Weight Loss: Abs Diet on Vacation  

My first year out of college, I've tried to scrimp and save every dime I've made. And believe me, after rent and bills, it's closer to dimes than dollars! Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd go on vacation. But behold, my editor asks me if I want to go Key West, Florida for a Yamaha press junket, a Valentine's weekend of testing out the new 2005 WaveRunners and boats. All expenses paid. Plus, I get to bring my boyfriend!

The tough part about this trip is that I'm at the end of week four of the Abs Diet, and sticking to the program might prove tough while on vacation. I brought my sneakers and workout gear to use in the hotel gym, but I know our jam-packed schedule might not leave time for workouts.

Friday night, my boyfriend Andre and I arrive at the beautiful Casa Marina resort. "Wow, this is gorgeous. We'd never stay here. We'd be at the Howard Johnson or Super 8," I say to Andre.

First things first, we drop our bags in the Jimmy Buffetesque room, and head to the bar with the Yamaha group and other journalists invited on the trip. There's Jose and Jenny from Miami's Wave magazine, who already have three kids, Bob, who's got four kids, a guy from Playboy who's been in the magazine business for 15 years, and then there's Andre and I, 22 years old and ready to party. A few rum punches from the toothless bartender--I figure this will be my cheat meal--and we're ready to go out at 11 p.m.

"You're really gonna go out now?" says Jenny, bewildered.

"Yep!" chime me and Andre. We grab a cab. Off we go. Our cab driver came here on vacation in April, and decided he wouldn't go home. Maybe we won't either?

Duval Street Dives

We jump out at Duval Street, where the craziest bars are located. Now Key West is known for its large gay community, and this is the first time more guys check out my boyfriend than me. "It's because of your ass," I laugh at Andre.

Drinking on the street is legal here, too. But I have to be careful because I'm still on the Abs Diet. I limit myself to one more Miller Lite , and we hit the pavement just to see what's going on. One guy plays drums with 12 plastic buckets, and another group of men stare at Bart Simpson and Crusty the Clown bongs in a store window.

We enter an Irish pub, where a chubby, sweaty, old guy with long hair, shouts to some barely-18, young ladies over the microphone, "I used to play for Tiffany in the 80s." "Back then I got laid every night," he says. "What makes it any different now?" The ladies gasp. Then the has-been breaks into "I Think We're Alone Now."

We decide to leave by 1 a.m., so we can wake up by 8 a.m. to hit the beach and ride the WaveRunners. The next night will prove to be crazier than the first.

Dude, where's my dumbbell?

After a long day of exploring the Keys on the watercraft, we barely have a break to go back and change for a sunset catamaran ride. I guess there'll be no gym today, although my legs are sore from squatting on the WaveRunner all day.

Yamaha set up a private boat with yet another open bar for 15-20 of us to enjoy. A few more people joined us today. A freelance writer for 7 different magazines, a young woman from Glamour, a guy from Popular Mechanics and his wife, among others. My man, the toothless bartender, hands us drinks before we even ask. I can see where this is going...

Strike a Pose

At dinner that night, I get to sit down and chat with some of these journalists and listen to their stories about the magazine business. I order the steak and pass my potatoes and creamed spinach to Andre (sure spinach is on the Abs Diet, but not when it's creamed with butter and cheese). I eat half of the steak, and sip my wine to make it last. Gotta keep to that no drinking rule! Shoot, the waiter fills my glass to the top. There goes that idea.

At least I can still pass up dessert, even though it is raspberry cheesecake. Raspberries! They're on the Abs Diet too! Two bites won't hurt...

Finally, someone dares to ask me how old I am, as I am noticeably younger than anyone there.

They're shocked I'm only 22.

"When I was 22, I was raising hell, and getting rejection letters all the time, telling me my writing sucked," says the guy from Playboy.

"You really represent yourself well for your age," says another woman.

I want to ask the Playboy editor's advice about how Playboy runs its website, so that I can compare it to MensHealth.com.

I start off by saying, "So can I ask you..."

He cuts me off immediately. "You want to know how can you pose?" he says.

"No!" I shriek. "No way. My boyfriend would kill me!"

"No, he wouldn't."

"Yes he would!"

I look at Andre, whose dagger eyes pierce Playboy editor's skull.

"No he wouldn't," Playboy insists.

I glance down to make sure my top is where it's supposed to be, then change the subject back to magazines.

Gettin' Down and Dirty

That night we all head out in a big group, about 4 men and one woman from the Yamaha group, Jenny and Jose, and me and Andre. After a short stay at a bar called Rick's, Jose and Jenny leave, probably because they feel out of place watching teeny boppers grind to the ground to hip-hop music.

Soon after, the rest of the group disappears, too. We wonder where they went.

Turns out in this bar, there's also a strip club downstairs. Free cover. Ah ha.

Andre and I crack open the door to the strip club. There they are. All the guys are drinkin' up, eyes glued to a butt naked blonde, who dons what looks to be five different piercings, down there.

It being my first experience at a strip club, one of the guys insists that I sit front row, against the stage, directly across from the pole, where I "can get the full experience."

Blondie pierced lady gets closer and closer to me, rolling around the floor--she's not wearing any panties! Her bare legs spread, she shoves a man's face between her naked breasts, right before my very eyes. Meanwhile, I creep further and further away from the stage, and my face grimaces like I'm watching a car crash.

"I don't like this," I say, and immediately rise from my stool to ditch the scene.

Me and Andre abandon the strip club to find our own source of alternative entertainment.

There's Always Tommorrow

Monday morning comes way too quickly. Our flight leaves at 7 a.m. We return to pouring rain outside Philadelphia's airport. Isn't that always the way?

The whole weekend was a whirlwind of activity, yet I enjoyed every second and learned a lot from the people that have been there, done that, in this magazine business. As for my Abs Diet pursuit, it was hard to stick to the exercise and no drinking parts, but I found that riding on a WaveRunner for two days straight did wonders for my legs (thanks guys!). Plus, we walked everywhere we went.

I was also able to eat healthy by avoiding buttered potatoes, creamed spinach, and (most of) fattening desserts. The conch fritters were hardest to avoid, though, and the lure of free drinks did me in. But I will make up for it this week with harder workouts and stricter diet.

Stepping on the scale a few days later, I gawk at the dial. No weight gain. I actually lost another pound. Amazing, how this works!

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