Hi readers. Are you there? Are you still subscribed? Are you missing my PCT posts? I am too. Every single day. I’m meant to be grading papers right now, but that’s clearly not what I’m doing. I’m drinking an IPA and listening to a Big Thief record and thinking about the trail.

It’s February in Cincinnati. When I was a kid that meant winter and ice storms and endless cold days, but climate change is a thing now, I guess, and it’s been pretty warm recently. I ran in shorts and a t-shirt on Wednesday night, with my run club in downtown Cincy, streaming through the city and its buildings and traffic lights and walk signals, alive, breathing, sweating in my city. It’s supposed to get cold again this weekend, though—President’s Day, a three day weekend, bless—so my long run tomorrow is going to be rough. It’s okay, though. I hiked 2,650 miles. I can tolerate a lot.

I’m training for a big race in May: Cincinnati’s Flying Pig Marathon. It has been on my bucket list since I was young. I guess not every year can be a thru-hike. Sometimes you have to have a stand-in. So 26.2 in 2023 it is. The training has been going fairly well so far, although my Saturday long runs are getting to the point that I really can’t be alone anymore. Tomorrow I’m meeting up with some runners from my club and going out for 12 along the Little Miami Trail. I feel really lucky to have found friends through distance activities. I stumbled upon this run club largely by accident about a year ago now, and through it, I’ve formed some beautiful friendships. The community is warm and lovely and motivating, like an endorphin-filled hug—not unlike the hiking community.

Back in October I started substitute teaching at the high school I went to, a tiny K-12 Catholic school situated on acres of rolling green land on the edge of the Ohio River. A few weeks into doing this, the AP English teacher resigned, and the principal asked me to take over the position. It was perfect timing: in early November, I was settled in enough to feel ready for a committed job for the rest of the school year.

It was difficult and labor-intensive at first, but I quickly came to love it. The classes are small, the students are sweet and hilarious and so motivated, and I have an incredible amount of freedom over the curriculum. I get to talk about books and words and writing with students who care. I get to come to work every morning and discuss the role of contrast in Interpreter of Maladies and Huxley’s idea of beauty in Brave New World and how the Transcendentalists defined American literature. I just ordered copies of In Cold Blood and Crying in H Mart for my AP Language students and my heart nearly leapt out of my chest. How did I get so lucky to discover things I love both in and out of the mountains? How am I allowed to love what I do every day so much—when I’m hiking, and when I’m not?

I committed to another full school year today. It wasn’t my plan post-trail to stay here past this year, but I love it more than I thought I would. The plan I thought of while I was still on the PCT was that I’d be here for one school year, then go abroad to teach. But I haven’t found any motivation within myself to apply to teach abroad programs. I started one back in the fall, but I abandoned it. It just wasn’t what I wanted to do. I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t feel myself wanting to move somewhere and teach grammar or sentence structure or how to speak in English. I was already doing what I wanted to do: talking about books, ideas, words, helping students develop their communication skills, being in a place where my skills are valued and my experience is harnessed. It’s okay to be here for a while. It’s better than okay. I legitimately love going to work every morning. I miss the trail, but I’m not dying to be on one again yet. I’m happy where I am. And that is an amazing feeling.

This time last year I was preparing for my thru-hike. As each day passes and we get closer to April, I can’t help but think about where I was—who I was—this time a year ago. I hadn’t met any of the people I met on the trail. I didn’t know about the fires. I didn’t know how much I’d love the desert, or how my heart would break and mend a thousand times looking at the sunset in California. I didn’t know who I would meet, how the Czechs would share their slivovice with us that first night in Hauser Canyon, how much Andy would drive me nuts. (In a good way, Andy. In a good way.) I didn’t know how the snow would be in the Sierras (by the way, a huge snowpack predicted this year??). I didn’t know what manzanita bark looked like up close, how many yucca blooms would unfold into the sky, how frogs could sound so peaceful in a creek at night. I didn’t know Jumbo and Tribute. Didn’t know how much of my life I would spend with them and how much they would become part of me. Didn’t know how painful it would be to say goodbye, knowing that our lives would splinter the moment I finally let go of James in the Seattle airport.

We still talk every once in a while, the Turbo Twats. A couple weekends ago Andy, Jumbo, Tribute, and I had a nice long chat. And!! I saw Jumbo in Germany in December, along with Toothpaste and 8 Bucks! (Remember them from NorCal?) I can’t explain how weird it was to see Jumbo in normal clothes, without the dyed blond hair, and with no beard. He brought me Revels and a Cadbury Fruit and Nut from the UK, and I brought him peanut butter M&Ms from the States. He has a new job, is constantly going to live music gigs like he loves, and seems to be readjusting pretty well. I’m happy for him.

Still, I get itchy feet. I’m going to Mexico for spring break, and the moment I booked that flight, I started getting antsy. I can’t wait to leave the country again, go somewhere warm, use my second language. I got tickets to see King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard in June. (!!!) I’m going to spend a good chunk of July in the UK, methinks, hiking the West Highland Way in Scotland, eating my weight in fish and chips and Revels, and maybe, I guess, seeing Jumbo. I just applied to go hiking in the Brooks Range with Carrot Quinn in Alaska in August (excuse me? is this real life?). And either next year or the year after that, if all goes according to plan, I’m either going to hike the CDT or Te Araroa or both.

So yeah. Don’t think I’ve stopped. My day job may take up most of my attention at the moment. But deep down, baby? I’m built to move.

Hey, remember that PCT zine I promised? Absolute Creatures? I didn’t forget. It’s written. It’s formatted. It’s so nearly ready for you. As I write, I’m waiting for the finishing touches on the art from my dear friend Patches. Once I have that, I’ll print a proof. And when everything is ready to go, it will be available to purchase right here on the site. I think you’re going to love it. It’s months in the making. I cried so many times writing it that I lost count. I can still smell the leaves on the dirt road that day at the Canadian border, and I can still see the slant of sun on the southern terminus the morning I started. That trail, every step of it, every grain of its dirt, lives within me.

It’s almost thru-hiking season again. Can you believe it? Can you believe how quickly and how easily March rolls around every year? How dare it. I’d say I wish it were this time last year—and part of me does, if I’m being honest—but that’s not how this works. We get the time we get. Seasons come, seasons go. It’s another class of thru hikers’ turn to see the desert now, the Sierras, blazing NorCal, green Oregon, endless Washington. It’s their turn to fall in love and get their hearts broken and mend again. Wiggs is hiking this year, and I can’t wait to see how much he loves it. I love it for him. I have so much love in my heart. What am I supposed to do with it all? Hike, I guess. See the mountains. Love trail people. Write it down.

I’m still here. I’m still Passport, friend. I always will be. I’m Sarahmarie right now, but I can slide back into Passport in a snap. Snap. Front country, backpacker. People are multiple and amazing.

Well, I’ve flipped Capacity by Big Thief to side B now, and my second beer is almost gone. I’d better get to sleep so I can rest for that long run tomorrow. I hope this post finds you well, dear reader. I hope you are living life so well. Or maybe it won’t find you at all. Maybe you’re in the mountains. Maybe you’re on a trail. Maybe you’re dreaming. Good for you. I’m proud of you.

Talk soon.

x Passport

PS: Please enjoy this small gallery of cute things I have made since the PCT followed by some other assorted photos: