Why starting again is part of the practice.
I was a sprinter once. Movement was simply what I did, and it felt like being alive rather than exercise.
Then studies happened, then a career, and a slow, quiet drift away from everything that made me feel like myself. By my late twenties I was carrying weight, stress and a short temper I didn't recognise.
The way back was small. A few books about stillness. A corporate walking challenge where I picked the easiest distance, twenty-five kilometres, and found something waking up on those walks. Running came next, then swimming at thirty-three alongside my daughter, then cycling, yoga and strength training. Not as a race, but as a practice I could keep returning to.
That is what Still Moving is for: the moment you realise you drifted, and the small first step back. Moving, eating and resting a little better, and letting that be enough.
A little steadier. A little stronger. Still moving.