On the Road with Cruiser: The "Beep" Test

A palpable buzz issues from the locker room and practice fields as fall camp rushes toward the players. Returning lettermen seem almost as giddy as incoming freshmen. After winning ten straight games to finish last year, the team has worked hard in the off-season and now stands on the verge of national recognition and a potential BCS game.

But, among the veterans, there is also a sense of apprehension—a breath-catching, knee-weakening expectation of the pain they will experience six days a week for the next four weeks. They will check in and receive their gear on Friday, and then, if the schedule is similar to previous years, they will face the dreaded "Beep" test sometime in the first week.

In the beep test, Coach Omer has all 105 players line up across the practice field, then he pushes a button on a CD player. A loud "beeeeep" issues from a large pair of old, beat-up speakers, and the players start running. Their goal is to get to a line 20 yards away before the next beep. At first, the beeps are far apart, and the players jog and even take their time lining up again. But each succeeding beep comes a little sooner. And a little sooner. And sooner. And eventually players begin missing the line. But just because you don’t reach the line in time, you aren’t automatically eliminated. As long as you make the next line, you stay in. But if you miss two in a row, you’re history.

After 50 reps or so (about 1,000 yards) the linemen are really laboring. Some are grunting as they cross each line. Some are already sprinting. And then the first guy drops out, usually with a long, agonizing groan, and others look around to see who it is. Sometimes a jeer or insult will be hurled, but that first victim also seems to open the floodgates as more linemen start dropping out, some almost grateful, others angry at their lack of progress since last year, all absolutely exhausted. Then a linebacker or two drops out, and then a fullback will surprise everybody by falling to his knees and joining others emptying their stomachs. A tight end might fall, then a quarterback, but by now the jeers have stopped, as the beeps come faster and faster, as every man fights against burning lungs and screaming thighs, as every man fights for his reputation on the team, as every man does anything he can to make 20 yards before another beep.

After 100 reps only receivers, defensive backs, and possibly a running back or two are left. At 110, even the fastest players are sprinting and scrambling back before the next beep. At 120, very few are left. At 130, usually only one remains, and he is accelerating at an impossibly fast pace, trying to beat the record, which rumor has it is held by a superhuman named Miekle, a freak of nature who supposedly once forced his perfectly honed 5-foot-8 body through over150 reps—nearly two miles.

Will anybody threaten the record this year? It’s hard to say. One reason Coach Omer makes them do this early in camp is to determine each player’s level of fitness. Afterwards, he will know better how much pain they will have to endure before arriving at championship condition—the level of fitness that allows them to make PAC-10 teams like Oregon look like high school kids in the fourth quarter.

Yes, the players are buzzing with excitement for a new season, but in the back of each veteran’s mind a little video is replaying itself, one with a constant "beep," a recurring, accelerating nightmare that chases sleep, deadens appetites, and even makes breathing hard. The video runs on a continuous loop, faster and faster, repeating: "The beep test is coming. The beep test is coming. The beep test is coming . . ."