Inside the House of Speed

Football Digest, Dec, 2000 by Tim O'Shei

DON BEEBE HAS THIS CLAIM: He can make anyone faster. Anyone who's willing to work, that is.

I decided to take him up on that challenge. And so here I am, leaping like a 200-pound bullfrog and dripping more fluid than a faucet. Beebe is telling us that these monstrous leaps help develop explosiveness. I believe him. My legs feel like they'll explode any minute.

But truth be told, my thighs hold up just fine, so I'm off to the next activity. In this one, we perform a variety of step drills through a floor ladder. One is a side step: right foot in, left foot in, right up, left out, left in, left up ... Another is a march skip: knees high, elbows high.

"It may look funny;" Beebe tells us. (He's right: We look like oversized Munchkins dancing over the remains of the wicked witch.) "But it works." Beebe used to be the fastest man in the NFL. I'd be the fastest man if I was in a retirement home. Beebe was a third-round NFL draft pick in 1989. I was a second-round cut from the varsity baseball team.

Get the ugly picture? I'm not athletic. But I'm always game for an adventure, and I'm not easily embarrassed. So when the idea came up to attend Beebe's speed clinic, held in the Buffalo Bills Fieldhouse last summer, I was all for it.

The House of Speed

After he retired a little more than two years ago following a career spent mostly with the Bills and the Green Bay Packers, Beebe returned to his native Illinois wanting to stay in the game. "When I retired in May [of 1998]," he says, "I was thinking about what I wanted to do. I knew I'd always liked working with kids."

So by June, Beebe had set up his new business, HoUse of Speed. Working with Dr. Jeff Schutt, a chiropractor and rehabilitation specialist, Beebe began offering speed clinics, first in Illinois and eventually around the country. In July 2000, Beebe -came to Buffalo for a three-day clinic, like most House of Speed classes, two sessions were offered: a morning round for kids (up to age 14) and an afternoon group for athletes age 15 and up.

Each afternoon, I'm there to sweat and burn with well-muscled varsity athletes, Division I hopefuls. (Sort of like George Plimpton in his book "Paper Lion," in which he plays last-string quarterback for the Detroit Lions.)

The clinic is divided into three days. The first is instruction, heavily focused on techniques and form. Day 2 is the major calorie-burner, a marathon of drills. And the last one is focused on competition. "That's when we all get to see," Beebe says, "which one of you has the most heart." As Beebe says this, some of the athletes cast steely gazes straight into his eyes. They've got the heart.

A few kids pick at the Astro Turf with their fingernails, or nudge their nearby buddies. No heart there.

Me? I'm feeling like the Tin Man. We still need to find out where my heart's at.

A Balancing Act

In the minutes before the first session begins, several dozen teenagers are milling around the Buffalo Bills Fieldhouse, probably wondering how many sprints they will be asked to run. Several curious parents are standing around, too. When Beebe and Schutt gather everyone, we're immediately put into lines. Now I know I'm in a boot camp for speed.

Stretching is the first challenge. I'm 23 years old and can still touch my toes, but just to make sure, I spent the previous few weeks practicing. That way, I figured, I wouldn't look un-athletic.

Little did I suspect we'd warm up like the Karate Kid.

Dr. Schutt stands at the head of our rows and shows us a stretch that demands a little more than bending over. "Athletes need to be balanced," he says. "This is a warm-up that will increase your balance. It will warm up your muscles--it'll tone your muscles."

Following Schutt's lead, I lift my right knee to waist level, keeping my left leg almost perfectly straight and my thighs tensely squeezed. First we extend our right feet forward--in a slow-motion kick--and hold it there for a 10-count.

After doing that a few times, the leg is extended straight back for another 10. Next we extend our right foot to each side. The same is done for the left foot, and other body parts as well.

"What you put into these is what you'll get out," Schutt tells us. Beebe adds, "If you're doing this right, you should feel a burn around your hip." I must be doing something right.

Each of the stretches is done with one leg supporting the body, and whenever the other foot touches the ground, we owe a push-up. "OK, do your push-ups if you owe any," Schutt announces at the merciful conclusion.

We all sort of look around to see who will start. What the heck, I figure. I drop to the turf and grunt out five quick push-ups, plus a promise to myself to do fewer tomorrow. (No luck, by the way. The next day I do seven push-ups.)

One in a Million

Beebe plans to become a coach someday, and he's already good at talking straight. A few times each session he gathers the group together for a coach-style pep talk. "Only one in a million kids make it to the pros," he says. "For the ones who do, it's because they were willing to do what it takes."