The (yoga) week that was

In typical early summer fashion, Copenhagen has been experiencing unpredictable shifts from brilliant sun to pelting rain in a matter of moments. There’s been a touch of hail for good measure. Forecasters are not to be trusted, with predictions showing nearly no rainfall in an six-hour span — or up to 8.6mm.

It’s not just the weather that’s felt somewhat chaotic this week. Both classes I taught, in two different locations, held surprises.

My regular Tuesday evening class is in a cosy basement studio. Perfect for getting snuggly and channelling the peacefulness of its name: Ro – yoga for søvn og nervesystem (Calm – yoga for sleep and the nervous system).

As the last two students crossed the threshold, another visitor streaked in. A small, terrified grey cat bolted across the room, aiming for one of the high windows facing the building’s front lawn.

The windows were all shut (all the better to keep the warmth in) and the sills have a slight downwards slant (all the better to prevent small creatures landing). The cat clung to the sill, claws fully extended, giant eyes darting between the firmly closed window and my advancing figure.

As I approached, I wisely realised that unsheathed claws would tear up my hands and arms if I attempted to pull the cat off its precarious perch. Murmuring what I hoped were soothing sounds, I wrapped the grey cat in the darker grey blanket I’d folded on my yoga mat. The cats eyes remained wide and wild, but it consented to being swaddled. I walked it out of the practice room and up the stairs outside the studio, releasing it from the blanket.

Rather than making a break for the building front door (freedom waited beyond!), the cat tried to skitter through my legs and back into the studio. Possibly determined to reach the promised lawn through a magically opened window.

I again swaddled the furry fury, this time setting the cat down safely outside the building. With nary a backward glance, the cat took to a nearby hedge, presumably secure in its position outside.

Thankfully, none of the frenzy carried into the class, which really was 75 minutes of calm.

My second class of the week was at the Copenhagen studio, where I started teaching the first time we lived in Denmark. I picked up the Thursday evening yin sessions again when we moved back in 2025 and, after nearly ten years teaching there, it’s a well-known space.

The class started normally enough. Welcoming students at reception; greeting well-known faces, meeting a few new ones. Easy going chatter mixed with commentary on the downpour that retreated as quickly as it came, leaving blue skies in its wake. Locking up reception and retreating to the warmth of the practice space as the clock hit the quarter hour. (And it was warm — the previous class was a hot vinyasa with an bonus tropical rainforest-like element from the downpour.)

We started in a prone position, with students flat on their bellies; grounding and arriving, distancing themselves from earlier elements of the day. As we progressed through the poses (sphinx, half sleepy baby, bananasana — all lying down postures), I noticed one student fidgeting. The squirming intensified in a forward fold.

A minute or so into a side-lying stretch, the student sat up. After ensuring the other students were settled, I crouched down and expressed my concern.

The student responded: “I don’t think I’m in the right headspace for this.”

With very few words, we agreed that it would be best for the student to slip out of the class. It was a brave act on the student’s part. Acknowledging that the practice wasn’t what they needed and that leaving was the best outcome in that moment.

In nearly fifteen of teaching yoga, I can’t think of another time a student has left one of my classes. There have certainly been people who opt out of poses or make substantial modifications. There are regularly people who fall asleep (and sometimes snore) and farts are common (sometimes loud, sometimes smelly). Those are the curveballs I expect.

This week reminded of the unpredictability of teaching.

At the end of May, I delivered a session on ‘Holding Space’ to a group of 200-hour yoga teacher trainees. We talked about what it means to hold space, about inclusivity and observation and presence. One of my points under being present was to manage the unexpected.

There will be odd things that crop up. Recognise what is in your control and do your best to let go of the rest. Be prepared to let go of how things ‘should’ be. Act as a force of calm.

We discussed how to handle students leaving classes (far more familiar in hot, active classes than chill yin ones), noting the trust required not to push through and risk injury or unhappiness. The strength required for students to go against the herd and act in their own best interest.

There are indications that the weather confusion may be easing in the week to come (although the forecasts are rarely accurate). But for the next few days, the changeability continues. Looking back on the week that was — rapidly shifting skies, a feline intrusion, a student withdrawing, a nudge to expect the unexpected — is a reminder that unpredictability is the only true constant.