The best medicine - laughter yoga

Published on Wednesday 10 December 2008 15:17

THEY SAY the "Blitz spirit" of a recession makes people nicer to each other, and so much cheerier in general. However, now it's bloomin' freezing outside and my bank account has been drained of all funds after a Christmas gift-buying frenzy, this credit-crunchee is finding it difficult to raise a smile.

So when I heard there was a new "laughter yoga" (or hasya yoga) class taking place on the first Monday of every month – in the Grassmarket's Beehive Inn – I dragged my gloomy self along.

These 30-minute classes are hosted by lifestyle coach Gail Bryden who, during the Edinburgh Festival, staged a one-off workshop featuring the World Laughter Champion – Belachew Girma from Ethiopia, a man who has shattered records by guffawing non-stop for three hours and six minutes.

However, if Bryden's first-ever regular class is indicative of people's states of mind, then we're not in great shape – only two people turned up, including me. And that wasn't the only thing that signalled a less than perfect start – to enter this upstairs function room, one has to walk past the original condemned cell of the former Calton Prison (where prisoners were held, before being taken to the Grassmarket gallows). Plus the 1970s decor in the room itself looks like a cat has sprayed vomit everywhere.

It's lucky that Bryden's enthusiasm for the subject of laughter yoga, whose devotees include John Cleese, is infectious.

"The health benefits of laughter are amazing," she says. "It increases circulation and the amount of immunoglobin in our blood, so helps fight illness. Plus, the actual physical action massages our internal organs. However, what's really incredible to realise is that, while toddlers giggle an average 300 to 400 times a day, adults only laugh around 15 times. It's something we can all do so easily, yet it's so great for well-being."

Which is possibly why there are now around 6,000 of these laughter groups worldwide – after the first was set up back in 1995 by Dr Madan Kataria, a family physician from Mumbai.

Also, even though we've all experienced the horror of having to force out awkward laughter when someone makes a bad joke, Bryden claims our brains don't know the difference between an authentic giggle and a fake one – we still enjoy the same endorphin boost. Perhaps that's why so many self-help books suggest we make ourselves smile first, then wait for the warm glow to come afterwards.

Before the workshop, Bryden and her "laughter assistant" Peter Standberg are extremely welcoming – both emphasising that it's important we feel secure. "So that participants feel relaxed, they must have a lot of eye contact with the facilitator and trust them, as well as the environment they're in," she explains.

The first exercise involves Bryden (who is a fan of comedy show Everybody Loves Raymond, but don't hold that against her) instructing us to "come closer, come closer…" until we're all bumping up against each other.

I'm already giggling, but it's more of an awkward laugh at having to be in such close proximity to virtual strangers. Still, it works as a warm-up to break down those invisible boundaries.

It's then that Standberg (who is Swedish, has a laugh that sounds like a chimp and is a fan of Fawlty Towers), shows us how to start up our "imaginary lawn- mowers". We have to pull an invisible pull-cord to get the engine revving, and as we draw our arm back, clearly recite: "HOO HOO, HA HA HA." Then all Hell brakes loose, as we pretend to be dragged round the room by our giggling lawnmowers. I feel like a total idiot.

The next exercise is even more humiliating. We have to stride around a pretend zoo and each time one of us says we have arrived at an "animal cage", all of us have to impersonate that creature.

"How on earth did I get here?" asks my subconscious as I roar like a demented lion, waddle like a penguin and spring around the carpet pretending to be a gibbon. It's very easy to be too self-aware but, ultimately, you realise you have to throw yourself into laughter yoga. Anyway, that's what I was attempting to convince myself, as I made monkey noises and dragged my knuckles along the floor.

At this point, my face was aching from smiling – obviously those muscles hadn't had a workout for a while. Thankfully, however, as laughter is oddly draining, the sessions are kept short and sweet. So, already, our penultimate exercise had arrived, and we were instructed to lie flat on our backs on the floor in a zigzag formation, placing our head on someone else's stomach, and vice-versa. The theory goes that, when your "cushion" laughs, your noggin jiggles around and it sets you off. In reality, I found this pretty squirm-inducing – perhaps because it might look, to the uninitiated, like we were having some kind of orgy, never mind the fact that my stomach was churning at having to recline on the crumb-strewn carpet – still, at least the others seemed to be pretty tickled by it. But, for me, this exercise seemed to last forever, before it was explained that the session was wrapping up.

"The final section of the class involves ten minutes of relaxing meditation," explains Bryden, who trained as a Laughter Facilitator with the Laughter Network in London. "You see, we don't want participants to go straight out and drive a car or anything."

Although I'm absolutely sure that I would be safe behind the wheel after this workshop, I did feel rather invigorated after spending 30 minutes being utterly childish. It's a sensation Bryden has already experienced. "When I first came across laughter yoga, I'd never felt so energised," she explains. Perhaps you might wonder why they don't just crack jokes. Well, apparently, a gag only elicits approximately a two- second laugh, while these exercises keep one laughing consistently throughout the class.

So that "chill out" time at the end is designed to prevent one dashing outside while still feeling all hyped-up. After all, it's a "bah-humbug" old world out there, and we wouldn't want to inflict our irritating glee on the public. I'm just smug that I've experienced some of the merriness of the drinkers downstairs in the Beehive Inn, but without any nasty after-effects.

"Exactly, which is why we're billing these sessions as a happy-hour with no hangover," Bryden says. sm

• Laughing For No Reason with Gail Bryden and Peter Standberg – 30-minute drop-in sessions are on the first Monday of every month at 7pm, 5, at the Beehive Inn, Grassmarket, Edinburgh. Visit www.yourtruepotential.co.uk and www.laughternetwork.co.uk for more details.