These days, I find myself perpetually ravenous. Every two hours or so, I conduct a mini-pilgrimage that starts with a brief survey of my refrigerator’s contents (scanning from the freezer all the way down to the chiller) and ends with a thorough exploration of my kitchen cupboard (including rummaging the back shelves for eatables that might have been missed in previous forays).
The searches inevitably end in failure, because in the first place, I hardly stock up on foodstuffs (one of my few decidedly un-Filipino traits) and in the second place, I can’t eat apples or crackers or cheese all the time (three of the few items that are continuously available in my larder). Nevertheless, the ritual provides some kind of psychic solace to offset the inevitable caloric frustration.
None of this has to do with dieting of any sort and everything to do with the accelerated metabolism caused by practicing the full ashtanga primary series six days a week (a state of affairs likely to hit new levels when I begin teaching more often). Just a few days ago, a classmate of mine from my yoga teacher training marveled at the rapidity with which I inhaled two slices of pizza and a plateful of pasta. I promptly told her that I was just getting started.
The endemic hunger is something I will need to address at some point, however (and sooner rather than later). I’m far less careful with my consumption when the need to boost my plummeting energy levels takes ominous urgency. Then I’m far likelier to buy and eat things like sweets, rolls, cakes and ice cream which can’t be good for me (accelerated metabolism notwithstanding) because of a genetic predisposition to diabetes.
All of which leads to the realization that our saving graces can’t compensate for our sins—which is a pity, really.