There is much to love about the city I call home—Saint Paul, across the Mississippi River from its “twin,” Minneapolis. The winter is magical; spring bursts in with more color than a drag show; summer invites us all outside for walking, lakes, and meals al fresco, and fall—oh, fall—is an intoxicating blend of autumnal hues and smells.

The people here are hearty: We endure humidity that could make a frog cry and cold that could force a polar bear to hibernate. We are not great at expressing our feelings, but when people are in need, we bring a kind word and a tater-tot hotdish for supper.

A tater-tot hotdish is a Minnesota staple

And, it turns out, when people are disappointed their race was canceled at the last minute, we show up.

By now most runners know the Medtronic Twin Cities Marathon and 10 Mile races were canceled due to black flag conditions. Unlike many folks on social outlets, I am not here to debate the cancelation. Having witnessed three people pass out at races—one of whom died, I know first-hand we should not mess around.

And/Still/But this made me no less sad on Sunday morning when I read the email announcement. After a serious debating going back to bed, I got dressed, and Cute Husband drove me to pick up my car—Dolores the Scion was parked at Mile 25 of the marathon in anticipation of the hours of cheering runners in after I ran the 10 Mile race. On the way, we saw a handful of people on Summit Avenue (the gradual, miles-long incline in the final stages of the marathon, lined with grand homes) running, so I drove Dolores home to get my run on.

What started as a handful of runners turned into a flood of trained and determined people flowing down Mississippi River Boulevard toward the Capitol building. There were cheer stations, families hosting lawn parties, support crew bikers, and cowbells. I laughed out loud.

The TC10 was always a planned training run for me: My goal race is in the New York City Marathon next month. I still had miles to log, so I hit the course myself. Within two blocks, I was running past groups of people. I cheered for every single person. And they all cheered back. I acknowledged the marathoners in their red bibs. High-fived the 10 milers in their green bibs. I thanked three clusters of spectators before I was even a mile down the road.

The day—and who Twin Cities residents are—was cemented, however, when I hit the south beach at Lake Harriet around Mile 7 of the marathon route. A speaker blared Jefferson Starship. Runners flew past heading all possible directions. People cheered and waved their homemade signs. Kids handed out water and fruit. I stopped in my tracks, stood on the corner, and took it all in. The music; energy; leaves crunching under the soles of Sauconys, Hokas, and Brooks; high-fives and “looking goods” brought me to tears. Not merely eyes brimming—I’m talking face-streaking, nose-dripping tears. We built this city(ies) on community and camaraderie.

After pulling myself together, I ran on. I called Erin—BRF extraordinaire—who was running her own race 15 miles away and having a remarkably similar experience. “You have to go to the finish line. It’s a party out here,” I yelped. “I’ll pick you up,” she responded. Because this is our weekend: The 10 Mile hasn’t been a solo event for either of us in more than a decade. We drove the course, honking, hootin’, and hollerin’ out the window for waves and waves of runners.

Erin, in yellow, and Alana out cheering with enthusiasm

We parked near the finish line and dashed to stand on the Franklin Street Bridge with at least 100 other people. We cheered in the runners coming down the final stretch of the marathon course on John Ireland Boulevard. Cars stopped at green lights to let runners pass. The air was punctuated by the smack of high-fives between spectators and sweaty runners. The joy was palpable. There were tears—ours and theirs.

This was not the day so many of us planned but it was the day all of us needed. When a beloved, 40-years-strong race must be canceled, Minnesota shows up.

Minneapolis and St. Paul, thanks for the hotdish.

On today’s Another Mother Runner podcast, listen to the Twin Cities in Motion Race Director talk through the anguished, informed decision to cancel the races.