weighted vest

“Let me get this right. You pick me up this morning,” I said. “We came all the way down here. We did six miles in the sand and neither of us said a word. The whole city is still and quiet. We’ve barely seen a moving car.”
“Yeah?” Thomas asked.
I scowled. “So why’d you have to go and ruin it?”
His mouth twitched at the corner. “Sorry to spoil your man time, there, Hemingway.”
“Nnngh,” I said. We had reached the end of our last lap and were almost back to the cars anyway. I stopped and turned toward the lake and breathed. The weighted vest I was wearing pinched at something on my shoulder, restricting its movement, and I rolled it irritably.

Peace Talks Chapter 1, Page 1-2


“Trust but verify,” I said. I took off the weighted vest with disgust and tossed it onto the beach. It made an extremely weighty thump when it hit.
Ramirez arched an eyebrow. “Christ, Harry. How much does that thing weigh?”
“Two-twenty,” I replied.
He shook his head. His expression, for a moment, was probing and pensive. I’d learned to recognize the look—that “I wonder if Harry Dresden is still Harry Dresden or if the Queen of Air and Darkness has turned him into her personal monster” look.
I get that one a lot these days. Sometimes in the mirror.

Peace Talks Chapter 1, Page 6-7


The mantle of power of the Winter Knight was what let me keep pace with my brother the vampire while running in sand and wearing two hundred pounds of extra weight. One of the things the mantle did was to dull pain, to the point where I experienced it only as a kind of tense, silvery sensation. Broken bones were sort of annoying. A bleeding wound was something of a distraction—but I didn’t ever, ever just ache.

Peace Talks Chapter 2, Page 17