My name is Keith Loh.

I'm fifty-two, based in Singapore, and I run a company called LYDO, short for Live Young, Die Old.

Before I tell you what LYDO is, I should tell you what I got wrong for about thirty years.

I've worked across a few different industries, and if there's a thread running through all of it, it's that I like to take things apart and understand them.

I spent my twenties in publishing, running sales for youth-culture titles in Singapore in the 90s.

I spent my thirties and early forties in hospitality. I founded Whitebait & Kale, launched Oriole Coffee when specialty coffee was still new here, and opened Bedrock, a wood-fired steakhouse. I was part of the group that ran Marmalade Pantry, Fat Cow, Kinki, and Pelican. In 2013 we sold to Kitchen Language.

I took some time off, and then helped start Comcrop, Singapore's first commercial rooftop hydroponic farm. That's also how I ended up running Guerilla Seeds, importing edible plant seeds from Italy.

Since 2017 I've been building Caffeine Solutions, and in 2021 we opened Guerilla Coffee.

Somewhere along the way I was Singapore National Barista Champion in 2010 and Cup Tasters Champion in 2013. I've judged coffee competitions for over a decade.

Whenever I got serious about something, I had the same habit. I'd find the best teacher in the world for it and put myself in front of them. To build Oriole's roasting, I flew to London and trained under Mercanta at the London School of Coffee. To build the cocktail program at Bedrock, I flew in Eben Freeman from New York. That's how I've always learned. At the feet of the people who actually know.

None of that saved me from what was happening inside my own body.

I've been on a martial arts mat in one form or another since my twenties. Aikido from the mid-90s to the early 2000s. Then endurance sports, six full marathons, six Olympic triathlons, four 70.3s. Brazilian jiu-jitsu since 2013. I'm a brown belt. I still get submitted every week, and I still learn something every session.

From the outside, I was the picture of a disciplined man.

On the inside, for most of those years, I was bloated after meals, popping Nexium to get through my own restaurant's menu, foggy in the afternoons, hangry between meals, and slowly gaining weight I couldn't shift no matter how much I trained.

I owned a steakhouse and I couldn't digest steak.

And the part I'm almost more ashamed of than the symptoms. I hated myself for it. I believed the story that says if you can't control your body, it's because you're weak. I thought the answer was always to work out more, to drink a little less, to have better willpower next week. I thought the whiskey at night was fine because I ran marathons. I thought the cravings were a character flaw.

In December 2022, a friend sent me a podcast link. Diary of a CEO, Robert Lustig. I read Metabolical on that trip.

Something shifted, quietly.

Over the next two years I read my way through Ben Bikman, Sean Baker, Jason Fung, Gabrielle Lyon, Georgia Ede, Steven Gundry, Peter Attia, Marty Makary, and Nina Teicholz. Not one camp. Across camps. I started eating more vegetables. Some things got better. Some things didn't.

Then in late 2024 and early 2025, in the space of about three months, my body sent up a flare from every system at once.

A hormone panel showed my estradiol elevated and my DHT low. My body was converting testosterone into estrogen faster than it should have been. The doctor's answer was a medication I'd likely take for the rest of my life.

A colonoscopy found an anal fissure. The surgeon's answer was either cutting the sphincter or chronic muscle relaxants.

Then I did a CT coronary angiogram. It came back with calcified plaque at the LAD ostium, mild stenosis, the artery people call the widowmaker. I asked the cardiologist how bad. He said somewhere between 25% and 49% narrowed. Come back in five years.

I walked out of that office asking myself one question.

Why do I have to wait until I'm in a disease state before my doctor will treat me?

It just didn't sit right with me.

So I stopped waiting. I went back to what I've always done when I want to know something. I found the people who actually know, and I studied under them.

I enrolled in Dr Ben Bikman's InsulinIQ coaching program and certified under him directly. I completed ICF-accredited coaching training and I'm on the pathway to ACC accreditation. I took Duke University's Introductory Human Physiology course last year. Earlier this year I started two longer programmes, the Functional Medicine Coaching Academy's twelve-month course, and a two-year course with the Institute of Health to become an integrative nutrition therapist.

Alongside the certifying, I shifted how I ate. More protein. More fat for satiety. Carbs under control. I kept training. I started paying attention to sleep.

And slowly I began to feel like a different person in my own body.

The bloating went. The reflux went. The afternoon fog went. Weight I'd chased for a decade moved. Joint pain I'd filed under "this is just fifty", pain bad enough that during COVID I couldn't run one kilometer, eased enough that I can run zone two for four or five kilometers again, on knees with torn menisci and a reconstructed PCL.

But the surprise wasn't the weight or the labs or the joints. It was that I got calmer. Stress that used to set me off doesn't land the same way anymore. I'm more present at dinner with my family. I don't need the whiskey the way I used to, though I'll still pour one when the occasion is worth it. I'll eat dessert, but it has to be momentous. Metabolic flexibility, I've learned, matters as much as metabolic discipline.

I've spent thirty years building businesses around taking care of other humans. What they read, what they eat, what they drink. Functional health feels like the same work, one layer deeper.

LYDO exists for men in their forties and fifties who are doing everything right and still feel like their body has stopped cooperating.

Who have labs their GP calls "fine" and a body that tells them otherwise.

Who are tired, a little heavier than they want to be, a little foggier, a little slower to recover, and quietly wondering if this is just what the second half looks like.

It isn't.

I can't promise you my results. I can only tell you what happened in my body, and I can walk with you while you figure out what's possible in yours.

I'm not a doctor. I work alongside yours, not instead of them.

If any of this sounds like where you are, I'd love to talk.