No, I Won't Be Buying a Weighted Vest

And other weights I'm not carrying in 2026

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of at least 35 years and an Instagram account must be in want of a weighted vest.

About a year ago, I started seeing the weighted vest pop up all over social media, and soon it was all over my real life as well. Friends of both the para-social and flesh and blood variety were donning their vests to take purposeful walks through their neighborhoods. They were doing it all—enjoying nature, getting their steps in, increasing bone density AND getting a more intense workout. What’s not to love about this scenario?

I felt the inevitability of the vest bearing down on me. I knew it was only a matter of time before I gave in and purchased the thing, reluctantly turning one of the few forms of exercise I genuinely enjoy into a chore. It made sense to be efficient with my limited time. After all, these bones weren’t getting any denser.

But the thought of purchasing another thing to eek a little more efficiency out of my day made me feel impossibly exhausted. Already, I was walking the dog and listening to a podcast. Now, I would add a third thing to accomplish in this 30 minute window.

I had to wonder what else I would ask this poor body to juggle. What else would I try to fit into this sacred time? Could I learn an instrument on the go? Perhaps start a sidewalk knitting trend? Why not also try learning French while power walking through the streets?

When, when, when would it be enough? Why couldn’t a walk just be a walk, for the love of God?

What it feels like the world asks of women.

The truth is, I love my inefficient, low impact walks. I adore meandering. I live to lolly gag!

I want to be so distracted by the bird’s gossip that I can’t help but eavesdrop. I want to smile at my neighbors and stop to enjoy the patch of wildflowers down the street. I want to feel the warm, pleasant tingle in my calves as I walk back up my driveway and I want that to be enough.

Of course, it’s not really about the vest. Perhaps it’s the breakneck, progress-at-all-costs speed of AI or our blasting fire hose of a news cycle, but I am simply overdone. I’m cooked. I’m burnt toast, little smoke tendrils coming out of my ears.

I’m tired of squeezing every bit of efficiency out of life, like I’m wringing out a dirty dish rag, determined to harvest every last drop.

I am done with productivity being the only metric worth chasing. I’m done with hustling and killing three birds with one stone. Why are we trying to kill so many birds?!

Seriously Brenda, a STONE? What kind of monster?

Maybe my meandering isn’t building strong bones, but it is building other muscles—the day dream muscle, the meet-your-neighbor muscle, the puzzle out a problem muscle, the be-present-to-your-surroundings muscle. And most importantly, it’s giving me JOY, and frankly, a weighted vest could never.

So, no, I won’t be buying a weighted vest in the foreseeable future. And while I’m at it, I’d like to also cast off the weights of comparison, of always thinking more is better, of finding my worth only in how much I can do, and most importantly, of Instagram targeted ads.

Here’s to single-tasking, lollygagging, and feeling a little bit lighter in 2026.