🇯🇵 Sumo

Hello Adventurers, 

One of my besties — god bless him — is a successful entrepreneur…ergo a salesman with a track record of wins…ergo a persuasive storyteller (who has a tendency to exaggerate and/or embellish certain key details for high drama and/or to shepherd his audience towards a desired outcome).

He’s not a fabulist and he isn’t dishonest — TBH, he’s a salt of the earth human being as well as one of my biggest champions — but, well, he’s just a very excitable type of person…like, to a comical degree…and he gets sooo amped-up when telling a tale that he’ll swerve from reality to surreality (thus stretching fact towards the fantastical).

The cherry on top? He’s fanatical about sports…like, he falls asleep to Stephen A. Smith ranting on the tele, he DMs us sports highlights by 5AM most mornings, and he loves himself an ‘underdog beats the odds’ or ‘big comeback’ type of sports story (which explains why he defaults to reciting dialogue from sports films like Rudy or Any Given Sunday on the reg to motivate his employees). Furthermore — and this is just for colour — he’s got a booming voice, a massive network, and loves to pester powerbrokers by way of daily phone calls (which he does to check-in, backchannel, and/or influence the direction of deals and projects).

So where am I going with all this? Well, to Tokyo…but also somewhere more familiar; being how our lived experience informs our personal narrative, which — in turn — informs how we speak about ourselves to others. And I’m not talking ‘bout grandiose myth making (or anything nefarious), just something way simpler; us wanting to be the narrator of our own story…and us hoping we’re the ones who shape how we’re perceived. And yes, our motives can vary — from what we choose to highlight to what we omit — but that’s a whole other convo…and for the sake of today’s convo, it’s about us wanting to be the source of the story (not the subject of speculation).

What I’m trying to get at — or just grappling with — is a question I’ve thought a lot about this year, being: who defines us? I think we’d like to believe it is us (e.g. ‘me’ the ‘individual’). But…I dunno…my personal experience says otherwise; the memetic chorus of the crowd has repeatedly re-drawn me into a LULZ-y caricature of myself. How so? Well, I’ve been out-voiced by well-intentioned people with greater reach than I…and my story has metastasized to absurd heights (or lows…like, if I lacked a sense of humour). And dunno, I just wanted to introspectively set the record straight today — or just travel back in time and shape shift — as I attempt to set an altogether different record this year). And despite how this introduction may read, what follows herein ain’t really ‘bout me, it’s about the human spirit.

As such, this issue of the newsletter is an examination of baggage, hidden potential, and transformation…told through the lens of Sumo wrestling (which is Japan’s national sport…and something I’ve been investigating all week…as I’ve been simultaneously investigating my past…which itself is full of follies). So let’s get into it, and ultimately into what we can all become,

- Ben Pobjoy

2023 TREK TRACKER

Where in the world...record am I?

• Countries visited: 70

• Flights taken: 74

• Kilometres flown: 129,297

• Marathons completed: 226

• Kilometres trekked by foot: 10,716

• Total kilometres trekked since 2015: 73,807

RAPID WEEKLY RECAP

A speedy synopsis for time-crunched readers

• The Wildest Thing: I was in Seoul a few weeks back…before spending a few days in Toronto…and now I’m in Tokyo…and my internal clock is haywire from all the extreme timezone hopping. I won’t admit what my current sleep schedule is…but it is wildly dysfunctional🤪

• The Biggest Obstacle: I’ve reached the point in this project where each day begins with taping my toes and feet😮‍💨

• The Lesson Learned: Self-realization means writing your own story…not judging books by their covers or leafing through the pages of someone else’s life🫡

FIELD NOTES: DEWANOUMI-BEYA

Spirit, possibility, and power

I’ve always loved Christmas; not for its material gifts via Christ-tinged consumerism…but for the experiential gift it has always given me (i.e. quality time with friends and family…like, us sat ‘round a table eating grub or playing board games…or better yet, us situated cozily and chattily near a roasty-toasty fireplace).

