Eight prone paddlers. Two countries. A 98-foot sailboat and a 62-foot catamaran. One mission: raise awareness for ALS.
Sometimes a shared passion leads you somewhere you never expected to go. For me, it started with paddling. I met Tom Horton through the South Bay Boardriders Club surf and prone paddleboard series, where Tom was president at the time. We became friends, trained together, and shared plenty of miles on the water. As I prepared for my first Catalina Classic, Tom became one of the people who helped me along the way.
On August 30, 2026, I crossed the finish line of my first Catalina Classic: 32 miles from Catalina Island to Manhattan Beach Pier in 7 hours, 22 minutes, and 11 seconds. It was a challenge I'll never forget. But somewhere along the way, my friendship with Tom introduced me to a much bigger challenge, one that has nothing to do with crossing a finish line. It has to do with ALS.
In my previous post, I shared why I was heading to Greece to join the Greek Islands Paddle to Cure ALS. Now, after spending a week paddling between islands with friends, exploring crystal-clear coves, navigating busy shipping channels, and experiencing Greek hospitality, I'm back home with a lot of memories and a few videos I'm pretty excited about, and an even greater appreciation for why we made this journey. This is the story of our adventure.
A Friendship That Became Something Bigger
Tom's commitment to raising awareness and funds for ALS is deeply personal. His mother, Anastasia “Peacha” Horton, was diagnosed with ALS in 2005 after months of worsening symptoms and difficulty getting a diagnosis. She passed away later that year. Tom has carried her memory and his commitment to fighting ALS with him ever since.
About ten years ago, while visiting Greece with his wife and children, he started imagining what it might be like to paddle between the Greek Islands. Eventually, that idea became the Greek Islands Paddle to Cure ALS, bringing paddlers and supporters from the United States together with members of the Hellenic ALS Association in Greece and the ALS Network in the United States.
From October 5–12, 2026, our group would travel through the Saronic Gulf, paddling between islands and sharing the story of ALS along the way. For those of us who love prone paddling, the idea of spending a week on the water in Greece was incredible. But this wasn't just a paddle trip or a chance to cross some beautiful stretches of ocean off our bucket lists. We were there for something bigger.
ALS, or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, is a progressive neurodegenerative disease that affects the nerve cells responsible for controlling voluntary muscles. Over time, people living with ALS can lose the ability to move, speak, swallow, and eventually breathe. Families face an incredibly difficult journey, often while searching for answers, treatments, support, and hope.
Tom's story reminded me that ALS isn't an American disease, a California disease, or a Greek disease. It's a global disease. And raising awareness is one way we can help bring people together to fight it. With that in mind, it was time to pack our boards and head to Greece.
Getting There Was an Adventure of Its Own
My wife, LZ, and I left Los Angeles late on October 2. We had a six-hour layover at JFK, and what was supposed to be a relatively straightforward trip quickly turned into a little logistics exercise. We had originally planned to carry our bags onto the planes, but after picking up ALS shirts and other fundraising merchandise from Tom's house to bring to Greece, we decided checking our bags was the better option. It was a good call. Nobody wants to drag oversized bags around an airport for six hours if they don't have to.
We finally landed in Athens on October 4, tired from two days of travel and barely sleeping. After a roughly 40-minute taxi ride to Piraeus, we checked into our hotel and managed to squeeze in a five-hour nap. Then it was time to celebrate.
The ALS teams from the United States and Greece welcomed us with a huge dinner and drinks. It was a wonderful way to meet everyone and kick off the trip. It also happened to be a special day for LZ and me: our 19th anniversary together, including 13 years of marriage. Not a bad way to celebrate 19 years! Good friends, good food, a glass of Prosecco, and the excitement of knowing that tomorrow we'd finally be getting on the water.
We ended the evening with one more nightcap on our hotel balcony and finally made it to bed around 1 a.m. The next morning, we woke up at dawn and watched the sun rise from our room. After breakfast on the rooftop, we packed our bags and headed for the harbor. Our home for the next week was waiting for us.
Our Floating Home: Two Boats, Eight Paddlers, One Mission
When LZ and I arrived at the harbor, we were the first members of our group to board the 98-foot Myra. To me, it looked a lot like a giant pirate ship, and I couldn't wait to spend the next week aboard.
