I’ve had my nose to the grindstone this past year and when I looked up everyone was wearing a weighted vest.

Or at least people my age.

My beach buddy uses one and she mentioned it last summer, but unlike this summer, there was no sign of them in my news feed, so I continued to go for my weightless walks.

A couple weeks ago I told her I was considering one. Two more beach buddies piped up about their vests.

Then I was driving back from Cuffy’s (can never have too many things that say Cape Cod), and there was a woman walking with what I can now identify immediately as a weighted vest.

Everybody’s been wearing them and I had no idea. Now it was just a matter of which vest.

As I perused the reviews of different vests, one said,

“If you’re middle-aged and you don’t have one, what are you even doing?”

What have I been doing?

I’ve been walking unweighted.

Some people said the vest is ridiculous and just put on a backpack.

It brought me back 8.5 years to when we lived in Boston and the only way BB breastfed or slept was in a moving sling attached to my body.

I went for so many weighted walks.

I’m not sure how much money someone would have to pay me to do that again, but the feeling of the weighted vest high up on the top of my body as opposed to a backpack or a baby is worth the purchase.

I’m addicted to walking. I’m going to walk no matter what. I don’t have unlimited time for walking. So adding the weight and getting some thigh burn feels ideal.

Don’t even talk to me about running. Not my thing. Not happening. Last time I ran was when we were on the beach and RB said,

“I need to go potty, the poop is coming out.”

Even then I slowed to a trot.

My thighs need to be ready for skiing in the Alps by the first week of December. I do not intend to be the last travel advisor down the mountain.

In the meantime, I’ll be wandering around suburbia 16 pounds heavier. Chest hair optional.