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DIVINE INTERVENTION

Luxury spa vacations are the perfect January antidote. Where else can you work off your cake... and eat it too?

Text: AMY ROSEN

1 | 2 | 3 | JAN

When I climb into the stretch limousine, all my trepidation is gone. On the one-hour train ride east from Toronto, I felt mild anxiety about my five-day spa trip. What if I have to starve to achieve my five-pound weight-loss goal? (Or, worse, what if the food’s no good?) What if they laugh at my lacklustre fitness level? What if I’m bored or – this is a real possibility – die from e-mail withdrawal?

The limo ride soothes my fears: Haldimand Hills Spa Village is clearly about gain without pain. The sprawling wellness complex was born in 1981 when owner Jim Corcoran bought a charming 1858 fieldstone château and began creating a laid-back spa retreat. All stone walls and well-heeled turrets and gables, surrounded by more than 200 hectares of woods, farmland and gardens, the village is centred around Ste. Anne’s Country Inn & Spa in Grafton, where I’ll be spending my first few days. Nearby is the Hillcrest Victorian Inn & Spa in Port Hope. Each has its own sensibility: Ste. Anne’s is like a grown-up playground featuring fitness classes, outdoor activities and Aveda products. The Hillcrest is a more serene retreat, fuelled by quiet contemplation and the ultra-organic Dr. Hauschka line.

Just down the road from Ste. Anne’s is Maison Santé, a fitness centre where I’ll be spending a lot of time, getting daily doses of personal training and taking group classes. But first, my fitness assessment. A twinge of trepidation returns.

DAY 1
Jared Lloyd, a good-natured, square-jawed personal trainer and body builder, spends an hour taking readings of my height, weight, blood pressure and heart rate. First, he uses calipers to measure fat in key areas (thankfully, the ass isn’t one of them), putting me through push-ups, sit-ups, jumps and a cardio test. He then takes a few minutes to calculate the results, scratches his head and recalculates. I grit my teeth in apprehension.

The news is good: healthy blood pressure and body mass index, a body composition index ranking near perfect, good leg strength, excellent in push-ups and sit-ups. "But," he says, his expression suddenly downgraded from jovial to concerned, "your cardiovascular needs work." It’s extremely rare to have high scores in every other category while failing aerobic fitness. "Could it be my allergies?" I query. "Nope." Instead, the likely culprit was my habit of lounging on patios drinking gin and tonics all summer. But in a way, I’m happy for this good news/bad news scenario – for it’s hard to get results from a lass with no ambitions.

Limo rides taken: 1
Perspiration expelled: approx. 1 1/2 tsp
Chocolate chip cookies ingested: 11
Degree of e-mail withdrawal: extreme

DAY 2
I stir to life in the Canopy Room, with its cheery blue paint, wood-burning fireplace and four-poster bed that requires either a footstool or running leap to mount. I shower in spring water (drawn from a natural aquifer on the property), then pad downstairs. Men and women in thick white terry robes are splayed across handsome couches and outdoor chaise lounges, drunk on peppermint stone wraps and De-stress with Breath lessons. It’s like a grown-up slumber party at a rich relative’s summer estate. I am already so relaxed I almost forget to put my pants on before breakfast.

My first circuit training session with Jared goes well. Then I have a 90-minute personal yoga lesson, followed by a Thai massage (which is like having yoga done to you). I go for a little nature walk, then take a meditation and stretch class to get in touch with my "true authentic self." (I’m already using spa-speak: good.) The meditation is so calming – all pillows and soft guiding voices – that we lose a few to sleep along the way.

The pool is open dawn to dusk, so I take in the last bit of daylight before dinner. While reading my book, I can’t help but eavesdrop on two fortysomething women draped over flotation noodles. One says, "Look at that sky. Look at those puffy clouds. And that tree…" "Here comes Rose," says the other. Rose approaches, yawning. "I was laying in a hammock," she says. A man is swimming laps while his wife practises yoga near the shallow end. Life is good.

Cups of coffee imbibed: 5
Degree of telephone withdrawal: fair to middling
Perspiration expelled: 1/4 cup
Scones with clotted cream ingested: 4.5

1 | 2 | 3 | JAN