The Man Who Held His Breath for 24 Minutes.

In the quiet, chlorinated stillness of a swimming pool in Sisak, Croatia, Budimir “Buda” Šobat prepared to do something that defies the fundamental biological imperatives of the human species. Surrounded by doctors, witnesses, and the humming silence of a crowd holding its collective breath, Šobat slipped into the water. For the next 24 minutes and 37 seconds, his lungs remained motionless. He did not gasp; he did not panic; he did not die. Instead, he entered a physiological state so profound that it challenged the very boundaries of medical science. This extraordinary feat, recently chronicled in a deep-dive feature by writer Sean Williams and featured on the Outside Podcast, is not merely a story of athletic endurance, but a testament to the transformative power of a father’s love and the untapped potential of the human autonomic nervous system.

Budimir Šobat is not your typical elite athlete. A former bodybuilder who took up freediving well into his 50s, Šobat possesses a physique that suggests raw power, yet his greatest strength lies in his ability to achieve total metabolic stillness. Now 60 years old, he has become the global face of static apnea—the discipline of holding one’s breath for as long as possible while remaining stationary. While the average person begins to panic after sixty seconds without air, and trained Navy SEALs might struggle to pass the five-minute mark, Šobat has pushed the ceiling of human capability into a realm once thought impossible.

The record Šobat holds is specifically for "oxygen-aided static apnea." Under Guinness World Record guidelines, divers are permitted to breathe 100 percent pure oxygen for up to 30 minutes before submerged. This process, known as pre-oxygenation, flushes nitrogen out of the body and saturates the blood and tissues with a massive surplus of oxygen. However, even with this chemical advantage, the feat is excruciating. The primary challenge of breath-holding is not actually a lack of oxygen, but the buildup of carbon dioxide (CO2). As CO2 levels rise, the brain sends increasingly frantic signals to the diaphragm to contract—a physiological "knock" at the door that eventually becomes a violent, involuntary spasm. To survive 24 minutes underwater, Šobat had to train his brain to ignore the most primal survival instinct programmed into the DNA of every air-breathing mammal.

To understand how Šobat achieves this, one must look at the "Mammalian Dive Reflex," a vestigial evolutionary trait we share with seals and whales. When a human face is submerged in water, particularly cold water, the body undergoes a series of radical changes. The heart rate slows—a condition known as bradycardia—to reduce oxygen consumption. Peripheral vasoconstriction kicks in, shunting blood away from the limbs and toward the vital organs: the heart and the brain. Finally, the spleen contracts, releasing a surge of oxygen-rich red blood cells into the bloodstream. In Šobat, these responses are honed to a razor’s edge. Williams describes Šobat’s state as a "controlled death," where his heart rate drops to a fraction of its normal resting pace, and his body enters a suspended animation that mimics the hibernation of deep-sea creatures.

However, the biological mechanics are only half the story. The catalyst for Šobat’s obsession is his daughter, Saša. Now a young woman, Saša lives with cerebral palsy, autism, and epilepsy. Her condition requires constant, 24-hour care, a responsibility Šobat and his wife have embraced with tireless devotion. For Šobat, the pool became a place where the chaos of the external world—the medical appointments, the seizures, the financial strain—could be silenced. But more importantly, his record attempts became a platform. Every second he spent underwater was a second dedicated to raising funds and awareness for the "Room for Miracles" (Soba čuda), a center in Sisak dedicated to children with disabilities.

"I am not a hero," Šobat has often stated in interviews, "I am just a father trying to help my daughter." This motivation provides a psychological anchor that most athletes lack. When the CO2 levels in his blood reach toxic levels and his diaphragm begins to heave in a desperate bid for air, Šobat does not think of the clock or the glory. He thinks of Saša. He visualizes her struggles and realizes that his discomfort in the water is fleeting compared to the lifelong challenges she faces. This emotional fortitude allows him to push through the "struggle phase" of a breath-hold, which for him can last over ten minutes.

The science of Šobat’s feat is analyzed by experts in hyperbaric medicine and extreme physiology, who remain fascinated by his lack of permanent neurological damage. Holding one’s breath for nearly 25 minutes carries an immense risk of cerebral hypoxia—a lack of oxygen to the brain that can lead to cell death, seizures, or permanent cognitive impairment. Yet, Šobat’s post-dive evaluations show a man in remarkable health. Experts suggest that his years of bodybuilding may have provided a unique physiological foundation, allowing for a high degree of muscular control and a large "buffer" for metabolic waste. Furthermore, his age may actually be an advantage; older athletes often possess a more stable psychological profile and a lower resting metabolic rate than their younger, more explosive counterparts.

The Outside Podcast’s exploration of Sean Williams’ story, The Man Who Held His Breath for 24 Minutes, provides a cinematic audio experience of this journey. The narrative structure of the podcast allows listeners to hear the rhythmic, labored breathing of a diver preparing for the "big empty." It delves into the history of the record, which was famously held by magician David Blaine in 2008 after he held his breath for 17 minutes and 4 seconds on live television. At the time, Blaine’s record was considered the absolute limit of human endurance. Šobat has since extended that limit by more than seven minutes, an eternity in the world of extreme sports.

In the broader context of freediving, Šobat’s achievement sits in a controversial but respected niche. While "pure" static apnea (without pre-oxygenation) has a world record of 11 minutes and 54 seconds (held by Branko Petrović), the oxygen-aided category represents the ultimate test of CO2 tolerance and mental discipline. It is a psychological war of attrition. Williams’ reporting highlights the "internal monologue" of the diver—the transition from the "easy phase," where the body feels light and euphoric from the oxygen saturation, to the "struggle phase," where the blood becomes acidic and the urge to breathe becomes a physical scream.

Beyond the numbers, Šobat’s story is a profound meditation on the concept of time. In our modern world, 24 minutes is the length of a sitcom episode or a quick commute. For Šobat, 24 minutes is a vast, empty landscape that he must navigate without a single breath. It is a period where time dilates. He describes the experience not as a void, but as a space of intense presence. By slowing his body down to the point of near-stasis, he finds a paradoxical sense of life.

The legacy of Budimir Šobat continues to inspire both the scientific community and the general public. As of late 2026, his records remain a benchmark for what is possible when human will is applied to biological constraints. His work for the "Room for Miracles" has raised hundreds of thousands of Euros, providing therapy and equipment for children across Croatia. His story serves as a reminder that the most extreme feats of human endurance are often fueled by the most quiet and personal of reasons.

In rewriting the narrative of what a 60-year-old body can do, Šobat has proven that the "master switch of life" is not just a physiological mechanism, but a mental one. Whether he is submerged in a tank or sitting by his daughter’s bedside, his life is defined by a singular, unwavering focus. The Outside Podcast’s Long Read does more than just report on a record; it invites the audience to consider their own limits and the "superpowers" that might be unlocked through discipline and devotion. As Šobat himself might suggest, we all have the capacity to hold our breath through the hardships of life—it is simply a matter of finding the reason to stay under.