We Spa Hop....and Tell

efore i was asked to discover what five of our area's top resort spas offer in the way of pampering and destressing, I had never been to a spa. Oh, I had written volumes on the importance of taking time to indulge oneself; I could talk in my sleep about what a four-layer facial can do for the woman of a certain age. But go to one? I don't have a spare five minutes in which to apply mascara on most days. Plus there's the whole modesty thing, and the being ticklish thing, and the fact that any time I have been forced to sit completely and utterly still the result has been either hyperventilation or hysterical laughter. I needn't have worried. Not only did I quickly get the hang of sybaritic pleasure, the staff at each spa put me at instant ease. What also struck me about the employees at each one-from the manager to the person stocking the towels-was their fervent belief that their therapies could be, if not life-changing, at least mood-changing. And me? Oh, yeah. I've been converted.

although it occupies 85 acres of fort myers' harbor-front Punta Rassa community, Sanibel Harbour Resort & Spa feels intimate, a coziness that extends to the recently renovated, 40,000-square-foot spa.

Valerie Simpson, the spa manager, shows me to the plush and softly lit locker room, where a robe and slippers await me, and tells me to disrobe to my comfort level. I am amused to see that my comfort level is not nearly as comfortable as everyone else's. I am delivered to Barbara, the aesthetician in charge of my Repechage four-layer facial. I tell her that I don't use any product on my skin, not even sunscreen, beyond a supermarket beauty bar. Barbara is unfazed. She is a rock.

And I am a pushover. After applying the first layer, a seaweed-based hydrating formula, Barbara deems my skin sensitive and chooses a honey-and-almond mixture with which to massage my face, neck and shoulders. Honey is for me the smell that is most closely linked to a childhood spent playing in the woods around my grandfather's beehives, so I'm a puddle of nostalgia by the time she begins to apply the cool green seaweed mask. A warming mineral mask is then placed atop it. After Barbara peels off both, she shows me the results. My face hasn't looked this bright-or young-in years.

Because I'm at the spa solo, I don't indulge in one of the most popular treatments, the Caloosa Experience, where, in a private, candlelit steam room, couples apply colorful sea- and shell-based body lotions and scrubs to one another.

The spa is also one of only 16 in the country to own a Bio Energetic Transduction Aided Resonance (BETAR) bed, which uses music and sounds to create "energy-wave impulses." What I had pictured as a high-tech pod is actually an open, dome-shaped metal platform on which a bed is suspended, surrounded by speakers. I settle under what must be the world's softest duvet and, to the sound of water crashing and thunder blowing, study the intricate mural that fills the room, following it from the primeval waters to the nascent earth to the sprawling sky, where bright stars are circled by an ominous cloud.

After Valerie releases me from the BETAR bed, I ask her about that cloud formation. Is it supposed to be a hurricane? She stops and stares at me for a beat. "It's the universe being created." Oh. Right. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.

spa manager ginger mcclean comes to the Marco Beach Ocean Resort by way of a large California spa, and she's brought innovative ideas, therapies and products with her, including new custom blends of essential oils that have proven a hit with longtime clients. I'm offered an aromatherapy massage with the temptingly named Stress Relief Oil, but short on time, I opt instead for a session with wellness coach Kent Burden, who has been doing seminars and presentations for the spa. Yoga, Pilates and meditation are the cornerstone of his My Life Fitness program, which counts Drew Barrymore and Julia Roberts among its devotees.

The one-hour meditation I'm to do with him requires no luxe gear: Our tools are a towel, a tape player and an empty ballroom. As I get comfortable, Kent explains to me that the mind is like a cage full of chattering monkeys. This metaphor is not a stretch; sometimes when I get stressed, I picture a group of howler monkeys jumping up and down and stomping their little monkey feet. Normally I want to join them, but today we are going to try to shut them up.

As we begin, I'm to see myself breathing in what I consider the most beautiful color in the world, then breathing out a stream of gray smoke that is all of my cares and worries. While I try to envision the purple of the jacaranda tree, the screen in my mind's eye is nothing but black, and the monkeys chant, "You don't see anything."

Kent evokes a patch of white beach and a swath of blue sky. Now I'm supposed to be in the water, seeing myself on the shore.

Then he guides me into the mind of a seagull-looking down at myself on the beach-and invites me to soar. I am dutifully gearing up to pretend to fly when, suddenly, I am. I feel the rush of freedom in my gut as I climb through the wind and high into the sky as it turns from blue to starry. I'm racing right into those stars. Whoops, too high . As I jump, Burden's hand is on my arm, telling me it's okay to come down, to cruise at my comfort level.

I'm back to breathing in the beautiful color, breathing out the gray of stress, when my mind suddenly empties of everything but silence. In this absolute stillness, my once-black field of vision is filled with a noxious neon green. As a very awed and humbled monkey notes that this not my beautiful color, and this can't be good, a wave of royal purple starts rolling in from the left. It's deeper than I could ever have remembered or imagined, and it bumps the sickly emerald away. From that moment to the end of our session, I see lots, mostly animals: bears, coyotes, lizards, owls, fat and sassy frogs. But there isn't a monkey in sight.

the pink shell beach resort is a four-star, high-rise resort on Fort Myers Beach's quiet north end. While resort guests mill about the outdoor lobby waiting for the elevators, an express lift near the valet stand whisks me up to the 6,000-square-foot Aquagene Spa.

The spa uses visual cues and a well-designed layout to make the most of its space. Up the stairs from the locker area, as I wait for Georgie, my (female) masseuse, oversized lounge furniture and a kicky purple-and-green color scheme make me feel like the Wizard of Oz's Dorothy waiting for the number where she gets her Emerald City makeover.

Aquagene is known for its makeup services, offering post-service touchups, applications for special occasions and packages for mothers and daughters as well as do-it-yourself lessons from experts. It's also the only local spa to carry products by celebrity makeup artist Susan Posnick. I wonder if I made the right choice­­-inner peace over outer beauty-until Georgie's massage clears it up for me.

I'm not sure whether it's her sunny, calm demeanor or the aromatherapy and heated, smooth river stones she uses along my spine and neck, but it's a completely relaxing experience. I have a lot of faith resting in the essential oil blend I've chosen. I have no idea what's in it-it could very well be snake oil-but it's called, simply, "love." I've picked it over one that promises to excite the libido (not a good choice for someone who has to go back to the office) and one that promises to cure insomnia (an even worse choice).

I leave the spa full of love for everything; if I could sing, I would sing What a Wonderful World. This is even after I turn my cell phone on and see that this small chunk of time to myself has yielded two voicemails and two other missed calls. I'm pretty sure the oil works. Or maybe it's that human kindness comes easier when your spine is no longer tied into knots.

the 17,000-square-foot spa at the naples beach hotel & Golf Club is relatively new, but it maintains the Old Florida charm of the 50-plus-year-old, family-run hotel, Naples' first destination resort. Rocking chairs are set out on the verandah of the large building that houses the spa, overlooking the golf course, and the spacious ladies' spa waiting area is filled with comfy chaise lounges.

I'm to have a traditional Swedish massage, where I will discover that finding your "comfort level" means more than just figuring out how undressed you are going to get. Because men usually have more upper body strength than women, they are sometimes thought to be better at deep-tissue massage, and many women prefer male masseuses. But through no fault of my masseuse, Jack, I find I am not one of them, unable to let go of my self-consciousness. That ticklish thing also interferes. I suspect that I'm not a traditional Swedish massage kind of girl, that I need a therapy that's enhanced by the novelty of aromatherapies or hot stones or Reiki, all of which are incorporated into some of the massage services offered by the hotel.