But Myra wasn't the only boat on this adventure. Our group was split between two boats: the 98-foot sailboat Myra and a 62-foot catamaran named Selene. Seven of our eight main paddlers stayed aboard Myra, that's 12 guests and six staff members. The remaining main paddler stayed aboard Selene, which had 10 guests and three staff. Together, the two boats served as our floating homes, carrying our group between islands and providing support while we paddled across the channels of the Saronic Gulf.
It was a pretty incredible setup. We had a captain and crew looking after us, meals prepared for us, and support boats that could help us get safely to and from our paddling routes. We could wake up in a new cove, enjoy breakfast aboard, and then get ready for another day on the water.
Before long, the rest of our group arrived, and we headed to another harbor to meet the ALS teams for our official send-off. The ceremony was much bigger than I expected. There were lots of people, speakers, photographers, and even a drone filming the event. The energy was amazing. People had come together from two countries to support the same cause, and it was clear that this meant a lot to everyone involved.
I even had Aspa, one of the key people behind the Greek ALS effort, sign my ALS hat with her name and the name of her husband, who passed away from ALS in 2004. That was a special moment for me. Then came the send-off. The eight of us main paddlers got into the water and started paddling as the crowd cheered us on. The drone flew overhead, capturing the paddlers and our boats as we headed out. It felt great to be part of something so meaningful.
It was also pretty wild to think that we might be the first group of prone paddleboarders to do this in Greece. Greece has an incredible amount of coastline and ocean access, yet we didn't encounter other prone paddlers during our trip. There we were, a bunch of friends, mostly from California, with a few from New Jersey, lying on long paddleboards and pulling ourselves through the Mediterranean, trying to make a difference for people living with ALS. Let the adventure begin!
Day One: Crossing a Channel in Greece
Our first full day of paddling was October 6. The plan was to paddle from Aegina to Poros, a crossing we estimated would be around 15 miles. We were in the water at 9 a.m. on our 12-foot prone paddleboards. My plan was simple: stay close to our yacht.
The water was around 75 degrees, and a 15-knot wind was blowing mostly from behind us. Conditions were pretty good for catching downwind waves, and I quickly discovered that the wind had other plans for my mileage. Grace was flying out there, zigzagging back and forth, catching waves and making circles around me. Kurt and DJ were way out wide, while the rest of us spread out across the channel.
I ended up catching some of the longest downwind rides of my life. Several times, I was riding waves on my knees, gliding across the water for what felt like forever. I figured I caught around 20 waves or more. It was an incredible experience. I had paddled channels before, but crossing one in Greece? That felt like a whole new level of adventure. I think that officially makes me an International Channel Master.
Of course, the Mediterranean doesn't care about your new title. By around mile 10, I was getting tired. By mile 11, the cramps started setting in. When I finally finished around mile 13, I was pretty happy to be done.
The crossing also gave us a serious reminder about safety. Our group had spread out over a large area, and even with the tender boat zipping around to escort us, it wasn't easy for the crew to keep track of everyone. From the deck of our yacht, the paddlers were difficult to see, especially when the sun reflected off the water. At times, the glare made us almost invisible.
And this wasn't California. Greece has ferries, tankers, sailboats, water taxis, and recreational boats constantly moving through its channels. Prone paddling isn't something local boat operators are necessarily accustomed to looking for. They don't know to watch for someone lying almost flat on the water on a 12-foot board. That isn't their fault. They simply aren't used to seeing us, but it means we have to be extra careful.
By the end of the day, I was thinking that maybe the faster paddlers should stop every couple of miles to let the rest of us catch up. We needed to find a better way to stay together, keep everyone visible, and make sure the boat crew could safely support the group. It was a good reminder that an adventure can be amazing and still require us to respect the risks involved.
Day Two: Espresso, Downwinders, and a Little Luxury
The next morning, October 7, I decided to take a break from the longer crossing and ride along on the tender boat to film the other paddlers. LZ headed out with Tommy, Kurt, DJ, Adam, Shayna, Grace, and Dave. I grabbed my camera and started capturing video clips.
