This is from the book "Perfection Point" by John Brenkus. He is the creator of sports science on ESPN and he wrote this book about finding the limits of human athletic ability. He consults many experts and athletes and uses a lot of accurate math to make his prediction. This on the breath holding section. It predicts the maximum static apnea someone could ever do. I just thought I'd share this section with you. No copyright infringment intended. I don't own this just using this for entertainment and educational purposes.
"Location: The Jordan Rift Valley
Date: December year 2672
Our ideal athlete is six feet six inches tall and weighs 180 pounds. He was born and raised in La Rinconda, a mining village of over seven thousand people in southern Peru that has been in existence for 50 years. At over 16,700 feet, only 800 feet shy of North Base Camp at Mt. Everest, it's the highest permanently inhabited town in the world. The athlete who doesn't experience the symptoms of hypoxia until his brain oxygen falls below 93 percent. He won't black out untill it drops below 85 percent.
His lung capacity is 13 liters. With packing, he can squeeze in another 1.2 liters without risking a potentially lethal lung injury. Because of residual volume, only 90 percent of it is usable, and only 21 percent is oxygen, so the total available oxygen in his lungs is 2.7 liters.
Someone living at an altitude near sea level has a blood oxygen-carrying capacity of about 20 ml of oxygen per 100 ml of blood (20ml/100 ml). But because of the greatly boosted red cell density in our ideal athlete's thickened blood, there is enough hemoglobin to carry 35 ml/ 100 ml. When at home in La Rinconada, he never gets even close to full capacity, but he will during his static apnea performance. It's going to be held at the Dead Sea, just east of Ein Gedi, Israel. At nearly 18,000 feet lower than his home elevation, the partial pressure of oxygen will be twice what it is at La Rinconada. For him it will be like breathing in a hyperbaric chamber, but in full compliance with AIDA rules because he's taking in only normal, ambient air.
The competition is held in a pool on the beach because the waters of the Dead Sea are not the kind you want to put your face in. For the first three minutes of the hold, oxygen will be absorbed into his blood at a rate of 1200 ml per minute. It's far more than he needs to keep his brain oxygen levels at 100 percent but there's no way for him to slow it down.
After three minutes, the absorption rate begins to drop. Sometime into the sixth minute it's at only 200 ml/min and, at the rate, 100 percent brain oxygen saturation can no longer be maintained. Even as an uncomfortable pressure in his chest begins to gnaw at him, a survival mechanism triggers his heart to beat faster and get more blood flowing to the brain. This doesn't put more oxygen into the blood; it just gets more blood to the brain.
The blood flow continues to increase, but after another four minutes, it's hit twice it's normal rate and can't get any faster. Oxygen absorption from the lungs into the blood is down to 50 ml/min, and his brain starts taking emergency measure to keep itself alive. Blood flow to the extremities decreases in an effort to shunt more to the brain.
Despite these measures, oxygen saturation in the brain starts dropping. There simply isn't enough oxygen available to keep the level at 100 percent. In another two minutes it's down to 93 percent, and the athlete begins experiencing the symptoms of hypoxia.
He feels himself swaying, rotating, ass though swept by a current. The touch of a hand on his shoulder momentarily orients him and he realizes he's perfectly still, not moving at all. A small voice arrives, as if from a great distance, and tells him the elapsed time. He raises a finger in the air to let the coach know he's alright, and that small act grounds him once again.
But it's short-lived. Most of the air in his lungs has now turned into CO2 and his body, in a vain attempt to get him to seek fresh air, is assaulting his chest. The pressure has turned into pain; the gnawing has taken on the hint of suffocation.
The flow of oxygen from his lungs into his blood continues to slow, and the levels in his brain drop even further. After several more 15-second signals and responses, he begins hallucinating, his inner vision alternately brightening and darkening. He barely understands the time calls anymore, and his signals are largely based on reflex. Shadows swim before his closed eyes and he has to fight to remember who he is and why he's not breathing.
Something lands on his shoulder; almost too late he remembers what it is and raises a finger. The hesitation puts the coach on alert. Fifteen seconds later it happens again, but again the athlete got the finger up in time. Or did he? He raises it again just in case, and now the coach is worried: is he really responding purposefully or is he just on autopilot? He's going to shorten the interval to ten seconds.
The athlete's lung-to-blood absorption rate is down to 8 ml/min and his brain O2 level is at 86 percent. His chest is screaming, and there's a volcanic eruption inside trying to blow him apart. Poised at the very edge of blacking out, he feels a touch on his shoulder but it's more than a touch this time; it's a pain. The coach is squeezing him, hard, and he won't let go.
With everything left of his mental faculties the athlete forces himself to concentrate. He opens his mouth and exhales, a cloud of carbon dioxide bubbles boiling to the surface. He keeps his head in the water- no sense surfacing and stopping the clock if all he's going to do is exhale- and when the last of the gas is expelled he raises his head, tears off his goggles and nose clip, makes of circle of his thumb and forefinger and says 'I'm OK!' The judge acknowledges with a nod, and that makes the time official.
The athlete gasps, inhaling mightily. The putrid air of the Dead Sea is like the purest nectar he's ever tasted.
