Presidential running mate

Twenty-six miles twice a week. Who the heck thought it was a good idea to elect a president who ran?

It’s OK for him, enjoying the run, eyes shut, focused on just getting one foot in front of the other. No such luxury for me. I have to keep my eyes wide open at all times, can’t lapse in concentration at any time, even if my legs feel like falling off. I have to watch the President, the public, I am alert to every possible security breach every step of the 26 miles.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m fit. Really fit! I do two hours at the gym every day, 26 miles I can do without breaking into a sweat. But I do far more than 26 miles. There are six of us providing security for the President on his runs. Tony stays directly in front, Jeff behind, Bill and Ahmed to his sides and Eric is carrying the case with the nuclear codes in it, just in case the President decides to go to war mid-run.

When Reagan was shot the guy carrying the case put it down to tend to Reagan’s body and it was left there, forgotten in the panic. It lay on the pavement overnight, for nearly 24 hours in total. I know this because we’re lectured about it in our training, if a terrorist had had the foresight to steal that case, got lucky enough to press the right buttons, then that would have been the end of the world. They could have launched an attack on Russia, which would have retaliated in kind.

I’m officially the ‘roving’ guard. I end up running something like 35 miles or more in total, as I have to sprint ahead to see what’s round a corner, run up to ever member of the public to keep them at a safe distance. “He’ll wave and say hello but he can’t talk policy now,” I’ll say, “he’s running.” Unbelievably people don’t seem to mind, are delighted to be up close to the President, never say, “but shouldn’t he be running the country instead of running round a park.”

The President says that his best policies come to him when he’s running. Like toughening the gun laws I suppose, which has made him the most likely President ever to be assassinated. So what does he do – goes out in public for a 26 mile run, just in case there’s a disabled assassin trapped in his bedroom 25 miles away who needs the President to oblige by running past his house.

He says that the only thing tougher than running 26 miles is running the country, actually ‘this great country’ is the term he uses. That’s a bunch of crap. The only thing tougher than running 26 miles is running with him, making sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, scanning an entire city for a rogue gunman, making sure he doesn’t trip over a duck again (yep, it’s true – just look forward to my memoirs is all I can say. The media make out he’s such a touchy feely president, out meeting the public, but my entire job is making sure they don’t come near him.

The one good thing about being ‘roving’ security is that if anyone did take a shot at the President I’m unlikely to be in the way. That’s the main part of Tony, Jeff, Bill and Ahmed’s role, to be a meaty barrier between the president and death. Of course, if I see someone pull a gun and I’m too far away to wrestle him then I’m obliged to take a bullet, to become a human shield. It’s one way of getting out of doing the run I suppose.

One thing I will say for the President, he’s a good runner. Two and a half hours and we’re nearly back at the Whitehouse. Thank goodness. No emergencies today, it all went sweet as candy.

“Hey Dave,” Tony is talking to me, “have you seen Eric?”

“Eric?” I look around. Eric is no longer part of our party.

Ahmed calls his phone, but there is no response. That is worrying, we are, as Presidential security, obliged to be available to each other 24/7. If Ahmed were to call me mid-fuck I’d be obliged to return to duty immediately, without so much as stopping to wipe my dick dry.

One thing about us, we are good. Within 30 seconds of Eric being spotted as absent a chopper has been called out to search for him and four teams have driven along our route to search for him. The special chip we all carry in our phones means that he should be traced within minutes. Still, it’s a worry, and as ‘roving’ guard I’m ultimately responsible, I don’t just have to watch every step the President takes, head off every member of the public, I also have to guard my fellow guards.

We are within site of the Whitehouse lawn. The public are being cleared away so that the President can pass through. Suddenly a siren bellows out. A sound we all recognise, as we have heard it in training. World War 3 has begun.