these humans — such a conclusion would be an oversimplification. It does, however, show that it is worth asking this question seriously, rather than simply brushing it aside over a beer after a dive.
The question should not be: ‘Do I look like an athlete?’ It should be: ‘Can my body safely cope with the dives I’m planning?’ That’s a far more useful question — and, to be honest, every instructor should be asking their students this more often than they ask about the number of pages written in their logbook.
What the gym has actually changed about my diving
I’ve been doing strength training three times a week for quite some time now, and I can say quite plainly: this isn’t just for show in photos. It’s a difference I feel every day on a cave diving trip, not just during the dive itself.
Getting to the entry point has always cost me a lot of exertion — and a bit of my dignity. There were times when I’d scramble up to the site, drenched in sweat like a rat pulled from a sewer, but I’d get there, and those dives always went ahead. Today, that same trek leaves me with more in the tank, both literally and figuratively — and what’s more, instead of just lugging my own gear, I’m increasingly helping others carry theirs. I can plan more challenging dives because I know that the walk-in, transporting the kit and possibly hauling myself back out won’t eat up my entire reserve before I’ve even put my mask on.
And no, that doesn’t mean you have to look like a lean, mean competitor on the eve of a major competition. It’s about something much more down-to-earth: the ability to lift a tank off the ground without risking a lower back injury; to carry gear across a stony bank without your legs giving way in the last 20 metres; and a grip that doesn’t slip when you’re holding onto a rope, a buddy, or — worse still — expensive gear.
And what about decompression sickness?
I need to be precise here, because I’m not going to spin fairy tales.
I won’t say: ‘be stronger, and you’ll avoid decompression sickness’ – that’s not true, and promises of that sort are simply irresponsible. Decompression sickness has many risk factors, and the main culprit remains the drop in ambient pressure itself. DAN highlights deeper and longer dives, cold water, intense physical exertion at depth, and ascending too quickly as well-established risk factors, while obesity, dehydration, and physical exertion immediately after ascent are cited as factors with considerably weaker evidence.
However, this topic has an interesting research line. Croatian scientists have shown that a single session of intense aerobic exertion performed 24 hours before a simulated dive equivalent to exposure at 18 metres significantly reduced the number of gas bubbles detected in the blood after decompression (Dujić et al., *Aerobic exercise before diving reduces venous gas bubble formation in humans*, *Journal of Physiology*, 2004). French researchers, on the other hand, investigated a shorter time interval: 45 minutes of running performed 2 hours before a simulated dive to 30 metres was also associated with a significant reduction in the number of gas bubbles detected after decompression (Blatteau et al., *Aviation, Space, and Environmental Medicine*, 2005).
However, these studies primarily concern the formation and detection of gas bubbles following controlled exposure, and do not constitute evidence that such training prevents decompression sickness during an actual dive. Furthermore, these results should not be taken as encouragement to undertake intensive training immediately before diving. DAN’s current position is more balanced: good physical fitness may moderately increase resistance to decompression stress, but intensive exertion undertaken close to a dive may increase the decompression load. DAN recommends caution when planning training in relation to diving and, in general, avoiding intense exertion within 24 hours of a dive (source: DAN, ‘Exercise and Decompression Risk’).
The conclusion is therefore not that ‘more exercise is always better’. Rather, good physical fitness may be one component of a sturdier physiological reserve, but it can never replace conservative dive planning, decompression procedures, or medical consultation. And strenuous training immediately before or after a dive may actually work against you — which is why your training plan should be drawn up alongside your dive plan, rather than separately, haphazardly, between one trip and the next.
My very simplified plan — free of unnecessary philosophy
You don’t need to put together a programme as if you were preparing for a powerlifting competition. You need to build up your reserves. Below is a simple model for a diver’s physical preparation. This is not an individual training plan nor a generic solution. It shows which movement patterns and types of exertion matter most, based on the practical demands of diving—from recreational reef diving to demanding cave dives in the Balkan mountains.
