#15. How to Lose Weight, Be Healthy & Stay Fit
This guide is comprehensive—a little over 10,400 words. There's no fluff or BS. It's the only one you'll ever need to lose weight, build muscle, be healthy, and stay fit.
The ‘Science-based Health Tools’, ‘Lead to Win’ & the Le Monde Élégant social skills sections are companions for The Stoic Manual to enhance your overall health, vitality, stress resilience, discipline, focus, motivation, and refine your people skills, relationships & leadership skills for a distinguished life—by Dr. Antonius Veritas.
“The oftener we are tempted by pleasure in eating, the more dangers there are involved.”—Musonius Rufus
The Weight of Shame
It started with an apology. A soft, stammered "I—I'm sorry," as she lay beside me, waiting.
The evening had gone well. Very well. There had been laughter, the kind that lingered just a second too long. A playful touch here, a knowing glance there. The stars had aligned, the universe had nodded in approval, and I — of course, had expected the evening to end in a triumphant display of masculinity. But what I had not foreseen was the eerie stillness of my own body—an almost philosophical refusal to participate in the moment.
There was no movement down there. No spark. No grand crescendo. Just… stillness.
The truth sat between us like a stone.
Erectile dysfunction.
For a good two minutes, I tried to reason with myself. Perhaps I had overexerted myself that day1. Perhaps it was stress2. Perhaps this was simply an off-night. But off-nights, I quickly realized, are less “off” when there’s someone beautiful and fun in your company.
When I muttered something about needing a moment, she nodded—an understanding, supportive nod, which was infuriating in its gentleness.
She gave me the sort of sympathetic look one reserves for a child that struggled to stand and failed.
I felt ashamed, like a man impersonating a man. I reached for my phone, pretending to check something, just to have something to do with my hands. She turned onto her side, exhaled through her nose.
“It’s okay,” she said kindly.
Oh, but it was not okay.
“It happens,” she said.
Yes. But not to me.
I tried to laugh it off as my cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
“Maybe I just had too much to eat earlier,” I muttered.
But this was not the work of an overindulgent dinner. This was neuroscience. This was physiology. This was the inescapable reality of my own body, weighed down by years of poor decisions and second helpings.
I pulled the sheet over my stomach, hyperaware of every inch of myself. The softness of my belly. The way my thighs pressed together. The undeniable fact that I could no longer blame bad lighting for my appearance.
The next morning, she left early. She didn’t say much. Neither did I. Because, what was there to say?
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a long time after that, staring at the man who had somehow eaten his way into impotence.
I had always known I was overweight. The signs had been there.
The breathlessness after climbing a single flight of stairs, the way chairs occasionally groaned when I sat too fast, the deep and personal betrayal of every bathroom scale I had ever stepped on.
There is also a particular kind of despair that comes with seeing oneself in bright, unforgiving bathroom lighting.
I turned sideways, sucked in my gut, lifted my chin. Nothing helped. My stomach remained steadfastly present, my chest still carried the unfortunate slope of melted candle wax, and my jawline—once sharp—had been softened by years of late-night snacks and best intentions.
I was shaped like an exclamation mark!
I had, of course, tried to lose weight. I had drunk every slimming tea on the market, most of which tasted like boiled twigs and resentment. I had committed to a juice cleanse once, only to discover that a diet consisting of liquefied kale turned me into the kind of person who’s angry at everyone for no reason. I even went vegan for a brief, misguided period, until I realized that a life without cheese was a life I had no interest in living.
And so, despite my noble efforts, the weight remained. My body, much like an unshakable debt, refused to budge.
But last night had changed everything.
This was no longer about appearance. This was about functionality—sex. Sex was important to me. To my relationship. And, as of last night, my body had made a very clear statement. It was out of service.
Two weeks later,, the fear took a new form.
I sat in my doctor’s office, expecting a routine scolding. The usual: eat less, move more, reconsider the life choices that led to eating an entire pizza on a Wednesday.
Instead, he frowned at my bloodwork. A deep, thoughtful frown—the kind that suggests concern rather than mere disapproval.
“Your cholesterol is high,” he said, flipping the page as if the results offended him. “Your blood pressure is also higher than it should be.”
I nodded, waiting for the inevitable lecture. But then—
“There’s a lump in your neck.”
Now, “lump” is not a word one wishes to hear from their doctor.
I swallowed, suddenly aware of every gland in my body. “A lump?”
He nodded. “It could be nothing.” A pause. “Or it could be something.”
Ah. Excellent. A medical Schrödinger’s cat situation. I had, at once, both something and nothing.
“We’ll need to run some tests. Rule out anything serious.”
Serious.
Cancer came to my mind. I felt very aware of my mortality. Only weeks ago, my biggest concern had been whether I could still fit into my old jeans. Now, I was considering the very real possibility that my body might be staging a full-scale rebellion.
“I see,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
I left the office with a pamphlet about dietary changes and the growing suspicion that my body was actively trying to kill me.
That night, I sat on my couch, surrounded by the ruins of my latest failed attempt at “healthy eating.” The remains of a sad, underwhelming salad. An empty protein shake bottle that had done nothing to fill the emotional void. A candy wrapper from the bar I had sworn I wouldn’t eat.
My knees ached when I stood. My lower back protested when I bent over. My lungs decided that stairs were now a marathon.
Some nights, I woke up gasping, choking on air, as though my own throat had decided to betray me in my sleep. It was sleep apnea. My body had become so heavy that even breathing had become optional.
This was no longer about vanity. Or bomb sex. This was about survival.
I wanted to fix this. I needed to fix this.
But if I had learned anything from my past attempts, it was this:
I had no idea where to start.
Maybe you don’t where to start as well. But don’t worry. I put in the work and I’ll show you how.
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How to Lose Weight & Stay Fit
“To keep himself blameless and free from such errors (like mine) one should by constant practice accustom himself to choosing food not for enjoyment but for nourishment, not to tickle his palate but to strengthen his body.”—Musonius Rufus
What follows is what I researched and applied to lose weight, gain muscle, and become fitter than I’ve ever been.
It’s all based on solid scientific research from doctors, professors, nutritional experts, and the Stoic Musonius Rufus.
We’ll cover this science in four main modules:
A. Fasting,
B. Diet Strategy,
C. Exercise & Movement.
D. Behavioural Strategies for Long Term Success
You’ll also get bonus sections covering the stress-free application and integration of these modules into your daily life plus additional strategies to control cravings and stay healthy in social events, making weight loss and being healthy last you a lifetime.