MIAMI -- Interact with Jimmie Johnson, even in passing, and you'll notice almost immediately that his greatness should not be measured in wins or championships. It should not even be measured in a race car.

The wins and the championships and the race car merely provide the platform to display the impact of his greatness.

The greatness is the man.

Jimmie Johnson is a father and husband first and foremost, a six-time Sprint Cup champion second. Graythen/Getty Images

This is an estimate based on experience: I probably know 20 men who will tell you Jimmie Johnson is his best friend. Rare is the man who integrates seamlessly into every crowd. Rarer still is the man who means it.

Johnson makes it look easy. He makes everything look easy. That's his true talent. Because the fact is, nothing he does is easy. Racing is not easy. Winning is damn sure not easy. Parenting and husbanding aren't easy. He's just willing to work harder than you are.

It's no wonder so many folks think they hate him.

They don't hate him. They envy him.

Sustained envy invariably produces a false sense of dislike.

Then you meet the guy. And you realize he's the real deal. Suddenly you're faced with a choice: love or hate. His competitors love him. All of them. And he beats them. A lot. The decision's on you, man. He's cool with either one.

Because he's spread thin. Thinner than his frame, recently reshaped through endurance-training workouts so ridiculous you must see to believe. Granted, seeing doesn't equal understanding. One must participate to understand. And not many could hack it. Not many can do what he does on the pavement (20-mile runs at a pace of 7:21 a mile; 45-mile road bike rides) or in the drink (3,000 meters in an Olympic-size pool).

This training is merely the latest example of an unmitigated desire to recreate himself in the tireless effort to ensure he doesn't rest on past achievement. The past is nice. He appreciates it. The past has made for a sweet life. But the past is dangerous. And the past terrifies him.