Published: October 30, 2026
Estimated reading time: 9 minutes
“Oh, it’s terminal. It’ll kill you.”
It took a moment for the words to register.
Simple and direct, they carried the kind of message no one is ever fully prepared to hear.
But John Ramsey wasn’t ready to confront his own mortality. He was one of the healthiest 63-year-old men he knew.
So hearing a neurologist tell him, this bluntly, he likely had ALS, was much more than a gut punch. It was a knockout blow.
“Not very good bedside manner,” he recalled, now two years later. “It hit me like a ton of bricks.”
He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know what to do next.
So, he walked out of the doctor’s office, through the rain, into to his car. And he just … sat.
The words began to settle in.
“I sat in my car for 10 minutes staring at my windshield wipers, just thinking, ‘Wow, I might be dying.’”
To John, the gym is a sanctuary.
“Working out has always been my drug, my passion,” he said. “It really wasn’t an ego thing either, because I did it in my basement. It was just the way I worked out my issues. If I was in a bad mood or if I wasn’t myself, my wife would say, ‘Why don’t you go knock out a workout?’”
For years, fitness was a constant.
His routine included high-intensity interval training (HIIT) twice a week, cardio workouts several times a week and a lengthy strength-training session. The regimen kept him strong and healthy well into his 60s.
Then, seemingly overnight, something changed.
“It used to be that I could knock out 70 pushups and talk to you [while I was doing it],” he said. “Then I went to 50, then to 40, then to 20, and then to 10.”
He brushed it off. Maybe he was just getting older.
Then he remembered a workout with his son, Jackson, during a family vacation in Atlanta, Georgia.
“We were doing overhead presses, and usually I could do three sets of 20, 15, then 10 reps with 60-pound weights in each hand,” John said. “But that day, I put the 60s in my hand and I couldn’t get two [reps]. Then I went 50 pounds, and I only got 10 reps. Then I tried the 40s, which before I could have probably done 50 reps. And I said to my son, ‘Something is wrong with me.’”
None of it made sense.
How could someone who’d spent decades lifting weights suddenly have his power zapped?
Then, came the strangest of all the symptoms.
His left bicep began to twitch.
“I went to my general practitioner and showed him the twitching,” John said. “And I was still in denial. I thought, I’m just getting older. My shoulders are going bad. I’m getting weaker. It’s part of aging. But this happened too quickly.”
After examining him, his doctor had concerns.
“He said, ‘I think it’s systemic.’”
Two months later, both biceps were twitching.
It was getting worse. He went back to the doctor.
“I could wake up in the middle of the night and it looked like ‘Poltergeist,’” John said. “It looked like something was living inside my biceps. They were just moving all the time.”
His general practitioner referred him to a neurologist.
Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, commonly known as ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease, is a progressive neurological disorder that affects the motor neurons, the nerve cells responsible for controlling voluntary muscle movement.
As these nerve cells deteriorate and die, the brain gradually loses its ability to communicate with muscles throughout the body. Over time, people with ALS can lose the ability to move, speak, swallow and breathe independently.
ALS most commonly affects people between the ages of 40 and 70 and affects about 5 out of every 100,000 people worldwide. About 5% to 10% of cases are inherited, but for most people, the cause remains unknown.
The Norton Neuroscience Institute ALS Multidisciplinary Clinic brings together specialized neurologists, respiratory therapists, dietitians, occupational therapists and other health specialists. Directed by Mark P. Bazant, M.D., neurologist with Norton Neuroscience Institute specializing in ALS, the clinic provides medication and supportive care.
“ALS will affect people in a variety of ways — speech, strength, swallowing, breathing and many, many more,” Dr. Bazant said. “The foundation of our care is supportive, and we pay attention to the places a patient can experience those issues and catch them. That way, we can maximize their independence and help them to do what they love for as long as possible.”
While there is currently no cure for ALS, medications and specialized care can help slow disease progression and improve quality of life.
“It can be frustrating — both for patients and providers — knowing there is no cure for ALS,” Dr. Bazant said. “So, we go into clinic acknowledging our role is to see where people are now, physically and emotionally, meet them where they are and do what we can as holistically as possible.”
Following his diagnosis in November 2024, John went for more tests.
