Normal exercise has gone the way of calisthenics. Remember calisthenics? Probably not, because they’re forgettable.
We now demand bells and whistles, cute names, accessories, and perhaps even a higher purpose to keep our routines from seeming too routine. We need cardio portmanteaus that transform an ordinary workout into a twerkout or a jackalope (doing jumping jacks while loping).
Rucking, originally a low-impact military exercise, involves walking with a weighted backpack. Students engage in it every day when they lug their laden knapsacks to school. But rucking is not for them; it’s for their out-of-shape parents.
Rucking is more than a regular old, possibly boring hike; the activity gained traction over the pandemic as an effective and accessible full-body exercise. It could be as simple as tossing a barbell into a JanSport, but where’s the fun in that? Now there’s stylish gear designed for the job. GoRuck, for one, makes packs that hold weighted plates, each one 10 to 45 pounds, distributed ergonomically. The most expensive pack costs $625.
I decided to give rucking a go on a recent morning in Los Angeles. A friend and I labored up the Elysian Park hillside, each bearing a backpack stuffed with 10 pounds of weight. Since I didn’t have dumbbells, mine was filled with K-pop CDs (those cases are heavy). We panted up the incline, backpack straps cutting into our shoulders. Wouldn’t this hike be so much more enjoyable without Blackpink’s discography straining my lumbar region?
Although rucking feels like an effort to put a cool spin on a basic activity, it did give me something new to complain about.
Despite its charms, there is nothing exactly sexy about rucking. For that, there’s the Hot Girl Walk, a viral TikTok phenomenon in which participants take a four-mile walk. You are only permitted to think about three things: personal gratitude, personal goals, and personal hotness (which, needless to say, is not measured with a thermometer).
I happened to be in a hot place when I attempted my maiden Hot Girl Walk, weaving through Mexico City’s La Condesa to a ceviche restaurant. I tried not to cloud my mind with thoughts of lunch.
“I’m hot, I’m so hot,” I muttered to myself under Mexico City’s sun. “Oh, look, a cute dog—no, no, no, I’m hot. I look great,” I kept repeating, as sweat poured down my face.
By the time I reached the cevicheria (my goal), I was mostly happy that my Hot Girl Walk was over (gratitude) and I could begin contemplating more pressing matters, such as which tostada to order (I’m exceptionally hot).
It was time to advance to “plogging.” The term comes from the Swedish word plocka upp, for “pick up,” mashed with jogga for “jog,” and it was coined around 2017 by Erik Ahlström, who has spent 30 years planning outdoor races and events. It gives a little extra purpose to a jog by requiring participants to pick up litter along the way. This is not to be confused with “trashercise,” the American activity of gathering trash while merely walking.
Plogging has grown into a global movement, with local chapters in Lithuania, Belarus, Mexico City, and more. When I spoke with Ahlström, he was on the pristine streets of Tokyo, home to one of the biggest plogging communities.
“Once you start seeing all the trash, it’s like going on a mushroom hunt, and then you don’t want to stop,” said Ahlström. This year alone, he’s taking plogging to France, Spain, Kenya, and South Africa. His hope is for plogging to become mandatory in schools.
Ikea is on board. Equipment specific to the sport is now sold in its stores worldwide, including waste bags, tweezers, and gloves. The World Plogging Championships, held this year in Italy, saw 100 of the globe’s top contestants compete to score both athletic times and garbage haul. Participants brought in televisions, tires, and coffee makers, with the winner’s bounty weighing in at more than 220 pounds.
Feeling exhausted by the idea of plogging, I was almost tempted to succumb to Cozy Cardio, another TikTok concept, in which people do things like light candles, watch TV, and sip a protein shake while walking on a treadmill-like pad. Cozy Cardio isn’t restrictive; it allows any form of movement that appeals, comfortably. However, lovely as that sounds, I prefer to be cozy without an elevated heart rate.
In the end, these trends have convinced me that the full-body exercise I really need next is swimming or, perhaps, aqua jogging. If I call it sogging, does it have a chance?
Lynn Q. Yu is an Editor at Large at air mail
