Laughter Club in Iowa City offers alternate form of yoga exercise

IOWA CITY — The first rule of Laughter Club is: there are no jokes at Laughter Club.

The second rule: faking it is fine. In fact, you should fake it until you make it.

That’s because at this club, laughter doesn’t rely on humor or comedy. It simply makes use of one of the best “alternative” medicines around.

“If we were to rely on humor, everyone has a different sense of humor,” said Michelle Buhman, program specialist and club instructor at the Iowa City Senior Center. “There are things that can be offensive in some humor and cases. This is great because it stays away from that.”

Here, participants are only trying to tap into one thing: a sense of childlike playfulness that allows anyone of any age to laugh for no reason at all.

“We initiate laughter as an exercise,” said Buhman, who is certified as an instructor in the exercise form with roots traced back to a Mumbai doctor almost 30 years ago.

Before long, it becomes something contagious.

How it works

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A small group starts sitting in a circle before quickly putting away their chairs to allow for better movement.

Warm-ups start with casual shoulder rolls, stretching, and cheek taps to loosen the body. A “namaste” gesture helps break the ice with fellow laughers.

At the onset, some laughter is genuine, while other laughter sounds forced. Soon, it turns into quiet titters — an intro to the improv style foundational to many exercises in the room — where participants laugh as if they’re trying to not wake up a sleeping baby.

Another exercise, as if the room is getting caught in the rain, adds light physical agility to the mix as the room of older adults stomp and dance with glee, almost resembling a form of modified Brazilian Capoeira.

Each exercise, about 30 to 60 seconds, ends in a refrain as laughers stop to clap, raising their hands as the reset with a mantra: “Very good, very good, yea!”

They laugh about unexpectedly high bills. They turn their pockets inside out to show how poor they are, inverting what can be tragedy into an exercise in comedy. Then, they explore the other side of the coin as they pretend to win the lottery.

And as they do so, one of the first breakthroughs starts as a different kind of exuberance emerges in the basic, white room — decorated only by “laugh” signs found at home decor and craft stores.

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They pretend to miss each other’s high-fives. Then comes the time for special requests — favorite past exercises from the repertoire has been built in the years since the class restarted post-pandemic.

Merce Bern-Klug, whose laughter seemed to come easiest, requests “the lawn mower.” Soon, the room breaks out into a staccato of “ha ha ha” that mimics the sound of push lawn mowers sputtering as operators comically struggle to start them with each pull — a lesson in how physical comedy, while also genuine, doesn’t necessarily rely on jokes.

Another requests “the swing,” an exercise where the group forms a circle, hands raised, that tightens to the center before retreating — bearing resemblance to classic games at elementary school gym classes that use the giant rainbow parachute.

The final portion of club, in a seated position, is free flow laughter. What starts with quiet chortles quickly explodes as Bern-Klug bursts into a guffaw, making it easy for the rest of the group to follow in her wake with bellows and chitters. Before long, stomachs around the seated room start to tense up as each one tries to contain themselves.

Benefits

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Eventually, a calm settles in for a moment, soothing the waves to ripples — a moment when the work of laughter manifests into what appears to be a respite of healing.

Laughers transform into meditators with deep breaths and closed eyes. Soon, silence is replaced by intentional breathing that parallels the laughter in a different way — letting the physical contractions of joy reverberate in perhaps a healing way after most of the workout has peaked.

It was a peace that not even construction and vacuum noise outside the room could interrupt.

Participants who attend weekly said the benefits don’t stop there. They can feel the effects for hours or even days afterward.

That effect, “the natural high of laughing for no reason at all,” is what brings Chris Cotant, a Coralville resident, in every Wednesday. And, it complements other forms of exercise.

Like other exercises, it can quickly leave one out of breathe. Buhman said that just 10 minutes of hardy laughter delivers the same effects as 30 minutes on a rowing machine.

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Laughing brings more oxygen into the body and brain, affecting myriad systems from emotional balance to the immune system. Hard laughter gets rid of residual air in the lungs, which can increase breathing capacity for those with asthma.

And studies show that the brain cannot differentiate between real and voluntary laughter that is done with willingness, Buhman said — the health benefits are the same either way. The number one benefit she sees in participants is an elevation in mood with a lasting release in endorphins.

“It’s getting back to the core of yourself and being OK with just laughing and not having to justify it with a joke or anything. We’re just doing it because we know we’re going to feel good when we’re done,” she said. “It gives you a cardio workout in which you’re not having to ask someone to run on a treadmill or do jumping jacks.”

All they need to do is come in with a willingness to be silly.

Comments: Features reporter Elijah Decious can be reached at (319) 398-8340 or elijah.decious@thegazette.com.