Anyhoo, we’re only a third of the way into December, but I’m already unabashedly one-hundo-p in the holiday spirit. As such, I gave myself an early Crimbo present of sorts; a private visit to a Sumo stable in Tokyo — known as a beya here in Japan — to watch some wrestlers train. Partially because I have a general interest in combat sports…but more so because it was like my own existential version of A Christmas Carol…which felt timely and seasonal given that it is December. And I wouldn’t frame it as punishment like it was in Dickens’ novella (e.g. a miser asshole needing soul correction via three visiting spirts), but there was a transportive element to my experience here where the ‘me of today’ could look at the ‘me of yesterday’ as the wrestlers wrestled — while I wrestled with looking at the looking-glass self — as I thought a lot about spirit (being the human one…not the apparition kind).

Now I think it’s fair to say that us humans each have our own version of baggage…even if our lived experiences vary in trauma and hardship. And when it comes to the latter, I’ve honestly had none; my life has been tremendously easy…which is why I own my fuck-ups (because I can’t pin them on anything but my lousy decisions and/or crappy habits). All that said, my personal baggage was once physical — as in, I was previously obese — and I’m not suggesting that this body type is inherently negative because the vibe of my modus operandi is my body, my choice (and thus yours too). However, when I was bigger, I did feel shittier…and not because society idealizes / idolizes thinness (and sorta vilifies things like big bodies, old bodies, and/or disabled bodies)…but because I suffered non-stop aches and pains from having a big mass on my small frame. For me, it simply hurt to be big; and such was the baggage that weighed down my true potential. In short, that was my personal baggage — one that was felt and one that was visible, and one that is definitely not a condemnation of other similarly-shaped bodies — and your baggage? It is whatever you personally deem it to be. Like, it could even be invisible (e.g. pain, doubt, fear, and/or limitation in your mind, soul or psyche).

And watching the big boys in the beya…it just stirred up lots of big thoughts and feelings within my now-smaller-body-but-still-the-same-guy self.

On Wednesday, I got to the storied Dewanoumi beya at half past seven in the morning…where I was greeted outside by a refrigerator-like, hulk of a man who had a ponytailed head the size of a large pumpkin. The language barrier is real in Japan — and I didn’t know what I had truthfully signed up for / what the run-of-show would be…or even how long this thing would go — so the dude escorted me inside where he instructed me to remove my shoes, and sit cross-legged on an elevated platform beside the beya. And I just sorta waited for whatever was gonna happen to happen.

Sumo is an old combat sport from here that is taken very seriously in Japan, and it is full of traditions, rules, rituals and customs (which concern everything from the wrestling practices to the wrestling tournaments themselves). What is important to know, is that it is very hierarchical….so newbie practitioners are treated like mortal lackeys (whereas experienced-ly successful wrestlers are treated like gods…who are pampered / spared from doing stuff like grunt work or chores). As such, when I arrived to the beya, the junior wrestlers were preparing the circular dohyō for practice; watering it with a watering can, tamping the sand down with their feet (to make it nice and groomed), and occasionally crouching down to remove anything rough with their hands.

Short of my time spent in the changing rooms of boxing gyms, I’ve rarely been around packs of dudes in their skivvies (especially bulbous types in thongs). And TBH, I’ve never been that comfortable to be in a state of undress around strangers — now or then, thin or otherwise — and dunno, just seeing the wrestlers so comfortable in their own skin was sorta lovely (and something I aspire to know).

Hitachiyama Taniemon brought prominence to the Dewanoumi beya in the early 20th century…despite it being around since the 1860s. And it is now one of the more prestigious ichimon. Interestingly, wrestlers join a beya, live in the beya, and are expected to stay at their heya for their whole fighting career / there is no transfer system. And this is why yesterday’s beya wrestlers are today’s beya owners and/or head coaches in their OG stables.

