STARKVILLE, Miss. -- The temperature was 92 degrees. The humidity, 81 percent. And the Mississippi State football players had one of their most challenging days of offseason training ahead.

Yet outside the Bulldogs' locker room, there was a sense of relief as a welcome breeze greeted the players as they headed toward "The Compound" for another grueling workout.

	It is often back-breaking work to stay in shape for the football season ahead, as Mississippi State's Tray Clark can attest.

"You pray for days like this," said Scott Goldberg, a sophomore walk-on who seemed unfazed by the beads of sweat trickling down his face. "It makes life so much easier."

Before the day is through, Mississippi State's players will climb a 30-foot rope, scale an 8-foot wall, flip a 600-pound tire and pull a 130-pound tire 60 yards across a sandy pit. They'll be cursed, berated, encouraged and humiliated. They'll be told water is for wimps.

And there will be no complaints.

A year after three college football players and another player in the NFL died of heat-related causes following similar offseason conditioning drills, the Mississippi State players put their bodies to the test, revving their internal engines into the red during a typically stifling summer day in the South. They say the physically strenuous and mentally draining workout is a necessary evil to prepare themselves for a rigorous football season ahead.

So just like players with other college football programs across the country, they press on. Some are convinced last year's deaths would never happen at their school. Others say they realize how easily a similar tragedy could hit close to home, but choose to look the other way.

"I don't know the story of what happened last year," Mississippi State quarterback Kevin Fant said. "I know I don't take proteins and stuff, my body is clean and I'm in great shape, so I push hard and try to do everything I can."

He's not alone. Across the country, on campuses from Boston to Tucson, Ariz., little has changed in college football since the offseason workout deaths of DeVaughn Darling, Eraste Autin and Rashidi Wheeler.

Sure, there's water at workouts. Sure, there might be tarps on the sidelines to protect players from the sun. And sure, some schools may pass out Popsicles to keep their players cool. But the reality remains that little has changed.

Coaches are pushing players. Players are pushing themselves. Lifting weights, running "gassers," climbing stairs, scurrying across obstacles courses, all to get ready for the hell that is August two-a-days.

	Assistant strength coach Paul Lacoste, right, encourages three Mississippi State football players during a drill at 'The Compound.'

"If we didn't do this, our players wouldn't survive. Day 1 of two-a-days would be full of carting people off the field and out of the way so practice could go on," said Mike Grant, Mississippi State's drill sergeant-like strength coach who devised a grueling, 13-task obstacle course that helps football players stay in shape in the offseason. Dubbed "The Compound," it is modeled after a similar facility used to train Navy SEALS in Coronado, Calif.

"It's just like the Army," Grant said. "They train for war during peace time. If you wait for the war to start, you're through."

It was February 2001 when DeVaughn Darling, a Seminoles sophomore girding for a battle on the football field that wasn't to come for another six months later, collapsed and died following a predawn, voluntary workout at Florida State. According to the autopsy report, the combination of an intense workout, irregular heartbeat and the sickle-cell trait that coursed through his body likely contributed to his death.

It was July 2001 when Eraste Autin, a freshman running back at Florida, was felled by heatstroke following a voluntary workout in Gainesville. He died six days later.

Only two weeks had passed when Rashidi Wheeler, a senior safety at Northwestern and an asthmatic, suffered a severe asthma attack during wind sprints at a voluntary workout on the practice field. He died an hour later.

The trio of deaths, coupled with the passing of Minnesota Vikings offensive lineman Korey Stringer from heat stroke during the team's training camp a year ago Thursday, have led many to wonder -- strange coincidence or troubling trend?

According to the National Center for Catastrophic Sports Injuries, it is the latter. In the 1980s, 13 football players (at all levels) died from heat-related ailments. The tally rose to 15 in the 1990s, and so far seven players have died over the past two years alone.

The increase is so drastic that heat illness is now the No. 1 killer in football, replacing on-field, direct-contact injuries.

