When I was little, I used to watch gymnastics in the living room. I’d start off not being able to do the splits, and by the time they’d landed a triple somersault and a double Arabian salto, I was on the living room floor in full Hanumanasana (the Sanskrit name for splits) — perfectly, of course.
There is something about being young and having the ability to just bend yourself into shapes easily.
Why Can Kids Move Like That?
Children’s muscles and fascia contain more water, which makes them naturally more pliable. As we age, tissues lose hydration and elasticity, becoming stiffer. Growth plates (epiphyseal plates) in bones are still open, allowing greater flexibility and movement. Their joints have a wider range of motion, partly due to ligament laxity and the fact that structural changes from long-term repetitive movement haven’t yet occurred.
Most importantly, their nervous systems aren’t hyper-vigilant yet. Adults develop protective tension patterns — the brain learns that certain ranges are risky and sends “danger” signals when we approach them. Children haven’t been conditioned to fear that discomfort yet.
Fast-forward a few decades, and I can sort of do the splits. On a good day. With a long warm-up, a few props, and a small prayer. I'm always a few inches off the ground and not able — or perhaps willing — to “push” myself further. (More on this word “push” in a moment.)
I think I’ve become sensible in my old age. Or just wiser. Because at some point, I stopped treating the splits pose as proof that I can ‘do yoga’ and started seeing it as what it really is: a shape with a story.
Because let’s be honest — this pose is bonkers.
One leg shoots forward, the other slides back, and you’re meant to breathe deeply while doing the human equivalent of a wishbone. It’s physically intense, emotionally humbling, and — oddly — spiritual. Yes, spiritual; because this is the story of Hanuman — the monkey god who made an impossible leap, fuelled entirely by love.
Who Is Hanuman?
Hanuman is the beloved monkey deity from the Indian epic The Ramayana. He’s the ultimate blend of might and humility — the monkey with divine DNA and blessed with supernatural powers. Mischievous but wise. Cheeky but noble. Clever — though prone to forgetting just how powerful he really is.
Hanuman’s Leap: The Abridged Epic
Sita — the goddess and wife of Rama — is kidnapped by Ravana and taken across the sea to Sri Lanka. Rama is devastated. Hanuman, Rama’s ever-loyal devotee, vows to help. But there’s a problem: the Indian Ocean stands in the way. Hanuman stares at the water. He doesn’t believe he can make the leap across the sea. He forgets his power. Until Jambavan, the wise king of the bears, reminds him who he truly is.
And in that moment of remembrance — of realising what he’s made of — he takes flight. One giant leap. A stretch beyond logic, reason, and muscle fibre. Fuelled not by ego, but by devotion.
The Splits Can’t Be Pushed
There’s something emotional about the splits. Most people either dread it or long for it. It’s not just a pose — it feels like a test.
Flexible = good yogi.
Inflexible = failure.
Hanumanasana brings up all the stuff:
Frustration when the hips won’t open
Ego when they do
Impatience, comparison, wobble, and wonder
It’s a pose that strips you back. You can't bluff your way in. And you definitely can’t push your way in.
Here’s why:
Muscles don’t respond to brute force — they respond to nervous system safety. Push too far, too fast, and your muscle spindles — tiny sensors in the muscle — signal the brain that something’s wrong. The result? Your body contracts to protect itself. Not ideal when you’re trying to lengthen.
Go hard, and you risk:
Microtears in muscle fibres
Strained ligaments (which don’t bounce back easily)
Joint instability or compensation injuries
What you need instead:
Gentle, sustained stretching (hello, Yin Yoga)
Breath-led movement that tells your brain, “It’s safe”
Consistency over intensity
And props.
Props ≠ cheating.
Props = intelligent rebellion.
Progress in this pose comes through softening, not straining. Which, let’s be honest, is often much harder. Because Hanumanasana isn’t just asking your hips to open — it’s asking you to. And that’s where the real work begins.
The Anatomy of a Giant Leap
Hanumanasana may look like a leg split, but it’s really a full-body negotiation — every joint and muscle has an opinion.
What you’re lengthening:
Front leg hamstrings
Back leg hip flexors and psoas — tight from all that sitting
Adductors (inner thighs) — stabilising and stretching
Lower back and front body — especially if you’re lifting your arms or chest
What’s working (quietly but intensely):
Core muscles — they stop you sagging or tipping into one hip
Pelvic stabilisers — unsung heroes keeping everything square-ish
Glutes and deep rotators — managing all the chaos at your hips
A long psoas doesn’t just improve splits — it reduces back pain, helps your breathing, and can improve posture
But What’s The Point?
Sure, you could memorise which bits are stretching — your semitendinosus, semimembranosus, and biceps femoris (a.k.a. your hamstrings). You could even chart your anatomical progress. But honestly — does that make the splits any more meaningful?
Unless you're training for something unusually bendy, it's unlikely you’re doing Hanumanasana for purely functional reasons.
So… why bother? Let’s agree on this: you usually feel good after a yoga class.
Whether “good” means calm, clear, fuzzy, strong, or like you survived something dramatic — it’s positive. And that alone is reason enough to get on the mat. But “difficult poses” offer something more.
They demand patience, dedication, control, courage, and restraint. They ask you to listen to your body. To dance with your ego. To focus on something that doesn’t come easily — and to stay with it. And isn’t that exactly the skillset life demands? The real value isn’t in whether you “get” the splits. It’s in how the trying changes you. The next time life pushes your limits and your instinct is to lash out, maybe — just maybe — the patience you practiced while stretching your poor semitendinosus to its edge… gives you enough space to pause, breathe, and choose how to respond.
The Art of the Split
Splits show up in more places than yoga class and gymnastics — and each culture gives them meaning:
In Chinese martial arts, splits represent mastery and internal strength — not just flexibility
In Bharatanatyam (classical Indian dance), dramatic floor work symbolises devotion and surrender — sometimes echoing Hanuman’s energy
Jean-Claude Van Damme’s lorry split wasn’t just 80s bravado — it was a lesson in balance, breath, and theatre
In contemporary dance, split leaps are wild, emotional, and raw — the body saying what words can’t
In circus and cabaret, the splits are the mic drop. The “ta-da!” moment. The crowd-pleaser
Tennis player Novak Djokovic uses them to defy physics mid-match — a reminder that flexibility can be functional, not just aesthetic.
Hanumanasana Without the Drama
You don’t have to drop into the full splits to honour the pose. Just getting into a low lunge counts. Or reaching for something that feels just out of reach. Or offering yourself fully to the moment. Hanuman forgot his power until someone reminded him. You might forget what you’re capable of too — until something (or someone) calls it out of you.
You don’t have to leap an ocean. But it’s worth asking: What are you willing to stretch for?
Photo by Wietse Jongsma on Unsplash
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