As the morning light streams through tall windows, Yoshida Takahashi crouches at the edge of a makeshift dohyo, or sumo ring. The 67-year-old former amateur sumo wrestler watches intently as two athletes circle each other, feet shuffling across the canvas. Here, in a repurposed warehouse in East Vancouver, an unlikely revival is taking place.
“In Japan, tradition is everything,” Takahashi tells me, his eyes never leaving the ring where a 30-year-old woman and a teenager have locked arms in a tight grapple. “But tradition can live and breathe. It can change while staying true to its heart.”
The Vancouver Inclusive Sumo Club started three years ago with just seven members practicing in a community center basement. Today, more than 60 active members from ages 8 to 72 train regularly in this bright, open space adorned with hand-painted banners and a shrine to past sumo champions.
Unlike traditional sumo in Japan, where professional ranks remain closed to women and foreigners face significant barriers, this Vancouver club has deliberately opened its doors to everyone: all genders, ages, body types, and backgrounds.
“I never thought I’d find a sport where my size was actually celebrated,” says Jamie Chen, 34, a healthcare worker who joined the club 18 months ago. “Growing up bigger, sports always felt like punishment. Here, I’m learning to appreciate my body for what it can do, not what it looks like.”
Chen, who now competes regionally, represents the new face of sumo that’s emerging in pockets around North America. The sport’s combination of explosive power, strategy, and deep cultural rituals has attracted a diverse group of participants who might never have considered sumo before.
“What we’ve created isn’t just about the sport itself,” explains Samantha Morris, the club’s co-founder and head coach. “It’s about making something ancient relevant to our community today.”
Morris, a former judo competitor who discovered sumo while traveling in Japan, works closely with Takahashi to balance traditional elements with inclusive practices. They’ve maintained core rituals like purifying the ring with salt and performing the pre-match stomp that drives away evil spirits. But they’ve also adapted other aspects, creating weight classes for local competitions and developing modified training for different ability levels.
The Canadian Sumo Federation reports that membership has grown 40% nationwide since 2019, with British Columbia seeing the most significant increase. This growth comes as the sport gains visibility through social media and international competitions, though it remains far from mainstream.
On a practical level, the Vancouver club operates with sliding scale membership fees and has a community gear-sharing program to reduce barriers to entry. They’ve partnered with local schools to introduce sumo basics as part of physical education programs, emphasizing the sport’s focus on respect and controlled power.
“Kids love the ritual aspects,” says elementary school teacher Devon Williams, who brings his grade five class for monthly sessions. “They’re learning about Japanese culture alongside physical literacy. And it teaches them that strength comes in all shapes and sizes.”
When I visit on a Saturday morning, the training session breaks into groups based on experience level. In one corner, beginners practice the fundamental movements—the wide, low stance, the explosive charges, the techniques for maintaining balance. More advanced practitioners work on specific throwing techniques, their bodies moving with surprising grace for such powerful athletes.
The club recently sent three competitors to the North American Sumo Championships in Los Angeles, with Vancouver’s Alisha Parmar bringing home a silver medal in the lightweight women’s division. This achievement has energized the club, though members emphasize that competition is secondary to community.
“We’re building something that honors the spirit of sumo while creating space for people who’ve been told they don’t belong in sports,” Morris says during a break in training. “That tension between tradition and innovation is where the magic happens.”
For some members, the club offers unexpected therapeutic benefits. James Whitefeather, 42, found sumo after a workplace injury and long recovery. “There’s something about the intentionality of it,” he explains. “You have to be fully present in your body. My physio actually recommended it for my recovery.”
The University of British Columbia’s Cultural Studies department has taken notice, with researchers documenting how this adaptation of sumo reflects broader questions about cultural exchange and respectful adoption of traditions.
“What’s fascinating is how they’ve found this balance,” says Dr. Miriam Wong, who studies cross-cultural sports adaptations. “They’re not diluting the cultural essence of sumo, but they are challenging its historical exclusivity. The question becomes: who gets to participate in cultural traditions as they travel beyond their origins?”
For Takahashi, who moved to Canada in the 1980s, watching sumo find new life in Vancouver brings complex emotions. He believes the sport’s survival depends on evolution while maintaining core principles.
“Sumo teaches humility, respect, and discipline,” he says, demonstrating proper form to a new member. “These values are universal. They belong to everyone.”
As the morning session winds down, the members gather in a circle for closing rituals. They bow to each other and to the ring itself, acknowledging the space as sacred. Then, in a departure from tradition, they share a moment of reflection—something Morris introduced to build community.
“Today I felt strong,” says a teenager who earlier seemed hesitant in the ring. Others nod in recognition.
Outside, as members chat and make plans for lunch together, it’s clear that what’s happening here transcends sport. In this warehouse in East Vancouver, an ancient tradition isn’t just being preserved—it’s finding new life through the very people it once excluded.
