Winter grinds on: snow, ice, cold. Another foot of heavy white stuff is on its way to join the already-impressive heaps over the next two days. I’ve been keeping sane (debatably) with treadmilling and other indoor shenanigans. Today, we ventured out for some XC skiing at Great Brook Farm. It’s winter in New England, and while mid-February means the end is theoretically six weeks away, it feels like a lifetime.
On to my latest experiment in questionable decision-making: the weighted vest. It’s exactly what it sounds like—a vest with 20 pockets you can stuff with bags of sand, maxing out at 20 pounds. While shopping for one on Amazon, I actually considered buying a 40-pound version. Forty pounds. What was I thinking? That would’ve been awful. Even 20 pounds has its moments.
So, why did I buy it? Let’s not pretend I have a logical explanation. My sanity has always been a bit of a wildcard. I wear it around the house while doing chores—lugging laundry up and down from the basement, vacuuming, tidying. It adds just enough stress to my back that I can almost convince myself it’s legitimate training for a 100-mile race. Almost.
The best part, though, is taking it off. That sweet, glorious relief. It’s like shedding winter itself—if only that were as easy as unzipping a vest.
