“The first time I went to a yoga class, I couldn’t stand it. I was living in Bangalore in Southern India and had been persuaded by a friend to give it a try. I couldn’t touch my toes, I was dripping with sweat and I had no idea what they were saying or what I was doing. There were men and women of all shapes and sizes in the class; doctors and cleaners, 80-year-olds and teenagers, even mothers with their children. Nobody in the class was doing it perfectly and it actually didn’t matter; it was such a lovely community and everyone fell into a harmonious rhythm. There was as much time spent on breath and meditation as there was on the physical practice, which really helped me to appreciate the time I was taking for me. That was far more meaningful than being able to touch my toes. When I came back to the UK a few years later, the yoga classes I went to were so different. It felt like we were just going through the motions. No one was focusing on their breathing and everyone was peering in the mirror behind the teacher to check out their reflection.”