"And I think the numbers will increase if schools don't start taking the proper precautions," said Dr. Douglas Casa, a kinesiology professor at the University of Connecticut and the chair for the National Athletic Trainers Association's position statement on heat illness. "The size of today's players, coupled with the supplements they take and how hard they work, is becoming a dangerous combination."

Already there are small changes. At Florida, where Autin died a year ago, offseason workouts were moved from the heat of the afternoon to the cooler morning hours. In addition, Gator nutritionist Michelle Rockwell met with players individually, instead of in a group setting, to talk about their medical background and acclimation to hot and humid environments.

How much Northwestern has changed its conditioning regimen isn't known. The school's athletic department officials won't comment because of the pending litigation, saying only through a spokesperson, "We are adhering to all of the NCAA's guidelines."

Both the NCAA and the American Football Coaches Association have launched educational campaigns to heighten awareness of heat issues, including the impact of nutritional supplements, medications, existing medical conditions and dehydration.

Still, it's a macho sport with a macho mentality that will be nearly impossible to break down. If a trio of deaths haven't done it, what will?

Arizona wide receiver Bobby Wade was visiting a friend at Northwestern last summer and was on the practice field when Wheeler collapsed before his very eyes. Still, his attitude remains unchanged.

"As far as me backing off and being afraid of pushing myself to death, no," Wade said. "I'm aware how hard I can push. And I can never push too far.

"I'll push myself until I can't go no more."

The first line
The challenge for players like Wade is to push themselves to their physical limit, without going over. It can be a fine line between life and death.

	Nathan Jackson reaches the top of the rope climb, part of the obstacle course in Starkville, Miss.

The players say they know their bodies, and they know when to stop. The coaches say they know their players and know when to stop them. But with 120 bodies rumbling up and down a field, how can a coach truly tell when one player may be in physical distress?

"That's the horror we have as coaches," said Grant Teaff, president of the American Football Coaches Association and a former head coach at Baylor.

In 1990, Teaff saw redshirt-freshman John Karkoska die after overheating in practice. Karkoska had been promoted to offensive guard and didn't tell anyone he had a viral infection for fear he'd be sent back to the bench. "After we lost John, it was so difficult for me to push the players as hard as I know they needed to be pushed," Teaff said. "I had to make myself do the things I needed to do to have them prepared to play the game they needed. It was tough."

But how does a coach know when a player is being lazy and when he is in serious heath dangers?

"You get a feel for it. You can just read the individual," Grant said. "The strength coach knows more about these kids by the time they graduate than probably the parents do. I can tell who a kid is walking away from me, in full uniform out of 140 kids. I know more about them than my own kids. You just sort of get a feel for them. You can read them, look into their eyes and know when they're not putting out and when they really need help."

The Regulations
The NCAA was already reviewing its offseason workout policies when last year's deaths occurred. The tragedies sped up the process, with many critics suggesting the NCAA should drastically reduce -- or even ban -- the training.

	With megaphone in hand, there's no question that Mike Grant is in charge during offseason workouts at Mississippi State.

In April, the NCAA approved emergency proposals that have been instituted this summer, including one that allows incoming freshmen and junior college transfers to participate in offseason workouts. The NCAA also changed a policy that extends medical insurance coverage to players who are injured during offseason workouts.

So far there have been no measures to ban or limit workouts, though changes could come next spring. One NCAA committee has suggested eliminating supervised offseason activities, including weight training and conditioning, in all sports. Another proposal suggests removing strength coaches from the equation.

Players, coaches and, of course, the strength and conditioning coaches themselves, disagree with such drastic measures.

"The conditioning coach knows more about a player, more about his health and his conditioning strength than anybody else," Jackie Sherrill, Mississippi State's coach, said. "I bet if you went around the country and asked every player which coach they were closest with, every single one of them would have the strength coach in their top three. And removing that position doesn't make sense."

Said Oklahoma coach Bob Stoops: "The more time you give 'em on their own, they're gonna find a place to workout. And who knows who they are around? There is always the fear of steroid use, not training properly, improper lifts. It can lead to a lot of other problems."

