Books, like long runs or time on the yoga mat, invite us into different landscapes of thought. Some keep us company on quiet journeys, others shift the way we see the world, and a few become old friends we return to again and again.
The Quiet Miles bookshelf is a collection of titles that speak to the rhythm of movement and stillness. From memoirs that capture the meditative pull of distance running to guides that open the doors of yoga practice and retreat life, these are books that continue the conversation beyond the trail and the mat.
"Each recommendation is offered not as a definitive list, but as a series of invitations - to travel, to pause, to reflect. I’ve included affiliate links where possible, which means Quiet Miles may receive a small commission if you choose to buy a book through these pages. There’s no extra cost to you, and it helps support the ongoing work of building this space." ~ Kieron James, Editor
Great Escapes Yoga (Taschen)
This book feels less like a catalogue of destinations and more like an invitation to imagine yourself elsewhere. With Taschen’s trademark eye for design and photography, Great Escapes Yoga gathers retreats from around the world where practice is inseparable from place. Each page opens a window: a quiet shala tucked into Balinese jungle, a minimalist sanctuary on the Aegean coast, an eco-lodge high in the Andes.
What holds these diverse locations together is a sense of harmony between movement, stillness, and environment. The architecture is often striking, but never intrusive; it frames rather than overshadows the natural setting. The book offers both inspiration for those considering a retreat and pure escapism for the armchair traveller.
For me, the appeal lies in how these retreats highlight the subtle relationship between practice and landscape. We know how a morning run changes when the air is cool and the path is lined with trees; yoga, too, is shaped by where we lay our mat. Reading through these pages, I found myself reflecting on how deeply place informs practice, whether we are in a polished studio or simply unrolling a mat on a balcony at dawn.
It’s a book to return to, whether as a practical guide when planning time away, or as a reminder that yoga is not only about postures but about context - the sounds, the air, the light, the feeling of belonging to a much wider world.
What I talk about when I talk about running (Haruki Murakami)
Murakami’s memoir is far more than a diary of training logs and race reports. It’s an exploration of endurance as a metaphor for living, a meditation on solitude, repetition and the quiet rewards of persistence. He traces his journey from a late-starting runner to a regular marathoner and triathlete, always attentive to the inner dialogue that unfolds mile after mile.
What makes the book so compelling is the way Murakami captures the texture of long-distance running - those small struggles, the private triumphs, the rhythm of breath and step that slowly reshapes both body and mind. He does not romanticise the effort: there is fatigue, disappointment, even resignation. Yet woven through is a kind of acceptance, an acknowledgment that running is less about winning and more about learning how to keep moving.
As someone who runs longer distances myself, I found much of his reflection deeply resonant. The stubbornness to head out on days when the body resists, the way the mind empties into a steady cadence, the strange peace that arrives when effort and stillness blur. Murakami articulates what so many of us know but rarely put into words. It’s a book that lingers, much like a long run that leaves you both tired and renewed.