Chapter 2: Keto’s Tune - Tighter Beats, Clearer Notes

Chapter 2: Keto's Tune – Tighter Beats,

Clearer Notes

A New Riff in 2014

After the crash in 2009, my body had shattered, but my resolve had hardened—aging wasn’t inevitable, not after that morgue whisper. I stood in my kitchen on a crisp February morning in 2014, butter sizzling in the cast iron pan as a ribeye waited on the cutting board. My reflection in the window showed a man 90 pounds lighter than the one who’d faced mortality five years earlier, yet shadows still lingered. The Atkins approach had composed my opening movement, a melody that stripped away much of the weight, but I needed a stronger, tighter beat to reach my finale. At 66, I was far from the vibrant man I wanted to be—my mind still foggy, my energy inconsistent, my joints grumbling with every step. I refused to end up like my father, his vitality drained by illness, his days reduced to pills and weakness. My passion for biotech and longevity, sparked by years of studying resilient survivors like those of the 1720 Plague of Marseille, drove me to keep pushing. I’d spent decades solving puzzles as an award-winning author, former CPA, and entrepreneur—building a securities firm that I sold to HSN, coding an accounting package on a TI 990 Model 1, and outsmarting IBM’s Outlook and Exchange protocol. This feat sparked their $1 billion Linux investment. My mind, honed by dual majors in literature and business at UT Austin and a CPA at SMU Cox, had written songs for Pompeii Records, weaving melodies as effortlessly as I untangled financial systems. Now, I turned that same sharp focus to my health, determined to reclaim my clarity, joy, and zip—not just for myself, but to inspire others through my writing. The steak hit the pan with a satisfying hiss, the aroma of grass-fed beef and Kerry Gold butter filling the kitchen. This was my new symphony—keto—a tighter, more disciplined approach to the low-carb lifestyle I’d begun with Atkins. I needed 110 pounds to hit my chorus, but the fog still whispered doubts. The remaining 20 pounds clung like stubborn notes that wouldn’t resolve, teasing the harmony I sought. As I flipped the steak, watching fat bubble and caramelize, I knew this was my next movement—butter on everything, avocados by the dozen, a new setlist I hadn’t played before.

[Insert Image: A vibrant illustration of a keto meal—avocado, eggs, and fatty steak—on a plate, with a glowing aura symbolizing energy and clarity]

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Why Keto?

The decision to transition from Atkins to keto wasn’t arbitrary—it was calculated, deliberate, like adjusting the timing on a metronome for a more precise rhythm. After losing 90 pounds on Atkins, my weight loss had plateaued, the scales frozen for three months despite rigid discipline. As a CPA, I understood diminishing returns—the audit showed clear progress, but the ledger remained incomplete. I wanted more than weight loss; I wanted the mental clarity and physical vitality I’d lost, the zip of my younger years, and a path to avoid my father’s health fate. My research, fueled by a lifelong fascination with biotech, led me to the historical foundations laid by Dr. William Banting in 1863, arguably the first documented low-carbohydrate diet for weight management. His Letter on Corpulence became my unexpected sheet music, a century-old composition that still rang true. Modern adaptations by Dr. Eric Westman at Duke University and Dr. Jeff Volek’s groundbreaking research on ketosis for metabolic health provided the scientific rigor my analytical mind craved.

Compared to Atkins ' graduated approach, the keto approach demanded tighter restriction—20 grams of carbohydrates daily. Where Atkins eventually allowed 50-100 grams in maintenance phases, keto maintained stricter boundaries, forcing my body to permanently retune its metabolic engine. The shift meant increasing my fat intake dramatically—from roughly 50% of calories to nearly 75%—a counterintuitive move for someone who grew up in the fat-phobic 1970s. Most compelling was Dr. Dominic D’Agostino’s research on ketones as an alternative fuel source for the brain. The fog that lingered around my cognitive edges—the slight delay in calculations, the occasional search for a word—might clear entirely with ketones replacing glucose as brain fuel. While reviewing a client’s balance sheet, I made my decision—identifying inefficiencies, restructuring assets, and eliminating liabilities. My body was simply another system to optimize, another ledger to balance. Keto would be my forensic accounting of metabolism—tracking every macronutrient, measuring every ketone, auditing every result with precision that would make the IRS envious.

