Dick Kelley walks laps with his “adaptive ski pole” at the Kirk Family YMCA as he listens to tunes on his iPod. He said he is into modern rock these days and enjoys bands such as the Killers and MGMT.

Despite being diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, Richard “Dick” Kelley is still a familiar face at the Kirk Family YMCA in Roanoke. He wants to complete at least 100 yards of each leg in an upcoming triathlon. He also hopes to raise awareness about ALS, a condition for which there is no known cause or cure.

Determined to participate in a portion of the upcoming triathlon at Smith Mountain Lake despite dealing with Lou Gehrig’s disease, Dick Kelley joins a group of cyclists on a recent ride. Right: Kelley swims under the watchful eye of lifeguard John Moore at the Bedford Area Family YMCA.

Following a workout, Dick Kelley and Sam Schneider (right) go for lunch at one of Kelley’s favorite places, Aesy’s. Kelley, who no longer drives, relies on friends to get him to appointments and to exercise opportunities.

Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis can be difficult to diagnose. Dick Kelley underwent tests to see if another disease might be mimicking its symptoms.

As Dick Kelley becomes increasingly affected by ALS, he requires more assistance with tasks such as eating meals. At dinner, his wife, Carol Kelley, helps him with a bib so that he can enjoy a dinner of soup.

Carol Kelley folds her husband’s Lou Gehrig jersey after he wore it during a speaking engagement.

Determined to participate in a portion of the upcoming triathlon at Smith Mountain Lake despite dealing with Lou Gehrig’s disease, Dick Kelley joins a group of cyclists on a recent ride. Right: Kelley swims under the watchful eye of lifeguard John Moore at the Bedford Area Family YMCA.

Richard “Dick” Kelley was falling down on the ski slope. A lot.

He was not used to that. He was an experienced skier, a guy who preferred the difficult telemark style with all of its tricky turns. The style is so hard to master, telemarkers have their own joke about it:

“Why does it take so long for a telemarker to replace a light bulb?

“They turn. They fall. Turn. Fall. Turn. Fall. …”

That’s what Kelley was doing, turning and falling. Just as he’d try to initiate a turn, he would corkscrew into the snow. He was sure it was his back, which had been tight and painful for weeks. His right wrist was killing him, too. He chalked it up to being on the back side of 60, still trying to enjoy the sports of his younger days.

That was in December. Today, he uses his ski pole as a cane. He no longer has the use of his right arm. He cannot drive. Walking up a short flight of stairs is a physical strain. When he is fatigued, his body trembles.

Barely one month after skiing down the slopes of West Virginia’s Snowshoe Mountain, Kelley learned the reason why his body was failing. In January, he was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. Most people call it Lou Gehrig’s disease, an insidious neurodegenerative condition named for the legendary baseball player who died of the disease in 1941. The majority of people with the degenerative disease live three to five years after diagnosis. The disease has no known cause or cure.

The stunning diagnosis left Kelley not knowing how much time he has left, but knowing what he wants to do. This former Army commander and Vietnam War veteran and top-notch athlete has two primary missions he wants to complete:

— He wants to raise public awareness about a disease even he knew little about.

— And he wants to compete in a triathlon, at least partially, with his granddaughter.

Still pedaling, part one

Kelley climbed atop a stationary recumbent bicycle at the Kirk Family YMCA. He used to look at people who pedaled those bikes — on which riders recline as if lounging in easy chairs — and wonder how strenuous a workout they were getting.

“Now, it’s the only thing I can do,” he said.

With jet-black hair and a slender athletic build that barely betrays the disease that is decimating his body, Kelley looks a decade younger than his 63 years. His choice of music on his iPod belies his years, as well. These days, he is into modern rock and prefers working out to the Flaming Lips, MGMT and the Killers.

“Not a really good song,” he said as he fiddled with his iPod while pedaling the recumbent. He shuffled through his playlist until he landed on a song he liked. “Ah, here’s one of my favorites.”

The song was “Human,” by the Killers, which features the refrain:

“Are we human or are we dancer?

My sign is vital, my hands are cold,

And I’m on my knees

Looking for the answer.

Are we human or are we dancer?”

He pedaled for 25 minutes, barely breaking a sweat. As he dismounted the bike, a couple of fellows on treadmills called out to him.

“Dick, you entering any triathlons?” one of them asked.

“Yeah, I’m going to enter one,” he said. “I got to get that T-shirt. It’s a $60 T-shirt.”

Kelley is one of those guys whom everybody seems to know. That happens when you work as a public servant for 25 years, which Kelley did as assistant superintendent for Roanoke’s schools.

He’s also well-known among Roanoke’s biking, running and skiing communities. He has a ton of friends and they all know he has ALS. Many of them are helping him, either by giving him rides to the Y or to the movies, or by competing in upcoming races in his honor as a way to raise awareness of ALS.

His neighbor Sam Schneider is competing in the Angels Race Triathlon in Lynchburg on April 26. Kelley will participate in a portion of the Angels Race with Schneider. He has found that he can still swim effectively as long as he wears fins, which rules forbid, but race organizers are making an exception for him.

If all goes well in that race, he should be ready for the Appalachian Power Smith Mountain Lake Triathlon on May 2. He knows he can’t complete all of the race’s three legs. He simply wants to complete at least 100 yards of the swimming, running and biking portions with his granddaughter, Tricia Gangstad, who is coming to Virginia from Texas just to compete with her grandfather.

“It kind of came up the same night grandma called to tell me about grandpa’s diagnosis,” said Gangstad, 28, whose mother is Kelley’s stepdaughter. Kelley’s wife, Carol, has three children from a previous marriage, but all of the stepgrandchildren call Kelley “grandpa.”