For 25+ years, one of my New York City rituals has been running or walking past the church quote board on 61st Street and Park Avenue. That board has been a spiritual compass, offering inspiration through pivotal moments—from post-9/11 New York to career shifts, to countless miles across Manhattan: my first NYC Marathon in 1995, and The Great New York 100-mile race in 2015.
This August, the quote stopped me in my tracks:
“Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.” – G.K. Chesterton
Decades ago, in lower Manhattan, I practiced Ashtanga yoga, Mysore-style, at Eddie Stern’s shala. In this tradition, you move through a set sequence at your own pace. Progress isn’t rushed; new poses come only when you’ve built the strength and stability to move forward safely.
When I practiced elsewhere, I flowed through the full primary series—even if some poses weren’t fully developed. But at Eddie’s studio, if you hadn’t mastered a pose, that’s where your practice stopped. Until you accomplished it, you didn’t move on.
Govinda (Russell) Kai was my teacher. Though I’d practiced yoga for five years and completed teacher training, my first day under his guidance, he stopped me at Marichasana D—the fourth and final pose in the Marichasana sequence.
Marichasana D is a deep, seated twist combining half-lotus with intense spinal rotation and a bind. The ultimate pretzel pose: foot on the opposite inner thigh, one knee lifted, torso twisting, arms wrapping around to clasp fingers.
No matter how I maneuvered, I couldn’t get there. I was convinced my body wasn’t built for it. At home or other studios, I fudged my way through and moved on to Navasana (Boat). But at Eddie’s, the discipline was non-negotiable. Each pose built on the last. Intellectually, I understood this from writing: each sentence lays the foundation for the next. Miss something, and you break the flow.
For six months, I was stuck. Every day, I arrived knowing I’d stop at Marichasana D. It became mental. I wanted to give up—on the shala, Mysore practice, myself. The frustration whispered: I’m not enough. But Govinda met me with a smile and reminded me often:
“Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.”
Over time, I let go of the struggle and learned to laugh at my block. On the bright side, my practice was done in 45 minutes, leaving time to observe others. Most importantly, I realized I couldn’t power through everything. I had to breathe. I had to find flow. Grace happens when we stop forcing things.
The day I moved into Marichasana D, it felt natural. I’d shifted from being in my head to being in my body—and ultimately, to flowing through breath. Not getting where I wanted each day was a great teacher. I learned to enjoy the journey without obsessing over the result. To work toward what’s next while embracing where I am. Accepting now, rather than chasing the future.
Through it all, Govinda believed in me. His quiet encouragement taught me the power of showing up. That ritual—of trusting, of believing the best is yet to come—has carried into my writing, career, and ultrarunning. When you show up, magic can happen. When you don’t, you say no to possibility.
Seeing Chesterton’s quote on the church board brought me back to those days of persistence and patience. Days of learning to be light, to accept where I was, and to keep showing up. Sometimes, when we stop clinging and wishing and wanting things to be different—and instead embrace the Marichasana Ds of our lives—everything clicks. We surrender to the power of flow, and all that follows.