photo
SHARE | PRINT | TEXT SIZE: ＋ － | RSS

Mirror of the Heart

By Kouichi Oguruma
[© Oguruma Stable]

Japanese society is changing, becoming more competitive and more performance-oriented. It used to be enough to be seen to be trying, to be making an effort, but nowadays the issue is what you've achieved through your efforts. Unless you generate results, no one will be impressed by effort alone.

This is something a sumo wrestler can understand particularly well.

During a sumo tournament, on any given day half of the wrestlers will lose, however hard they tried. But it's not good enough to think you tried as hard as you could so it's OK to lose, or that you need have no regrets.

It may be true that there's meaning even in losing, but only if this is the inspiration that makes you more determined to win next time. The desire to win arises out of your deep regret at losing despite all your best efforts.

When I was an active sumo wrestler, I twice suffered serious injuries to my knees. On both occasions, I was injured when I was on the verge of promotion to the rank of ozeki, or champion, the second-highest rank a sumo wrestler can achieve. And on both occasions, the doctors told me that I might never be able to return to the ring.

The first of these injuries was hell for me. If someone tried to encourage me, I'd just take offense--how could they understand what I was feeling?

My injury was the result of having tried my hardest, but that was irrelevant: having to retire from a tournament was the same as losing. If you drop out of a tournament, your rank in the sport and your income both fall. It was a tough predicament.

What I felt at that time was that there was no point in making excuses. All I knew was that I had to find a way to come through this.

Eventually I picked myself up and started to practice again, building myself up from scratch. By the time I had gotten myself back into the ring, my view of life had changed completely.

"Heart, Technique and Physique"

Previously, wrestling had been tough for me. I didn't enjoy climbing into the ring. But what I understood now was that it would be even tougher if I couldn't go on wrestling: that would be much more devastating. When I climbed back into the ring after my recovery, I felt a sense of completeness. I realized I was happy just to be able to fight.

When I was injured a second time, I hit rock bottom again, but this time there was no sense of shock. What I felt was an absolute determination to recover, that however many times I was knocked down, I'd just go on getting back up. I wasn't afraid.

I think that however many reasons there may be for losing, there is always more potential lurking within us that we've never spotted before, and all we have to do is find this and use it to the full. Through a long process of trial and error, I developed a distinctive style of sumo that enabled me to win despite my recurrent knee problems.

After recovering from my second injury, I finally won my first tournament, and was at last promoted to ozeki status; eventually I won a second tournament. (At any one time there are usually only two or three active wrestlers with the rank of ozeki and fewer with the highest rank of yokuzuna. One must necessarily defeat these wrestlers to win a tournament.)

Oguruma (left) in training, as a young man    [© Oguruma Stable]

Through this experience, I developed a firm belief: there is nothing one cannot do, but unless you take action you can't change a thing.

I think it was a good thing that I was injured. Thanks to having sustained these injuries, I was able to get rid of the weaknesses in my way of thinking. Before I was injured, I used to believe that I'd always remain happy. But because of the setbacks in my career, I realized that although there are good times and bad times, what's important is to go on polishing yourself, bringing the best out of yourself all the time.

The art of sumo is said to consist of "heart, technique and physique." This sequence is extremely important: If your heart is in the right place, you can always pick up technique and physique later. You have to work on your strength of heart again and again. But if your heart isn't solid, it doesn't matter how much you've perfected your technique and physique; it won't amount to anything.

Of course I wouldn't tell youngsters to fail, but I'd tell them not to be afraid of losing. If you're afraid of being injured, you'll never be a good sumo wrestler. In the same way, if you're afraid of making mistakes, you won't succeed in any line of work.

The sumo ring is said to be a mirror of life. When you climb into the ring, before the bout, after the bout . . . your heart will always be in turmoil. How to overcome this--this is the real battle, the bout you have to wrestle with yourself. First you have to win this struggle; then you're ready to face others.

Kouichi Oguruma, whose ring name was Kotokaze, maintained his position as a top-division wrestler for a stretch of 48 tournaments and was ozeki for 22 of those. He retired from wrestling in 1985 and is now master of the Oguruma stable.

TOP