Living Well with ALS: Greg Fisk

Greg Fisk joined his first Ski ALS event at Mt. Hood Meadows in 2025. Thanks to support from fundraising events like this one, he is able to receive services from ALS Northwest like monthly support group meetings and tailored guidance and resources at no cost.

We all know ALS enters people’s lives unexpectedly. Greg Fisk’s diagnosis was no less shocking despite his familiarity with the disease – his cousin had passed away from ALS. Greg and his wife, Laura, had only been reconnected for a couple years when he started experiencing his first symptom: foot drop. 

Greg chuckled with his coffee in hand as he recalled his first symptom getting the better of him. “Once, while walking with my friends, I tripped and fell face-down, not realizing it was my drop foot I had tripped over. ‘Gosh, these rocks,’ I said. My friends looked around, confused, and called me out: ‘there are no rocks here, Greg!’ We still laugh about it now.”

Greg was definitively diagnosed with ALS in 2023. Despite that, he continues to live a vivacious life with Laura – as well as their horses, dogs, chickens, and ducks. Given that his life hasn’t been the same, he has taken many steps to maintain autonomy and independence. 

Growing up in Oregon, Greg took advantage of the outdoors: skiing for the thrill and horse-riding for the view. Laura and Greg kept these activities in their lives when they raised their young children. Everything was rooted in family, faith, and the outdoors. 

After having separated for 12 years – before Greg’s ALS diagnosis – Laura admits she doesn’t think their flame ever went out. The ALS diagnosis was a shock that felt incredibly unfair to a love they were just rekindling. “How could something like this happen right after we found our way back to each other?” Laura remarked. And no matter how much Greg already knew about ALS from the passing of his cousin, it was a weight no familiarity could soften. 

Even with such devastating news, Greg went to ALS Northwest’s Hood River Support Group almost immediately. He attended by himself for a couple months while Laura was grieving their new reality, still trying to understand how joy and loss could arrive in the same season. 

With guidance from these support groups and ALS Northwest’s multidisciplinary ALS clinics, they prepared early. Greg got a wheelchair right away, even before he “needed” it. With the support of their church community and family, they were also able to purchase a track chair from another friend who had passed away from ALS.  

These tools gave Greg his independence back. On their two-acre property — muddy and uneven, dependent on the weather — Greg can continue to care for their horses despite no longer riding them. He can roam his land freely, no matter the terrain. He can be outside, like he had always loved, moving through life on his own terms.  

Greg believes he had a beautiful life before ALS. And just as strongly, he knows he still has a beautiful life now.  

He tested that belief last year at Mount Hood. 

Although Greg grew up skiing, he hadn’t raced down the slopes in years. When the Ski ALS event gave him the opportunity to experience the thrill of skiing again, he was adamant that a sit-ski would not be able to help him live up to his memories. He didn’t want a reminder of loss. Laura even said, while looking at him the way you look at someone you’ve always known to be extraordinary, that Greg resisted the idea of sit-skiing. 

When Greg finally tried a sit-ski, he couldn’t believe he had waited so long. He could go fast. He could steer. He could feel the rush and exhilaration again. Like the track chair, the sit-ski gave him autonomy and, with it, joy. 

That moment of joy on the mountain is just one reason why ALS Northwest’s ski fundraising event matters. 

It’s not just an event at Mount Hood. It’s a community proving that your life doesn’t end with an ALS diagnosis. ALS Northwest’s volunteers, donors, and supporters make sure people with ALS don’t lose access to the things that make them feel the most alive. It’s adaptive equipment, shared possibilities, and a powerful reminder that independence is still possible. 

Today, Laura and Greg are ready for anywhere life takes them. They drive a large truck with a covered bed that fits Greg’s portable wheelchair and a foldable aluminum ramp. On one blue-sky afternoon — Greg’s favorite kind of weather — Laura scouted out a coffee shop ahead of time, checking for ADA parking, so Greg wouldn’t struggle getting from the street to sidewalk. She seems to know, instinctively, how to look out for him. 

They sit close together, finishing each other’s stories. Laura is animated when she talks about their love life. Greg listens, smiling under his cowboy hat. You won’t catch him without his hat or cowboy boots — unless he’s on a sit-ski. 

Greg says plainly that he knows his body will keep failing him. But he also knows where he puts his hope. His faith grounds him, carries him through the hard times, and allows him to receive life’s blessings that still come — like at high speed on the slopes he grew up with. 

Through events like Ski ALS, possibility continues. Greg is proof that beauty doesn’t disappear in the wake of ALS. It finds new ways to move.