I even got a shot of LZ sprinting at the start. It didn't take long for her to drift toward the back of the pack, so I offered to swap places with her and help catch up with the group. I held onto the tender and got towed forward. It was pretty cool, but also a little sketchy. Imagine being towed at 9.5 mph on a tippy 12-foot prone paddleboard. Not exactly a relaxing ride!
The morning started with beautiful, glassy water and hardly any wind. The views were amazing, the water was warm, and we even passed a little orange submarine painted to look like a whale, parked in one of the harbors.
Then came one of my favorite moments of the trip. LZ called over to our main boat, and the crew made espresso and snacks for the paddlers. Seriously. Espresso and snacks delivered to people prone paddling between Greek islands. Talk about the ultimate escort boat!
We had a personal chef, a crew looking after us, and a floating home that made the whole experience feel a little luxurious. It was a pretty amazing contrast to the physical work of paddling for hours at a time.
I planned to paddle about eight miles that day, so I eventually caught a ride back to the yacht and spent some time filming the rest of the group. Watching the paddlers from the boat also gave me a better understanding of how difficult it was for the crew to keep track of everyone in the water. Even when paddlers were just a few meters from the tender, they could be surprisingly difficult to spot. We were learning as we went, and that was part of the adventure, too.
Day Three: Turquoise Water and a Pink Jellyfish
October 8 turned out to be one of my favorite days on the water. The previous evening, we had docked in Hydra, a tiny Greek island town with no cars in its streets. Instead, there were mules and horses, little shops, narrow walkways, and stray cats wandering around. LZ, Darci, and I went for a long walk looking for a small beach where Darci could swim. We eventually found a rocky spot with only three locals nearby, and Darci took a quick dip. It was a nice way to explore the island before heading back to the yacht for dinner.
The next morning, we left Hydra's harbor and hugged the coastline toward Paralia Vlichos and Bisti Beach. Around 9 a.m., we got on our boards and started paddling. The water was warmer than it had been on our previous crossings. I had dressed in too many layers and was getting hot, so I flagged down the tender and passed over my vest.
Then I started taking it all in. The water was so blue it almost looked turquoise in places. It was incredibly clear, and the coastline was beautiful. We were paddling together, surrounded by scenery that looked like something from a postcard. I had my Insta360 camera mounted on my bottle cage, and I kept taking the whole setup off to capture underwater shots.
Then I spotted a pink jellyfish about the size of a softball, floating right beside me. Of course, I grabbed the camera and tried to get some footage. One of the clips turned out great.
This was the kind of paddling I had imagined when I first heard about the trip. Warm, clear water. Beautiful islands. Friends sharing the same passion. No rush to get anywhere, just enjoying the moment.
We eventually reached Bisti Beach, where everyone took a break to swim and paddle around the little cove. Even Adam and Cole got out there wakeboarding for a while, and LZ did some paddling with me. For a little while, we weren't worrying about mileage, pace, or how much farther we had to go. We were simply enjoying being in Greece.
After the break, we had lunch and prepared for the next leg toward Spetses. The captains decided that crossing the open channel in the prevailing conditions would be too dangerous, so the yachts would take us closer to shore before we paddled the final three miles. It was a good decision.
We dealt with a side wind as we made our way toward the lighthouse, then turned and caught a few downwind waves near shore. LZ got some photos of all of us paddling together in front of the lighthouse.
At one point, Kurt was leading the group, and I started drafting behind him. Before long, everyone had lined up and was drafting off him. That was one of those little moments that made the trip special. We weren't just eight individuals trying to get from one island to another. We were learning to paddle as a group, finding ways to help each other, and enjoying the experience together.
As we approached the harbor, we noticed harbor officials near the boats. There seemed to be questions about whether we had permission to paddle there, although I never learned exactly what happened. It was another reminder that we were operating in unfamiliar waters, with local rules and expectations we needed to understand. That evening, we anchored near Dokos Island, had dinner aboard the yacht, and settled in for the night.