Sumos vary in height, weight, and size…but what is consistent is that they never compete against their beya teammates in tournaments; essentially it is gyms competing against other gyms. Such lends a real sense of camaraderie to the wrestlers from one beya; evident by the group training sessions as well as the knowledge sharing that is imparted by older wrestlers to younger wrestlers at practice.

Shinto informs Sumo — and the former has much to do with purification — and that’s why the wrestlers enter the wrestling practice fresh out of the shower…and occasionally flick a bit of salt here and there.

Sumos live a heavily regimented life; eating chankonabe (which is often cooked in the communal kitchen by the junior wrestlers) and having to wear yakuta robes out in public (where low-rung wrestlers must wear geta footwear while high-rung wresters are permitted to wear zōri footwear). Only the highest ranked wrestlers are permitted to wear silk robes of their choice…and when you see these ‘champ types’ out in public…they give off ‘big bossman vibes’…especially because they’re so revered by everyone here (like, people covet — and collect — their handprints). Anyhoo, I simply mention this ‘cause some of this was reflected on the recruitment poster that was hung in the beya I visited.

I didn’t have to go to a Sumo stable to learn that looks can be deceiving. However, it was nevertheless a powerful reminder; especially since big bodies aren’t often associated with athleticism (lest it be stuff like powerlifting). But, as the ritual cleansing of the bodies — as well as the beya — gave way to practice, the wrestlers dedicated a full hour to leg stretches / leg range-of-motion exercises proceeded by squats and lunges. What surprised me most wasn’t how high most sumos could lift their legs, but how many of them could do the splits while on the floor of the dohyō.

When I was big, I couldn’t even see my feet or my regular-sized weenie when looking down— because they were obscured by my protruding belly — and touching my toes? No way! No chance! As such, the grace and flexibility of the Sumo wrestlers was really something to behold…as was their ability to suffer.

Many of their exercises revolved around an individual yelling out a count and everyone doing reps together. When finished, the next person would issue the same count as well as commands…until it had encircled its way ‘round the circle. And when it did end with finality, the pattern would began anew / repeat itself with a different exercise. It was gruelling stuff — being the types of demanding leg exercises that made me nauseous and shaky as a boxer — but the wrestlers took it silently like true toughies…while dripping lotsa sweat in the cold and unheated beya.

At some seemingly random point in time, head coach Oginohana Akikazu moseyed on over to the elevated platform (where I was seated). He had a newspaper tucked under one arm, unopened mail in one hand, and a mug of tea in the other. He placed these on the floor before he lit a single stick of incense — which appeared to function like a timekeeper of sorts — since practice ultimately ended when the incense burnt out. Anyhoo, he placed the incense in a sand-filled trunk of a hollowed-out and lacquered tree.

Akikazu then plonked himself down onto two cushions directly in front of me; completely obscuring my view, being one I paid lots of loot for (this experience was objectively expensive FYI).

One could be irked by this…if one wasn’t accustomed to the binary manner in which the Japanese receive non-Japanese peoples; either with over-the-top accommodation that makes you uncomfortable or with a cold reminder that you are a foreigner which makes you more uncomfortable (and where the onus is on you to adapt and STFU). My experience in the beya by way of Akikazu was the latter…and it didn’t surprise me since I was in Akikazu’s house, and in Akikazu’s home of Japan. And anecdotally, anyone visiting Japan is always referred to as a foreigner — be it in conversation or on signage — and it’s very different from how much of the world uses warmer terms like tourists and/or visitors. But, it’s not surprising in the least…since Japan is a socially conservative place that’s quite nationalistic and sorta racist.

Akikazu didn’t appear to do any coaching during practice — he actually busied himself with sipping his morning tea and reading the newspaper — and only engaged with newbie wrestlers when he needed scissors to open his mail as well as wanted his tea re-upped (as in, he summoned them over to serve him / fetch him things).

Much of the practice was self-guided by the wrestlers themselves (who appeared to be following some well-established routine). And there wasn’t any outright wrestling on display in this session.

