Character Sketch: Power Pig

Last night at the gym I ran across an archetype of our modern age, The Power Pig. I like to keep track of walking clichés like this guy, because they might be useful in my future creative works. That said, more likely than not, I’ll never do anything with this, so maybe they will be useful in your future creative works.

The easiest way to spot the Power Pig is by the way he holds his arms. Most Power Pigs have become so barrel-chested that they can’t fully rest their arms against their sides. Their lower biceps jut out just a little, in a noticeable way, like they kind of want to hold their arms up a little higher to dry out their pits.

The worst characteristic of the Power Pig is his sense of entitlement on the weight room floor. He will hover and lurk around a space or equipment he wants. He’ll make sounds and grunts to express his irritation that someone happens to be where he wants to be when he wants to be there.

Other character types will do this as well, but you can spot the Power Pig in a few different ways. He seems to think that because he’s stronger he deserves more rapid access to the space. He is much more aggressive about using his body language or vocalizations (grunts, breathing) to show what space he wants to be in. Finally, when he gets fed up with waiting, he’s likely to ask the offending person if he can “work in.” He’ll say it too aggressively, though, and what he’ll really do is take over.

We had a really aggressive Power Pig at my gym last night, and I noticed two little details about this particular one. He carried around this duffel bag with him, presumably full of little odds and ends the advanced weightlifter needs. Atop the duffel bag was his composition book, the thoroughly worn written record of all his power achievements. I saw this little burden less as something necessary and more as a sign of gym status and using it as a way of marking gym territory.

He also wore his headphones a particular way. Lots of people wear headphones and Ipods in the gym anymore. In fact, I quit going to one gym because they kept the main music too low so they wouldn’t interfere with people’s Ipods. That said, there was just something about the size of his headphones and the way he wore them. It was as if, too him, his headphones were a way of expressing the fact that he couldn’t be bothered with us normal sized peons.

Look, after my home, there is no space dearer to me in my life then the gym I choose. That said, the general rule of unspoken gym etiquette and gym courtesy partly explains what I like so much about the gym. Power Pigs have a sense of entitlement that overrules gym etiquette. They are the enemy.

I’d fight them except they’d tear my arms off and then I couldn’t write, but I’d love to skewer one of these guys somewhere along the way of a novel or short story. I’m sure they are almost impossible to love or befriend, but who knows? Maybe the testosterone only blocks up The Power Pig’s personality once he puts his tank top on?