Dokos: Clear Water, Sea Glass, and Unexpected Creativity
The next day was a chance to slow down. Some of the group swam or took stand-up paddleboards out into the cove. LZ and I explored the beach, looking for shells and sea glass. She even fed some of the little donkeys wandering around the island. Cole, Darci, and a few others hiked a steep trail to the top of the mountain overlooking the cove, while I took the opportunity to rest and spend some quality time in the hammock.
Sometimes the best part of an adventure is having nowhere you need to be for a little while.
On October 10, I borrowed Adam's board so I could go on a paddle with LZ. The water around Dokos was some of the clearest I had ever seen. We hugged the coastline, looking for shells and little treasures, just as we sometimes do back home in the harbor. I took a ton of footage with my Insta360, hoping to capture some of that incredible underwater scenery.
After about a mile, we ran into Kurt and DJ, who were heading back to the boat. I continued a little farther to add some mileage before turning around and joining everyone on the way back.
Later, I discovered that my Insta360 had been set to slow-motion mode the whole time. At first, I thought I had messed up the footage. But after reviewing it, I realized the effect was actually really cool. I got an epic underwater clip of LZ paddling by, along with another great shot of Kurt and DJ gliding past the camera.
Maybe I should look into becoming a water photographer for trips like this. Hmm. I might be onto something! That little discovery was one of the unexpected highlights of the trip. We came to Greece to paddle for ALS, but along the way, I found myself getting excited about a whole new way to capture the experience.
Back to Poros: A Welcome Fit for a Crew of Paddlers
Later that day, our yachts crossed the channel toward Poros while we enjoyed lunch aboard. Once the boats had safely crossed the busy channel, we anchored inside a small cove, and the paddlers got back into the water for a short trip into the harbor.
Dave and I were near the front and managed to squeeze through a shallow passage between a peninsula and a tiny island. We even caught a couple of little waves breaking over a shallow ridge. We had to stop several times to let the rest of the group catch up, but eventually we all made it into port.
And then came another surprise. Rory was waiting for us, along with a little welcoming party. There was a full event organized in our honor, complete with local dancers, drinks, and a drone pilot. It was pretty incredible to see the enthusiasm from the local community. We had traveled thousands of miles to paddle between islands and raise awareness for ALS, and here were people in Greece welcoming us and celebrating what we were doing.
After the event, we headed to the rooftop bar at a place called Medusa's. The sunset views were awesome, and it was a perfect way to wrap up another memorable day. We returned to the yachts after sunset and enjoyed a late dinner in a sheltered cove. These were the moments that made the trip about so much more than paddling. It was about meeting people, sharing stories, and finding connections with people we might never otherwise have met.
When the Wind Has Other Plans
Not every day was picture-perfect. On October 11, we anchored on the back side of Moni Beach near Aegina. The plan was to paddle along the coast, starting into the wind and hopefully enjoying an easier return with the wind behind us. It's a strategy we often use when training back home: do the hard work first, then take advantage of downwind conditions on the way back.
Five of us headed out: Tommy, Kurt, DJ, Dave, and me. We paddled upwind past Moni and followed the coastline until it turned. At that point, we stopped to discuss our next move.
Tommy and Kurt wanted to cross a channel about a quarter-mile wide. DJ and I weren't especially keen on the idea and were happy to turn back. Dave was willing to go either way, so the vote was three to two. We crossed together, staying close and watching for larger boats. It was a relatively quick crossing, but it was busy enough to keep us alert.
On the other side, we reached Paralia Perdika, a harbor lined with local cafés and small shops. We continued paddling upwind around another peninsula, but there wasn't much to see, and the conditions were getting uncomfortable. Tommy wanted to continue farther, even though the return would involve a rough side-shore wind. He headed off on his own, while the rest of us agreed that it wasn't a safe plan.
We waited in the wind, getting colder by the minute. Sure, we were in Greece, prone paddling around an island that, as far as we knew, no one had prone paddled before us. That was exciting. But the novelty was wearing off as the wind cut through my rash guard and vest.
Eventually, we decided to move toward the area where we had last seen Tommy, both to shorten the distance between us and get moving again. We caught up with him as he was paddling back toward us. The return was easier in places, with our speed occasionally reaching five miles per hour or more. We navigated the narrow channel again, dodged a few more sailboats, and eventually made it back toward our yacht.