However, there was one portion of the practice where a wrestler stood on the inner edge of the dohyō, and another would charge full force at them (to push them across the ring to the other side). The sounds of the meat-y collisions were brutal — as were the pained grunts of those receiving the slamming body checks — and bodies puffed and reddened immediately upon impact.

Much of the Sumo training revolved around body weight exercises…yet there was a pile of simple exercise equipment inside the doorway of the beya (which some of the wrestlers occasionally picked up and at).

Because Sumo is so traditional and ritualistic, modern sports science doesn’t seem like it factors into anything here. And TBH, I’m a weakling that has terrible form when it comes to all-things weightlifting…and these Sumo dudes had terrible form too, LOL. Oh…and I don’t state this to be / sound like an asshole, I state this because I suck at this stuff…and can therefore easily identify those who also suck!

Anecdotally, I don’t believe you need much gear to get fit. Like, I know you don’t…you just need willpower coupled with a fighting spirit. Me? I lost 100 lbs in eight months in 2015 by walking increasingly longer distances, doing some weekly swims at a public pool, and jumping rope on the weekends. In addition, I swapped out processed / junky food for whole food…and ran a calorie deficit. It was a simple approach underpinned by some simple math…which was a difficult equation to implement and enforce. But hey, that’s the gist — and the unsexy truth — ‘bout it all.

It’s LULZ — but some people put a preposterous spin on the aforementioned over the years — due to broken telephone or tweaks-as-creative-liberties for a more thrilling tale. Like, I’ve met people who are like, “You’re the guy who lost 200 lbs in like four months, right?” or “Weren’t you like diabetic and gonna have your legs amputated but turned it all around?” One person once recounted — to my face — how disgusting they’d heard I’d been..and then congratulated me on my reversal, ha ha!

I used to correct people — not because the metastasis embarrassed me, but because it was inaccurate — but lore and legend just have a way of being slippery things you can never get your hands around. So big thanks to my homeboy Snotty for being the OG vector of this misinformation! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyhoo, my wife is a journalist — and she’s not a writer, but an editor — like, at a big newspaper, and she spends a lot of time thinking about story on a very high-level. She’s shared many nuggets of wisdom with me over the years — which have shaped how I write and approach storytelling — but she often says this one line that always seems to get truer and truer, “That many different things can be true at once.”

And whatever reasons I’ve given for doing the Marathon Earth Challenge are true, and so is my want of being known for something else; like adios to me being known as that arsonist who once lit his house on fire…who was then praised by everyone for extinguishing the fire / rebuilding the house he idiotically destroyed…that’s all in the past, and years ago…and now a closed chapter. As an aside, I’ve always thought it was weird and hilarious that my weight loss story resonated with others ‘cause I started ‘normal’…and ended back at ‘normal’…but everyone just digs the meat-y middle of chaos in between those two slices of biographical bread.

Now I say this with humility; but I firmly believe that doing is being and what is done — and did — is dead. So the Marathon Earth Challenge will define my 2023…but dies when the clock strikes New Year’s Day 2024…because it is a new year next month…so the work must continue…because self-definition is a practice — like an on-going discipline by definition — and it is the doing that ultimately defines us (as well as our story). So we move on — and forward — to create anew, nahmean?

Wrestling practice slowly ended with a fun, cool-down exercise where the Sumos tossed medicine balls to one another in a counter-clockwise manner (until they were all gassed). There was lots of laughter — and no punishment if someone dropped a ball — and head coach Akikazu was chuckling (and even whipped out his phone to snap some photos when he appeared to be most tickled).

Sumo as a form of fighting borrows a lot from judo with regards to throws and tosses. However, there is a strict code for what isn’t permitted in Sumo; like, striking an opponent with a closed fist. But, I saw one seasoned Sumo instruct a newbie on a work around; punch your outer moob with your fist so your inner moob ‘bitch slaps’ your opponent in the face. It is apparently legal, and even they were laughing about it.

