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When I was a kid, my sister and I would play a car game where we would hold our breath in the back of our parents' minivan every time we went into a tunnel—and see who could hold it longer. Our faces would turn red, and then blue, as we hurtled toward the distant light—seeing if we could make it to the end without passing out.
As we got older, we would just pretend to hold our breath, but we'd still writhe around and grasp at our throats with our cheeks puffed out like Louis Armstrong.
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