On the Necessity of Indulgence

So I ate enough food over dinner today to feed the denizens of a small planet. This is because it’s Friday and the eve of the one day in the week when traditionally-minded ashtangis don’t actually do their asana practice. This means that there’s slightly more room than usual for a bit of indulgence—or at least that’s how my co-trainees and I have tended to see it.

So at this evening’s dinner, we STUFFED ourselves silly at a beach-side barbecue that included (but was possibly not limited to) the following: herb focaccia, ensaladang puso ng saging, ensaladang talong, potato salad, pumpkin salad, romaine lettuce salad, sautéed kangkong, curried fish, grilled fish, grilled squid, garlic prawns, steamed potatoes, pancit, fried rice, butterscotch brownies, caramel flan pudding, and unlimited amounts of unsweetened calamansi juice.

In short, the picture we presented was not a sight for the weak of heart.

In any case, after the sand and dust had settled, I had the grim realization that all the carbs I’d ingested were happily looking for life-long, monogamous relationships with the fat cells on my thighs. And that was what led me to accept my co-trainees’ invitation to hit the dance floor later in the evening.

(This was not a careless choice, by the way. People may be surprised to find out that ashtangis are cautious when it comes to engaging in other forms of physical activity. This is because other sports can tighten muscles finally lengthened after considerable effort. Biking and hiking, for instance, can have a disastrous effect on the hamstrings—with corresponding consequences when it comes to executing Pādāṅguṣṭhāsana.)

So at 7:15, we trudged off to Cocomangas Shooter Bar, stopping for two hours at Café del Mar to fortify ourselves with coffee. (By 10:00 I was already past my accustomed bedtime and had to be half dragged, half supported the rest of the way to our final destination.)

Fortunately, a combination of tremor-inducing house music and (equally) tremor-inducing Korean tourists has a way of waking up even the comatose, and I was able to marshal enough energy to divorce at least half of my ingested carbs from the besotted fat cells on my thighs.

And mission accomplished, I stumbled back home—and that was how the third week of my yoga teacher training ended.


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