There was a large Sumo — well over 300 lbs — that was a seasoned fighter. He attended the practice but barely worked-out. He was basically wrapped in tape from the feet up, and was mostly going through the motions; like when everyone was squatting low, he was just sorta bopping his head in unison.

Despite not moving much, he got so hot and sweaty that he exited the cold-ass beya, chucked his robe onto the beya’s stoop, and chilled in the middle of the even-cooler road in an attempt to catch a breeze.

There is no significance to this anecdote…but the visual of his robe on the floor — being a layer of metaphorical baggage that was shed and discarded — impacted me and/or made me think about my journey; like, when we cast-away our bullshit and get down to the essentials, I think we can be — and honour — the essence of who we really are at our core (even if we don’t yet fully know — or understand — what that person is or can be).

TBH, I don’t actually know what wellness is…because it is so open to interpretation ala some sort of mystical mix of cardio, strength, rest, diet, and whatever else today’s subject matter experts wanna add. But I do objectively know what lousy decisions and/or crappy habits look like…because I am imperfect and I have ‘em…and have a lifetime of work to do to correct ‘em.

And I don’t even know if I’m healthy either — even if my figurative ‘book cover’ presents that way — because I could barely sit cross-legged on the beya floor for two hours. Like, I had to clutch six of my bandaged toes to maintain my form. And I broke form at one point — and extended my legs when my knees and hips were screaming — but then that ponytailed pumpkin dude scurried over (and told me to be respectful and sit upright, LOL).

I am not a Sumo — and the Sumos ain’t me — but I think we’ve each tapped into what spirit — and possibility — can ultimately power; a more self-realized version of ourselves (however we individually define this).

And dunno…like, I’m currently sore and stiff AF from an extreme year of ludicrous marathoning…and those Sumos have a life expectancy that’s 10 years less than the Japanese average — and there was a defibrillator beside the dohyō (which is never a good sign) — and well, I think that everything in life just comes down to identifying what you want…and how badly you want it…and what you’re willing to do to get it (like, even if you’re inadvertently killing yourself to get there and/or to define yourself).

Big or small, sumo or not, baggage visible or invisible…everyone has that power.

And as the wrestling practice ended — and I raised myself up on my creaky knees after watching some parable of who I once was — I think I realized I got the question wrong:

It’s not about who defines us, but how we fight for the we that we want.

BEST LOCAL THING-Y

Admittedly, it felt a lil off-concept to write about some rando Japanese food I gobbled up this week in Japan…especially given the themes I have explored in this specific issue of the newsletter.

However, I’ve been absolutely famished the whole time I’ve been in Japan…and I’m basically non-stop stuffing my gob (because I think my body has officially reached the point of really hating me…for all the torture I’ve put it through this year). But, if you must know…I’ve been going HAM on onigiri and inari sushi all week…like eating it every few hours…which I regularly procure from the grab-and-go sections of the excellent convenience stores here.

Anyhoo, the painting above — which was on a Sumo loincloth — caught my eye in a Sumo museum…because I’m kinda looking like that in Tokyo right now; cheeks just filled to the brim with rice and seaweed and beancurd at all times!

I’ll keep eating and will report back properly next week ‘bout what gastronomy had the most gravitas…but spirit, possibility, and power…that’s what I hope we’re all ruminating on — and snacking on — to nurture ourselves and own our narrative versus being pwned by the shorthand’d, the exaggerated or the inaccurate).

POBJOY'S GLOBAL PRICE INDEX

This is an on-going documentation of how much things cost in different places around the world. Here are some of the things I bought in Tokyo (all prices converted to USD):

• A one-way fare for the 60 kilometre-long Skyliner train ride from Narita airport to downtown Tokyo: $17.83

• A medium soy latte from a Starbucks: $3.71

• Three pieces of inari sushi from a convenience store: $1.71

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