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My Keto Setlist

The transition to keto demanded a complete overhaul of my culinary repertoire—a new setlist where carbohydrates were the forbidden note, fat the dominant chord, and protein the steady bassline. My morning ritual began with breaking eggs into a bowl swirled with olive oil, whisking in heavy cream instead of milk, and folding in spinach and feta—zero-carb elegance that kept me satisfied until afternoon. Lunch typically featured a protein-centered composition—canned sardines in olive oil with a side of olives, a turkey and cheese roll-up dipped in mayonnaise, or leftover steak cold from the refrigerator with a fat-bomb chaser of cream cheese mixed with butter and a hint of almond extract. Dinner remained the main performance—ribeye steaks, salmon filets, chicken thighs with crispy skin—always paired with non-starchy vegetables swimming in butter or drizzled with olive oil.

The first two weeks brought the infamous “keto flu”—a detox symphony of headaches, fatigue, and irritability as my body rewired its metabolic pathways. I tracked my ketones daily, watching the little test strip turn deeper purple each day, evidence that my liver was now producing ketones to fuel my brain and body. By day ten, the fog began lifting, replaced by a clarity I hadn’t experienced in decades—calculations flowing effortlessly, words arriving promptly, energy sustaining without afternoon crashes. Social engagements required improvisation—bringing my grass-fed beef jerky to parties, ordering bunless burgers. At the same time, friends devoured fries, explaining politely to well-meaning hosts why I couldn’t sample their pasta salad. My clients noticed the changes during meetings—not just the continuing weight loss, but the sharpened attention, the quicker analyses, the more incisive recommendations. “You seem younger,” one longtime client remarked, unaware how deeply that observation resonated with my mission.

Ten more pounds melted away over three months—intramuscular fat fading, revealing definition I hadn’t seen since my thirties. Jeans that had finally fit after Atkins now hung loose like a forgotten song. My belt needed new holes, my face emerged from decades of padding like a sculpture revealed from excess clay. The scale showed 100 pounds down, a century mark that seemed impossible when I’d first heard that morgue whisper years earlier. The energetic one was more significant than the physical transformation—waking before my alarm, tackling complex tax strategies with enthusiasm, and staying sharp through evening client meetings. The keto rhythm had become my natural tempo, and the fat-adaptation process was complete. My metabolic ensemble now played in perfect harmony, each system knowing its part in the more excellent health composition.

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The Science Behind the Fat

The biochemistry of ketosis fascinated the analytical side of my brain—a metabolic algorithm with elegant efficiency. In normal carbohydrate metabolism, the body converts glucose to energy, storing excess as glycogen and fat when glycogen stores fill. Insulin serves as the primary messenger in this system, rising to process glucose and signaling the body to store rather than burn fat. By restricting carbohydrates below 20 grams daily, I forced a fundamental metabolic shift—when glucose becomes unavailable, the liver converts fatty acids (from diet and body fat) into ketone bodies: beta-hydroxybutyrate, acetoacetate, and acetone. These ketones replace glucose as fuel for most tissues, including much of the brain, which previously depended almost exclusively on glucose.

Research from the Virta Health studies showed dramatic improvements in metabolic markers for people following a ketogenic diet—reduced inflammation through decreased C-reactive protein levels, improved insulin sensitivity, and significant reductions in HbA1c, a long-term measure of blood glucose. Dr. Stephen Phinney’s work demonstrated how this metabolic state enhances mitochondrial efficiency—the cellular powerhouses operate more cleanly on ketones, producing fewer damaging free radicals than when burning glucose. Perhaps most relevant to my age reversal quest was the emerging research on mTOR (mechanistic target of rapamycin) pathways. Periodic nutritional ketosis appears to downregulate mTOR signaling, potentially triggering cellular cleanup processes like autophagy—the body’s method of removing damaged cell components. This cellular housekeeping, typically activated during fasting, may explain some of the cognitive benefits I experienced. The brain fog lifting wasn’t just subjective—it had biochemical underpinnings in enhanced neuronal efficiency and reduced inflammation.

