Physical activity & health
“How much energy I have and what my body can handle long-term.”
Physical activity and health are among the foundations of resilience because they determine the state of our body and how we can function every day. It is not just about whether we exercise or how much stamina we have. It is about how we feel, how much energy we have, how we sleep, how we move, how we recover, and what state of health we live in long-term. Our body is not something alongside our life — it is the environment in which our entire life takes place.
In practice, this dimension can be looked at through several concrete areas: how long and how well we sleep, how often we move, what our fitness and weight are like, how often we get sick, whether and for how long we are on sick leave, how many medications we need for normal functioning, and how much smoking, alcohol or other substances come into play. The subjective dimension also matters — how we ourselves assess our health, whether we feel our body is holding up, or that we are fighting it.
When the body works well, we usually do not even notice. We have energy for work, manage everyday responsibilities, and have room for relationships and things we enjoy. But as soon as it gets out of balance, it starts to show in everything else. We have less energy, sleep worse, tire more quickly, and even ordinary things cost more effort.
“How much energy I have and what my body can handle long-term.”
This change usually does not come suddenly. It develops in everyday habits that seem insignificant. Going to bed late, skipping movement, functioning without pause, pushing through fatigue or postponing health issues. Each one means nothing major on its own, but if these patterns repeat long-term, the way the body functions begins to change.
What is specific here is that the body always claims its price. Short-term we can function under high load, push through fatigue and ignore signals. Long-term, however, the load accumulates, recovery stops being sufficient and the body starts limiting what we ask of it. Getting back is then significantly harder than ongoing care.
Taking care of the body is therefore not a matter of performance or ideals. It is not about being in peak condition or doing everything right. It is about how we treat our body in the long run. Movement, sleep, routine, rest and health care are not extras — they are the basic ways we influence this dimension every day.
Story from practice
When someone says movement, I mostly picture logistics: nursery–school, work, shopping, after-school clubs, the dishwasher, the washing machine. A few years ago I used to run, play tennis and go to the gym regularly. In recent years I had been telling myself there just isn't time for that right now.
One afternoon we were at the playground with the kids. I was sitting on a bench, coffee cup in hand, phone beside me. The kids were running around the climbing frames, going down the slide, chasing each other. At one point my daughter ran over wanting to show me something. She climbed the angled rope wall, looked down and got nervous. Mum, come up with me, she called.
I stood up and walked over. I imagined climbing up, catching her, helping her across to the platform. But standing right under that wall, I realised I hadn't touched anything like it in years. Jeans, trainers, jacket, keys and phone in my pocket. A children's playground, among the mums and pushchairs.
I grabbed the edge and tried to pull myself up. In that first moment I felt my arms betray me. Not strength — that inner voice saying I don't know if I can do this. My knees carefully pressed against the plastic, my hands searched for something to hold. It was just a few movements, a few seconds, but at the top I was more out of breath than I wanted to admit.
My daughter grabbed me around the neck and we walked across the platform together. You're so good, Mum, she said completely seriously. In that moment it stung more than it pleased. I knew she wasn't safe because of my great fitness, but rather because the obstacle was still small enough.
That evening as we cleared away bags and trainers from the hallway, I already knew that what had caught me off guard that day wasn't the climbing frame. It was how used I had become to being there, but not in it. And that one day my own child would ask something of me and I would have to say no — not because I wouldn't want to, but because my body simply wouldn't be able to.