I had spent hours agonising over the contents of my first ever class. So many decisions.
Pranayama? Yes. Something short, but essential.
Music? Yes. A carefully crafted playlist to enhance the yoga journey.
Chanting? Yes. 1 short mantra, 3 OMs, and 3 Shantis.
As soon as I was allowed to teach yoga (half-way through my 200-hour course), I set up a 6-week beginner yoga course in my local, damp and dark village hall. Ready with my matching purple mats and yoga blocks, incense to mask the fumes, and a few electric candles (think health and safety) for ambience. I had genuinely thought of everything; even a selection of herbal teas should people mingle after class and create the epic yoga community I envisaged. I had invited a few work colleagues and friends to join me for free. I might not make a whopping profit, but at least the class wouldn’t be empty and the real punters would feel this was an actual pukka yoga class.