Growing up, I remember an old man with a toque and big boxing glove mittens, jogging down the sidewalk along Riverbend Road in the dead of winter. Shirtless. Each year I’d watch him as we drove by in our warm car just shocked–and amazed, thinking that this had to be the year he caught pneumonia and died. My parents would just shake their heads in unbelief as they watched him too. But even though we thought he was crazy, we really, really admired him. We didn’t really know why he did what he did every winter, but we knew he must have some sort of iron will–some incredible motivation to do it. I…