The sleeves on Dr. Paul Campion’s maroon shirt are rolled back, revealing paisley cuffs, a passel of bracelets on his right wrist, and an elegant watch on his left. His knick-knacks rest in wooden cubbies behind him: a conch shell, a decanter, an ostrich egg, a Japanese warrior sculpture, two beakers, and a molecular model of glucose.
At 56, he’s in better shape than he was in his 30s. He flips through pictures on his iPhone 6 showing me the belly he carried three years ago, before he began taking testosterone supplements. In recent photos, his abdominals look like a sculpture of Morse code.
The old, pre-testosterone Campion was an ophthalmologist, an eye doctor, in the wooded wonderland north of San Francisco. “I was just at the gym watching the 30-year-olds at the pull-up bar building muscles in three weeks. And I’m at the pull up bar and nothing’s happening,” he recalls. “I’m not feeling good. I’m sleepy all the time. All I want to do is sit down and eat potato chips and watch TV. Something’s not right.”
So he went to Cenegenics, a medical start-up that trains physicians to run their own “age management” practices. They updated his diet, put him on a new workout regimen, and started giving him testosterone. Within six months, his body fat was down to nine percent. “That’s pretty hard to maintain—I’m closer to 12 percent now,” he humblebrags. After his personal success, Cenegenics asked if he’d like to take their training course, so he did, and quickly, he found himself switching specialties and business models. He became a testosterone doctor.