Dr. Dominic D’Agostino’s research on ketones and brain health explained my cognitive improvements. Beta-hydroxybutyrate, the primary circulating ketone, has been shown to support neurological function through multiple pathways—providing efficient energy, promoting brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF) production, and reducing oxidative stress through activation of Nrf2 pathways. For someone pursuing age reversal, these neuroprotective effects represented a significant advantage. The science behind keto aligned perfectly with my CPA mindset—it was metabolic accounting at its finest, optimizing energy production, reducing unnecessary expenditures (inflammation), and balancing the cellular budget for long-term prosperity. Every butter-laden meal and fat-adapted workout was a deliberate investment in my biological portfolio, with dividends paying out in weight lost, energy gained, and years potentially added.

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Tuning My Life

Three months into keto, I sat at my kitchen table, reflecting on the journey as I savored the clarity that now defined my days. The fog that had clouded my mind for years had lifted further, like morning mist burning away under a bright sun. I felt sharper, more present—a version of myself I hadn’t known since my younger years. I’d been a musician in my youth, finding patterns in chords and progressions that others missed, and now, approaching my late sixties, I was tuning my life with the same attention to detail—a CPA counting wins, not losses, measuring progress in blood markers and energy levels rather than just scale numbers.

Where my colleagues accepted cognitive decline as inevitable—forgetting clients’ names, missing deadlines, retiring early due to fatigue—I was experiencing the opposite trajectory. Tax codes that once required multiple readings have now crystallized on first pass. Excel formulas flowed from my fingers without hesitation. Client meetings that once exhausted me now energize me, each problem an opportunity to demonstrate renewed mental agility. Yet the haze still teased me with its faint presence, a final ledger to close. Standing at 100 pounds down after six months of ketosis, so close to my goal weight, I wondered if there might be a further optimization, another metabolic gear to shift into. The research I’d been following suggested that animal-based nutrition might offer additional benefits—eliminating plant antinutrients, further reducing inflammation, and simplifying digestion. Carnivore in 2025 might be my last chord, a song to reclaim my fullest vitality.

For now, though, the keto symphony played beautifully. My quarterly bloodwork showed remarkable improvements—triglycerides plummeted from 300 to 70, HDL cholesterol rose from 35 to 65, and fasting insulin dropped to levels my doctor had never seen in a patient my age. “Whatever you’re doing,” he said, reviewing my results, “keep doing it. You’re literally reversing your metabolic age.” Those words—“reversing your metabolic age”—echoed the morgue whisper that had started this journey. What began as a desperate attempt to avoid my father’s fate had evolved into something more profound—a systematic dismantling of the aging process itself, one metabolic pathway at a time. I wasn’t just surviving longer; I was living younger, moving backward through time while paradoxically moving forward.

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The Road Ahead

As I mastered the keto lifestyle, I began exploring its edges—intermittent fasting naturally emerged as my meals became more satiating, often spontaneously extending the time between dinner and breakfast to 16 or 18 hours. This fasting window, research suggested, enhanced autophagy and ketone production, potentially amplifying the anti-aging benefits I was already experiencing. The road ahead would lead me into metabolic territory that conventional wisdom considered extreme. The carnivore approach—eliminating all plant foods to focus exclusively on animal nutrition—beckoned as a potential final refinement of my nutritional journey. Preliminary research from Dr. Shawn Baker and the experiences of thousands in the growing carnivore community suggested benefits beyond ketosis alone, particularly for inflammation and autoimmune conditions.

My supplement regimen, too, would evolve in the coming years—targeted interventions based on genetic testing and biohacking principles to support mitochondrial function, optimize hormones, and enhance cellular repair mechanisms. The comprehensive approach I would develop by age 77, detailed in Chapter 14, began taking shape during these keto years as I researched each potential intervention with the same forensic detail I applied to complex tax cases. The keto chapter of my age reversal journey taught me something fundamental: metabolic flexibility is perhaps the most powerful tool for combating aging. By training my body to efficiently shift between fuel sources and thrive on fat rather than depend on constant glucose, I gained resilience against the metabolic dysfunction underlying so many age-related conditions. This flexibility would be the foundation for every subsequent refinement to my health protocol.

As I write this in 2025, looking back at that man standing in his kitchen in 2014, butter sizzling in the pan and hope flickering in his heart, I recognize the pivotal nature of that moment. The keto decision was more than a dietary choice—it was a declaration of metabolic independence, a refusal to accept the conventional aging narrative, a commitment to reclaiming the vitality, clarity, and joy I’d lost, and a step toward inspiring others through my writing to do the same.