For example: 2–3 times a week – full-body strength training. For a healthy person already used to training, this frequency can be effective. However, this doesn’t mean it suits every diver; a beginner might start with 2 sessions a week.**
| Movement pattern | Example exercise | Why you need this for diving |
|---|---|---|
| Squat | Weighted squat | Standing and moving in full gear |
| Hip hinge | Romanian deadlift | Lifting tanks and equipment from the ground whilst maintaining correct technique |
| Horizontal pull | Bent-over row | Pulling, climbing and handling equipment |
| Vertical pull | Pull-up or assisted pull-up | Pulling yourself up onto a ladder, rope or out of the water |
| Back and torso stabilisation | Anti-rotation exercises, controlled hip hinge or loaded carries | Torso stabilisation whilst walking and carrying equipment |
| Loaded carry | Farmer’s walk | Carrying equipment to the dive site, particularly over difficult terrain |
| Pushing | Push-ups or dumbbell press | Pushing yourself out of the water and maintaining stability whilst assisting a buddy |
Three sets of 8–12 repetitions for each exercise, with a load heavy enough that the last two repetitions are challenging but technically sound. Don’t try to be a hero on your first training session — you won’t be able to help anyone with a strained shoulder, and your caving mates will have to carry you down the stairs instead of simply diving with you.
Once or twice a week – moderate-intensity aerobic exertion: swimming, brisk walking, cycling. It doesn’t have to hurt or wrap up with a photo along the lines of ‘look how I’m suffering for my health’. The World Health Organisation recommends 150–300 minutes of moderate exertion per week for adults – this fits easily into the life of someone who’s already packing the car for a diving trip every other weekend.
The rest of the week: rest or light mobility exercises – shoulders, hips, thoracic spine. Dive equipment and the repetitive motion of finning can turn your body into one big knot that no physiotherapist could untangle in 15 minutes.
As your training progresses, you should expect practical improvements such as greater strength when carrying gear and better control on uneven terrain. The timing varies from person to person.
And one serious notice: if you’re returning to exercise after a long break, are overweight, have heart problems, high blood pressure, joint issues, or have any doubts whatsoever — speak to your doctor before you start. The point is for you to become a stronger diver, not for you, after ten years behind a desk, to spot a barbell and throw yourself into training with so great enthusiasm that in a single weekend you’ll meet more new people than you have in the last decade — a cardiologist, two paramedics and, if things went really wrong, Jesus himself.
A stronger diver is not an immortal diver.
This distinction is vital, so I’ll put it plainly: strength does not protect you from decompression sickness, nitrogen narcosis, hypothermia, equipment failure, poor gas planning, or your own fatal misjudgement of a situation. A strong diver can still make a bad decision — sometimes even with greater confidence, because, after all, ‘he’s strong, so he’ll definitely manage’. And here lies the catch: one of the real risks of being in better physical condition is a false sense of invincibility. Your physical fitness should increase your safety margin, not your tendency to go beyond the limits you set for yourself just yesterday.
The hierarchy always remains the same: training → experience → situational assessment → physical fitness → preparation → conservative decisions. Even the world’s strongest diver will still find themselves in danger if they ignore decompression procedures or swim beyond the limits of their training. The gym doesn’t issue Full Cave certificates.
But with the same situational assessment and the same training, a fitter version of you has more to fall back on when things go wrong. And I’d rather have that reserve and not need it than not have it when it turns out to be essential.
So let’s get back to the difficult, steep approaches to caves like the one in Petranik. I’d already tackled a similar ascent as someone who trains regularly at the gym and practises pole dancing. The same kind of equipment, the same conditions: balancing on a swaying step made of rope, on slippery rocks. This time I didn’t even break a sweat. I had no trouble keeping my balance, and my whole body — legs, torso, arms, back — worked together, rather than each part crying out for mercy in turn. Is it possible? It is.
Plan your training around your diving plans and ambitions. You’ll retain your dignity and won’t look like a wet rat pulled out of a drain. Trust me.
*This article contains general information on physical preparation for diving, based in part on materials from the Divers Alert Network (DAN) and recommendations from the World Health Organisation (WHO). It is not medical advice or an individual training plan. If you have any chronic conditions, heart or musculoskeletal problems, or are returning to physical activity after a long break, consult a doctor — ideally one with expertise in diving medicine — before you begin.*
Author: Daria Dobrowolska
