When I was younger, I bought a third-floor walk-up condo in Boston. That was 16 years ago. The wooden three-unit building was constructed in 1885 by German and Irish laborers. It’s heavy like a ship. The stairs, located inside the building, are made of oak. They had never gotten the better of me over my years of living there. I’d easily bound up and down them all day long, often carrying bags of groceries.
If I took the back stairs, it was four flights up and down.