It's the first breath he's drawn in fourteen minutes and forty-seven seconds."
There you have it, the maximum static apnea possible by humans. I hope you guys enjoy this, it took forever to type this!
Again no copyrights or anything like that intended.
"Location: The Jordan Rift Valley
Date: December year 2672
Our ideal athlete is six feet six inches tall and weighs 180 pounds. He was born and raised in La Rinconda, a mining village of over seven thousand people in southern Peru that has been in existence for 50 years. At over 16,700 feet, only 800 feet shy of North Base Camp at Mt. Everest, it's the highest permanently inhabited town in the world. The athlete who doesn't experience the symptoms of hypoxia until his brain oxygen falls below 93 percent. He won't black out untill it drops below 85 percent.
His lung capacity is 13 liters. With packing, he can squeeze in another 1.2 liters without risking a potentially lethal lung injury. Because of residual volume, only 90 percent of it is usable, and only 21 percent is oxygen, so the total available oxygen in his lungs is 2.7 liters.
Someone living at an altitude near sea level has a blood oxygen-carrying capacity of about 20 ml of oxygen per 100 ml of blood (20ml/100 ml). But because of the greatly boosted red cell density in our ideal athlete's thickened blood, there is enough hemoglobin to carry 35 ml/ 100 ml. When at home in La Rinconada, he never gets even close to full capacity, but he will during his static apnea performance. It's going to be held at the Dead Sea, just east of Ein Gedi, Israel. At nearly 18,000 feet lower than his home elevation, the partial pressure of oxygen will be twice what it is at La Rinconada. For him it will be like breathing in a hyperbaric chamber, but in full compliance with AIDA rules because he's taking in only normal, ambient air.
The competition is held in a pool on the beach because the waters of the Dead Sea are not the kind you want to put your face in. For the first three minutes of the hold, oxygen will be absorbed into his blood at a rate of 1200 ml per minute. It's far more than he needs to keep his brain oxygen levels at 100 percent but there's no way for him to slow it down.
After three minutes, the absorption rate begins to drop. Sometime into the sixth minute it's at only 200 ml/min and, at the rate, 100 percent brain oxygen saturation can no longer be maintained. Even as an uncomfortable pressure in his chest begins to gnaw at him, a survival mechanism triggers his heart to beat faster and get more blood flowing to the brain. This doesn't put more oxygen into the blood; it just gets more blood to the brain.
The blood flow continues to increase, but after another four minutes, it's hit twice it's normal rate and can't get any faster. Oxygen absorption from the lungs into the blood is down to 50 ml/min, and his brain starts taking emergency measure to keep itself alive. Blood flow to the extremities decreases in an effort to shunt more to the brain.
Despite these measures, oxygen saturation in the brain starts dropping. There simply isn't enough oxygen available to keep the level at 100 percent. In another two minutes it's down to 93 percent, and the athlete begins experiencing the symptoms of hypoxia.
He feels himself swaying, rotating, ass though swept by a current. The touch of a hand on his shoulder momentarily orients him and he realizes he's perfectly still, not moving at all. A small voice arrives, as if from a great distance, and tells him the elapsed time. He raises a finger in the air to let the coach know he's alright, and that small act grounds him once again.
But it's short-lived. Most of the air in his lungs has now turned into CO2 and his body, in a vain attempt to get him to seek fresh air, is assaulting his chest. The pressure has turned into pain; the gnawing has taken on the hint of suffocation.
The flow of oxygen from his lungs into his blood continues to slow, and the levels in his brain drop even further. After several more 15-second signals and responses, he begins hallucinating, his inner vision alternately brightening and darkening. He barely understands the time calls anymore, and his signals are largely based on reflex. Shadows swim before his closed eyes and he has to fight to remember who he is and why he's not breathing.
Something lands on his shoulder; almost too late he remembers what it is and raises a finger. The hesitation puts the coach on alert. Fifteen seconds later it happens again, but again the athlete got the finger up in time. Or did he? He raises it again just in case, and now the coach is worried: is he really responding purposefully or is he just on autopilot? He's going to shorten the interval to ten seconds.
The athlete's lung-to-blood absorption rate is down to 8 ml/min and his brain O2 level is at 86 percent. His chest is screaming, and there's a volcanic eruption inside trying to blow him apart. Poised at the very edge of blacking out, he feels a touch on his shoulder but it's more than a touch this time; it's a pain. The coach is squeezing him, hard, and he won't let go.
With everything left of his mental faculties the athlete forces himself to concentrate. He opens his mouth and exhales, a cloud of carbon dioxide bubbles boiling to the surface. He keeps his head in the water- no sense surfacing and stopping the clock if all he's going to do is exhale- and when the last of the gas is expelled he raises his head, tears off his goggles and nose clip, makes of circle of his thumb and forefinger and says 'I'm OK!' The judge acknowledges with a nod, and that makes the time official.
The athlete gasps, inhaling mightily. The putrid air of the Dead Sea is like the purest nectar he's ever tasted.
It's the first breath he's drawn in fourteen minutes and forty-seven seconds."
There you have it, the maximum static apnea possible by humans. I hope you guys enjoy this, it took forever to type this!
Again no copyrights or anything like that intended.