One of which, says Florida strength and conditioning coach Rob Glass, is not having someone on hand to tell a player when to back off from training for fear of injury. Autin, who died during a workout with Glass last year, was often the first player to complete the drills. Without a strength coach on hand, nobody would be there to tighten the reigns on an inexperienced player who pushes himself too hard.

"At Florida especially, most of our young kids are highly motivated, driven athletes. They see all these big dudes and think, 'Holy cow, I've got to get going,'" Glass said. "And they push themselves to great extremes. Without someone there to slow these guys down once in awhile, who knows what would happen."

Most of the players agree. At Mississippi State, where Grant grills his players through a summer of sprints, cross-campus jogs and challenging obstacle courses, the players actually thank Grant after a workout. After a 3-8 season last year, they see the sweaty afternoons that leave them drained as a way to close the gap between them and the elite of the college football world.

"Eliminating these workouts would be a bad idea," said Mario Haggan, a junior linebacker for the Bulldogs. "Just a real bad idea. Mike is like a father figure to us. He pushes us to the limit. He shows us just what our bodies can do. He teaches us what it's like to be cursed and pushed. And after we've been through the war with him, we know we can survive anything."

"Voluntary" workouts
Part of the problem, critics say, is that offseason workouts are supposed to be voluntary. Though a coach may not come right out and say it, there is the understanding that missing a "voluntary" summer workout could jeopardize a player's place on the depth chart.

	Even an offseason strength and conditioning drill can be filled with fearless tasks.

In 1991, the NCAA issued limits on practice times both during the competitive season and offseason. Previously, NCAA regulations allowed 20 hours per week of practice in season and eight hours per week the rest of the year.

The new limitations allowed 20 hours of practice per week in season and eight hours of practice per week during the remainder of the academic year. Summer workouts were permitted, as long as they were voluntary.

But they're not.

At Nebraska: "It's expected here," senior defensive lineman Chris Kelsay said. "I mean you ask anybody. If you miss, you'll be up in the stadium stands running, doing 50-yard bear crawls, pushing the cart, whatever it is. You'll have a punishment, I know that."

At South Carolina: "The reality of it is, if you don't (participate), you'll be on the scout team next fall," assistant coach Skip Holtz told the Charleston Post-Observer.

At BYU: "The only thing I have to say about the voluntary part is, it's voluntary whether the coaches put you on the field in the fall," Cougar tight end Spencer Nead told the Deseret News. "So you'd better be here."

And at Mississippi State: "There's no such thing as voluntary," Sherrill said. "It's not any different than missing class. If this isn't important to them, that means football isn't important to them. And when it's 4th-and-1, you have to ask yourself if that's the guy you want on the field."

In its simplest form, strength coaches demand so much in summer workouts that if you aren't there, you're behind. Gone are the days of going home and working on the farm. While some players don't mind, others question what happened to summer vacation.

"If you don't show up, I'll run you," said Grant, the Bulldogs' strength coach. "And if you go home for the summer, you're going to be behind. You're not going to beat yourself up everyday like I am. It's inhumane to do yourself like that. Come practice, you just won't be ready."

Teaff says it's semantics. He believes changing the terminology from "voluntary" to "non-mandatory" would help clear things up for all parties involved.

"If you think about it, voluntary puts the emphasis on the student-athlete and the pressure on the student-athlete as well," Teaff said. "Non-mandatory says to the coach you cannot mandate."

Moving on
Last week's Wednesday workout at Mississippi State was the last for this summer. Afterward, Hagan walked over to Grant and thanked him. Others gave Grant a friendly pat on the shoulder, the tough guy's way to hug.

The message was simple: The players want this. They need this. If it was taken away, they'll do it anyway.

The challenge is finding a way to prepare a player for the upcoming season by pushing him to the absolute limit, without going over.

"We're not making rocket fuel for the space shuttle," Grant said. "We're helping kids get ready for football season. And some guy sitting in an office, whose probably never played football, is trying to take that away. It's just not right."

Wayne Drehs is a staff writer for ESPN.com. He can be reached at wayne.drehs@espn.com