He met with an orthopedic surgeon friend who ordered MRI and X-ray imaging, which showed nerve compression in his neck. Then he sought a second opinion from another neurologist, who confirmed the diagnosis. He even tried physical therapy.
Eventually, he was referred to Dr. Bazant.
Together, they developed a treatment plan that included ALS-specific medications, along with comprehensive supportive care.
“They’ve been fabulous,” John said. “Dr. Bazant has that perfect combination of critical advice and professional knowledge that I needed, along with some warmth and true caring. I feel it. He’s been the right guy for the job.”
In addition to following his treatment plan, John continues searching for clinical trials and emerging therapies. His goal is simple: Keep going long enough to benefit from the next breakthrough.
“John … has more strength than the average person, which is a great thing for him,” Dr. Bazant said. “I think since his diagnosis, he’s been really engaged in the world of ALS, especially with how philanthropic he is. I know he’s going to do a great job of taking care of himself.”
These days, nearly everything takes a little longer.
Getting dressed and into the car require help from his wife, Jill. Walking and talking at the same time is difficult. He gets winded easily. His diaphragm has weakened. His voice is strained, and his upper body is losing strength.
The weight room that once served as his sanctuary is firmly in the past. The weights just can’t go up like they used to.
But John refuses to surrender to the disease.
“Life is a gift,” John said. “You should live with all you’ve got. But then when you’re given a window, when it’s pretty exact on how long you have, it’s straightforward. You have to come to a choice: Am I going to feel sorry for myself, or am I going to love on people a little more?’ Yeah, I chose the latter.”
So, he carries on …
He’s still walking; his legs work quite well. He’s also working full-time.
As Louisville’s director of city partnerships, he serves as the city’s chief relationship-builder, connecting the Mayor’s Office with businesses, nonprofits, neighborhood organizations and community leaders across Louisville.
In October, he received the 2026 John Asher Spirit Award, which recognizes community leaders who embody its namesake’s legacy of philanthropy, compassion and civic engagement. The honor reflected more than three decades of service and support for dozens of charitable and nonprofit organizations.
He’s still setting goals, too.
In July, he danced with Jill at their son Jackson’s wedding.
The next one is even bigger: a chance to meet and hold his first grandchild, expected in January.
He’s also leaning more heavily into his faith than ever before, finding comfort and strength in prayer and, fittingly for a former radio disc jockey, in music.
“I talk to God a lot in the car,” he said. “Through music, He communicates. He’ll play certain songs right when I need them. One day, I was beating up myself a little bit with regrets, [saying] ‘I wish I had done this, and I wish I’d have done that.’ And suddenly, Billy Joel’s song, ‘I Love You Just the Way You Are,’ came on.
“And I said to myself, ‘Yes, I’m flawed. I am. But God loves me just the way I am, and I believe that with all my heart.’”
John also draws inspiration from one of his oldest friends: the late Muhammad Ali.
The two met at a Kentucky Derby party when John was 20 years old and formed a friendship that lasted decades.
He traveled the world alongside the heavyweight boxer, spent time with him whenever he returned home to Louisville and stood by him during his battle with Parkinson’s disease. When the boxing champ and humanitarian icon died in 2016, John was one of four eulogists chosen to memorialize him, alongside Billy Crystal, Bryant Gumbel and former President Bill Clinton.
Today, 10 years later, he often reflects on the example Muhammad set, and if there is something to draw from both of their diagnoses.
“I was very, very blessed because he was truly the best example of the human spirit I’ve ever met, and it’s not close,” John said. “Regardless of fame, he was just good to the core.”
“He was the gold standard of being able to appreciate what he had. He was never angry at anyone. He accepted his fate with grace. He’s kind of my north star, and I’m trying to follow his example, but it’s hard.”
It’s all still a bit of a whirlwind. It’s hard not to dwell in despair.
But John is determined to stay positive, making the most of the time he has left.
The future remains uncertain, and some days are harder than others. But he leans on his faith, family and friends. He celebrates small victories. He continues to look ahead.
Most of all, he refuses to let ALS define him.
“I have learned to live with an attitude of gratitude,” he said. “I don’t fear death. I really don’t. I mean, I don’t want it, but I’ve lived a very vibrant life.”