I had logged about 3.75 miles by the time we returned, so I paddled a little farther around the cove to reach four miles for the day. It wasn't my favorite paddle of the trip. The water was still clear, but there were boats anchored along the shoreline and scattered throughout the cove. It didn't have the same peaceful, almost unreal feeling as the earlier paddle with LZ around Dokos.
Still, it was another lesson in knowing when to push and when to pull back. When you're paddling for hours in unfamiliar waters, the goal isn't simply to cover as many miles as possible. It's to make good decisions, look after one another, and get everyone back safely.
Life Aboard Our Floating Home
Between paddles, our 98-foot yacht became our home. We had a captain and crew looking after us, a personal chef preparing our meals, and the kind of support that made it possible to spend our days exploring the islands without constantly worrying about where we would sleep or what we would eat. There was something special about waking up in a new cove, stepping outside to see the water, and knowing that another adventure was waiting.
Of course, life on a boat isn't always perfectly smooth. As the wind picked up around Aegina, our sister boat, Selene, pulled anchor and headed toward calmer water across another channel. Our own boat needed to move, too, but the main anchor hoist wasn't working. The crew tried swapping out the remote, but that didn't solve the problem. Eventually, they rewired the system and got it working again.
Good thing, too. The wind was really blowing, and nearly all the other boats in the cove had already left. Later, after dinner and another channel crossing, we settled in for the night. Around 3 a.m., I heard the anchor motor running again, followed by the main engine starting. Apparently, we were moving to yet another spot.
The next morning, the boat was a little rocky. It wasn't too bad for me, but someone aboard was seasick. As we made our way back toward Piraeus, the number of ships in the harbor was unbelievable. I think I saw more tanker ships that morning than I had ever seen in my life. The channel was full of tankers, ferries, sailboats, and water taxis.
After days of paddling between islands, it was quite a sight to see. It also brought home just how important it was that we had the support of our yachts and tender boats. These were busy waters, and our boards were tiny compared with the vessels moving around us.
When we finally made it back to Piraeus, we settled our final payments and tips with the crew. By then, the boat had become much more than transportation. It was our home, our gathering place, and the center of our little floating community. Nobody was particularly eager to leave. The captain and crew had become our friends, and saying goodbye felt a little like leaving home.
What the Numbers Don't Tell You
Looking back at my paddle journal, I logged nine sessions in Greece, paddled 37.8 miles, and spent a total of 11 hours and 15 minutes on the water. I surfed 43 waves, reached a top speed of 9.5 mph, and caught a longest recorded ride of 50 yards.
Those numbers tell part of the story. They tell you how far I paddled, how long I spent on the water, and how many waves I caught. They don't tell you what it felt like to glide over crystal-clear turquoise water with LZ beside me. They don't capture the sight of a pink jellyfish floating past my board or the excitement of catching some of the longest downwind rides of my life.
They don't tell you how incredible it was to see a community in Greece welcome us with a ceremony, music, and dancing. Or how much fun it was to discover that a camera mistake had accidentally produced some of my favorite footage of the entire trip. And they certainly don't measure the conversations we had about ALS, the people we met, or the awareness we hoped to create.
That was the real purpose of the trip. Every mile gave us another opportunity to share the story. Every island brought us into contact with new people. Every photograph, video, and conversation gave us a chance to explain why a group of prone paddlers had traveled all the way from the United States to Greece. We weren't there just to paddle. We were there to help make ALS harder to ignore.
Why ALS Awareness Matters
Before this trip, I knew what ALS was, but I didn't fully understand how many people and families have been affected by it. Through Tom, I've learned more about the disease and the importance of supporting the people who live with it, along with their families, friends, and caregivers.
ALS can be devastating. It can take away abilities that many of us never think twice about: walking, speaking, eating, and breathing. And because the early symptoms can resemble other conditions, getting a diagnosis can be a difficult and frustrating process. Behind every diagnosis is a person. Behind that person is often a family trying to figure out what comes next.
Tom's mother, Peacha, is one of those people whose story deserves to be remembered. So are the countless others who have faced ALS, those who are living with it today, and those who will receive a diagnosis in the future. That's why awareness matters. Research matters. Fundraising matters. And support for families and caregivers matters.
