We delivered an AI Yoga Instructor for a Mount Pleasant teacher who runs nineteen classes a week across four studios plus fourteen private clients — one that hands her a pre-class sheet naming every injury and restriction in the room before she walks in, files her ninety-second parking-lot voice notes to the right students automatically, and holds eight weeks of sequencing memory so no recurring class gets the same hip-opening practice three Wednesdays running.

She taught her first class in 2013 to four people on the floor of a Coleman Boulevard pilates studio that gave her the room on Tuesday nights because nobody else wanted it. Twelve years later she teaches nineteen classes a week. Four studios — one in Mount Pleasant, one on James Island, one downtown, and a sunrise class on Sullivan''s Island that runs from May to September. Fourteen private clients on top of that, most of them in their homes.

Four separate 1099s at the end of the year. The teaching was never the problem. The remembering was. Roughly 340 students cycle through her classes in a given month, and a meaningful share of them are working around something.

A rotator cuff that will not tolerate chaturanga. A hip replacement from 2021 with a hard limit on external rotation. A student thirty-one weeks pregnant who needs a wall, a bolster, and no closed twists. A man in the Thursday 5:30 who had a retinal detachment repaired in March and cannot go upside down again, and who is too proud to raise his hand when she cues the class from down dog into headstand.

She kept all of it in composition notebooks — one per studio — plus a running list in her phone, plus memory. She came to us because memory had started to feel like the weak link. There had been a near miss in a full Saturday class: she was two steps from hands-on adjusting a woman into a bind she had been told, six weeks earlier, to avoid entirely. She caught it.

It rattled her for a month. We built her a practice assistant that runs on what she already collects. Studio rosters, intake forms, and her own session notes feed into one place. Twenty minutes before each class, she gets a sheet on her phone: who is registered, what each of them is working around, which cues to soften or skip, and which props to have out before anyone walks in.

The Thursday 5:30 sheet says no inversions, row three, without naming why. Names she has not seen in eight months come with a line explaining who they are. After class, walking to her car, she talks into her phone for ninety seconds — who showed up, who is progressing, who needs a follow-up. The system splits that recording apart and files each piece under the right student.

She had tried to keep those notes by hand for years and had never once made it through a full week. The sequencing surprised her more than the injuries did. She had been building classes in a notebook and quietly repeating herself — the same hip-opening practice landing on the same Wednesday 6:00 a. m.

group three weeks in a row, because it is the practice that comes to hand when you have been awake for forty minutes. Now the system holds eight weeks of what she actually taught each recurring class, flags the repetition before she teaches it, and tells her when she has cued a peak pose the group has not been prepared for. It also handles the parts that have nothing to do with yoga. Her continuing-education hours are logged against her 200- and 300-hour credentials as she earns them, with renewal dates tracked.

Income from the four studios and the private clients is separated as it comes in rather than reconstructed each January. Workshop registrations, waitlists, and the follow-up emails after a workshop fills all run without her. She estimates it gives her back about six hours a week, but that is not the part she talks about. "I used to spend the first ten minutes of every class scanning the room trying to remember what I was supposed to remember," she said.

"Now I know before I open the door. I can just teach."