To be President of the United States, one must first run for office.

Running for president is a prestigious act—even if you don’t have a hope in heaven of winning. You may not reach the Oval Office, but the race confers a strange kind of immortality. People will remember that you ran the presidential race. You stood at the podium. You had slogans. You shook hands.

Some run for offices they later run down—not in the sense of poor décor, but in the way they diminish the very positions they once aspired to. That makes those who got them elected run to the courts to unmake what they did.

Then there are those who do not run for office, but with the president. Running mates. That’s prestigious too, if you choose the right president. Choose wrong, and you're forever linked to a footnote in history, or a punchline.

Then there are those who run the president. These individuals do not wear sneakers. They are seldom seen, except as quiet spear-bearers at press conferences, blinking behind sunglasses. They run things—often from the shadows.

We must also not forget the humble office runners—less ambitious types who may find themselves in the actual presidential office, only to be tasked with running to the post office. Coffee-fetchers running in the corridors of power.

Of course, not all runners are political.

You can also run for a cause—with thousands, on a Sunday—clogging city streets, turning intersections into slow-motion traffic jams. Good-hearted disruption, and a perfect excuse for the chronically late: “Sorry I’m not at the meeting, I got stuck in the charity run.” Never mind that they’re still in bed, tangled in sheets, nowhere near a starting line.

In some countries, runners have more serious responsibilities. Some carry bags to and from politicians—delicate cargo that no security firm would dare touch. Sometimes called “bagmen,” they serve an essential function in the unofficial delivery service of political life. For their efforts, they may receive national honours and fancy titles. Also, often a term in jail where they run to new biddings.

A national runner, by contrast, is a champion athlete—one who runs, in lanes, toward finish lines. And in schools, a “runner” may refer to the same kind of young athlete. But the term mostly refers to students who flee school entirely—until caught by truant officers or the aunty next door who spots them in the supermarket during school hours. (It was not a public holiday.)

And finally, a run in a stocking. Entirely different.

No stocking has ever actually run. No legs in pantyhose have dashed for office, or for freedom. That kind of run doesn’t go anywhere.

It just… goes down.