James Ames

That's the name of my mother's father. 
I never call him that though (his name is Grandpa) and the first time it was called to my attention that James Ames is, in fact, his name was when he first told me about the 2nd to last Grandma's Half Marathon he ever ran. He did the last one only in an effort to make up for how bad the 2nd to last one was.
The morning started out promising: He had his running shoes, his hat, a watch. Everything seemed perfectly in order. It was only when he was 45 minutes away from his house and nearly to the bus (that would bring him to the starting line) that he remembered that he needed the chip for his shoe. See, when he started running the Half Marathon, there was no such thing as chips that go on your shoe and magically tell the race officials who has crossed the finish line when. There were just bibs on people's chests and cameras to capture the finish. So naturally, the trooper that my Grandpa was (is), he drove back to his house in Cloquet, grabbed the chip waiting patiently on the kitchen table and drove through morning traffic to the bus stop.
As soon as he pulled up and hopped out of his car, there was a kindly woman with a cowbell in one had and a phone in the other waving her hands around and shouting that all of the buses for the Half Marathon had already left but if he was willing, he could take the bus for runners of the full Marathon and run the few miles to the starting line.
My Grandpa, of course, was certainly willing.
He ran the 3.5 miles to the starting line and started as soon as he got there (Keep in mind, the Half Marathon is a little over 13 miles).
A while later as my Grandpa was chugging along on the trail he began to hear a distinct whirring noise that grew louder and louder like thunder. He turned around slowly to see the bikers (Those who cannot run, and thus bike, the Marathon) flying towards him. He dived off the trail as they raced past and then presumed chugging along. A while later, my Grandpa began to hear a loud pounding that grew louder and louder. He turned around to see the Kenyans rounding the bend. They soon surpassed him and my Grandpa kept on chugging.
Soon enough, he neared the finish. One of the many beneficial aspects of the chip was it told the location of every runner on the trail and when they would cross the finish line, the announcer would call out their name and it would be displayed on the screen.
"James Ames. 10 year participant. First place finisher in the Marathon!"
*brief pause*
"Sorry folks, he was actually running the Half Marathon."

Luckily, the next year my father and brother spent the evening with him and made sure to send him off with all of the things he needed. That time he finished with everyone else.