The Greek Islands Paddle to Cure ALS brought people together across two countries around that shared mission. The Hellenic ALS Association in Greece and the ALS Network in the United States helped connect our efforts, reminding us that the fight against ALS doesn't stop at national borders.
I hope our time on the water helped bring more attention to the disease and strengthened those connections. If even one person learned something new about ALS, shared the story with someone else, or decided to support the cause because of our trip, then we made a difference.
One Last Night in Greece
After saying goodbye to our floating home, LZ and I had one more night in Greece before heading back to California. We took an Uber to our Airbnb near the airport, dropping Adam and Marianna off along the way. The place was about 20 minutes from the airport and had a little beach nearby.
LZ and I went for a walk and found some tiny seashells, the smallest ones we'd collected all trip. On our way back, we met our neighbors sitting outside on their patio playing Rummikub. They invited us over, and before long we were playing games, sharing drinks, and eventually having dinner together.
It turned into the perfect ending to our trip. The weather was getting rainy, but we managed to stay dry on the walk to and from dinner. There was something really nice about spending our last evening in Greece with people we'd only just met, sharing a meal and enjoying a simple moment of connection. The next morning, we packed up, made it to the airport, flew to Paris for a quick layover, and finally headed home. And just like that, the adventure was over. Well, almost.
When we stepped off the yacht back in Piraeus, I felt a little land sickness. Even on solid ground, I could still feel the boat swaying beneath me. It took a few days for that sensation to disappear. I guess that's what happens when you spend a week living aboard a 98-foot pirate ship, eating meals prepared by a personal chef, enjoying espresso and charcuterie snacks between paddles, and waking up in some of the most beautiful water you've ever seen. I'm definitely going to miss it.
What Comes Next?
I'm home now, but I hope the impact of this trip continues long after we've unpacked our bags. The Greek Islands were everything I hoped they would be. The water was the clearest and most turquoise I've ever seen. The islands were beautiful. The people were welcoming. And spending a week with friends who share my passion for paddling was an experience I'll never forget.
But the most important part wasn't the scenery, the miles, or even the waves. It was the reason we were there. We traveled to Greece to raise awareness for ALS, to honor the people and families affected by this disease, and to help support the organizations working toward better treatments and, ultimately, a cure.
We can't solve ALS with a paddleboard. We can't make the disease disappear by crossing a channel or paddling around an island. But we can start conversations. We can share stories. We can help people understand what ALS is and why it deserves more attention. And we can support the people and organizations working every day to make life better for those affected by it.
You don't have to be a paddler to be part of that effort. You don't have to travel to Greece or know someone with ALS personally. You can start by learning about the disease. Talk about it with your friends and family. Share this story. Support an organization working to help people living with ALS and their caregivers. Every conversation has the potential to reach someone new.
If you'd like to support our paddle team's fundraising efforts, you can make a direct donation here:
Tom Horton – Paddle, Run, Surf to Cure ALS
Every contribution helps support the work being done for people and families affected by ALS.
When I look back on this trip, I'll remember the turquoise water, the long downwind rides, the pink jellyfish, the underwater videos, the rooftop sunsets, the laughter aboard our pirate ship, and the incredible people we met along the way. But most of all, I'll remember why we went. We went for Tom's mother, Peacha. We went for everyone living with ALS today. We went for the families, friends, and caregivers who stand beside them. And we went for the hope that someday, another family won't have to experience the heartbreak of an ALS diagnosis.
I may have paddled 37.8 miles in Greece, but that was just my mileage. With eight main paddlers taking turns tackling the crossings, exploring the coastlines, and covering miles of Mediterranean water, the group's combined distance was much closer to eight times that number (over 300 miles or about 483 kilometers). That's a lot of strokes, a lot of miles, and a whole lot of opportunities to spread the word about ALS.
But the real goal was always to carry the message much farther than any of us could paddle. One stroke at a time. One conversation at a time. One more step toward a world without ALS.
I'll see you on the water.
P.S. We need more difference makers like you in this world to make it a better place. If this story meant something to you, please pass it along to someone else who might want to be part of the journey. You don't have to paddle across the Greek Islands to make a difference.
