The Chinese man on the corner tends to take his coffee black with a side of five to seven deep squats. He’s probably well into his 70s, and he smokes at least one cigarette a day—the one I witness often on my morning walk. Yet somehow, he remains in seemingly great shape. To quickly assume it’s his genes would be disrespectful to the miles of stairs he’s climbed in the last thirty years, trekking multiple times daily up to and down from his small six-floor walk-up off Division Street. And if you think he looks good, you should see his wife, who handles all of the groceries and cooking, making those same six-story ascents but with thiry pounds of fresh produce in each hand.