In the Long Run
Copyright© 2024 by The Horse With No Name
Chapter 101: Training in the Sun
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 101: Training in the Sun - Mark and Lydia hit a lot of bumps during the cold war and fate eventually brings them to the other side of the globe, but even there the challenges don't end. This is the founding story of my planned "It's always the Germans" universe, which will be created when this story reaches the year 1998.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Romantic Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Sports Incest Mother Son Light Bond Orgy Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Fisting Massage Oral Sex Pegging Petting Nudism
John
Oh, so the American media finally remembered that there were sports outside of football, baseball and ice hockey. Until the weekend nobody had known what the Holmenkollen Medal was, mainly because no American had ever been awarded one. We Americans don’t care about sports we ain’t winning at.
Well that seemed to change now. Not only had Lydia become the first ever American to get this award, she had also won the third gold medal in the marathon just half a year earlier. A winner at the Summer Olympics had never won a Holmenkollen Medal before.
That did not stop the media hacks from getting things completely wrong. U.S. Ski & Snowboard wailed the loudest, being upset that an American was competing on a Dutch license. The fact that Lydia had asked for support before and had gotten a fat ‘no’ for an answer, was conveniently omitted.
Needless to say, it didn’t take long until one managing director or other had found out who Lydia’s manager was and apparently he or she had cabled that finding straight to the Supreme Leader. That man went by the name of Collin Carrington, as I learned when I picked up the phone.
“You don’t happen to be related to Travis Carrington of USATF fame?” I asked neutrally.
“The very same,” came the answer.
“Good to know there’s no nepotism in American sports,” I replied with a good dose of irony in my voice.
“Good one,” the man at the other end of the line answered with a chuckle. “Travis had to talk me into it. Nobody wanted that job. Snowboarding is running okay, but Nordic skiing is little more than an afterthought. And with no government grants coming in, you ain’t gonna see much in the way of bonus payments either.”
“And I guess you hope to change that now,” I replied with amusement.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he insisted. “I’m only the boss around here and nobody tells me nothing. Travis chewed out my ass last year for not nominating Lydia Karass. He thought I had gone nuckin’ futs. But that’s the thing – the Nordic and snowboarding departments work autonomously. I’m merely the mascot around here.”
“And the Nordic team didn’t know who she was, or something?” I asked.
“The head of the pompously named United States cross-country ski team by Gatorade – or let me correct that – the former head of said team insisted that signing on a forty-year old was not an investment in the future. I should have sacked that numbnut last year, not yesterday.”
“I’m not sure that would have changed much,” I told him. “Lydia’s decision to race under a Dutch license was a practical decision. Both the Netherlands and Iceland had only two international level athletes available, Lydia being the second for the Netherlands in that case. By building a joint team they could acquire the necessary resources to run in the first place.”
“So I guess, enticing her to run for us next year will come at a price?” Collin asked.
“Well, she won’t leave the other three in limbo, so if that ‘by Gatorade’ in the team name has any substance to it, a funding agreement with the Dutch and Icelandic authorities would go a long way, because right now much of the team’s funding is based on Lydia’s and Femke’s pull with potential sponsors,” I explained.
“I’m not really a fan of the excessive ‘by this company’ and ‘presented by that company’, but the harsh reality is, we need that corporate money. A niche sport like Nordic skiing is seeing no government grants past the collegiate stage.”
“Tell me about it,” I agreed. “Ask your brother how little government money they got for Track & Field disciplines longer than eight-hundred meters before Lydia arrived.”
“And I’m hoping we can replicate that effect,” my conversation partner admitted. “I suppose she’ll be planning to retire after the Olympics on home soil?”
“Yep, you would have one season to pull it off,” I told him. “And if you want to get an early start, I’d tell potential sponsors to watch the sport. There are four races left this season, and Mark has bet me fifty bucks that Lydia will be on the podium in all of them. He normally doesn’t do that if he isn’t sure to win.”
“I bet you’ll make up for that loss multiple times in added revenue,” Collin replied with an amused chuckle.
Mark
The events were coming thick at fast, with all four remaining races coming within the two weeks after the big Oslo race. Since the time between races was too short to go home in between, the three girls had decided to make a road trip out of it.
Right on Monday they hired themselves a big Merc and Nadja was only too happy to drive the five-hundred kilometers from Oslo to Falun in Sweden, where they were to run three races in just four days.
All three Swedish races were held in or near the city of Falun. The first race, a five-kilometer freestyle race was held in nearby Borlänge and the Russians utterly dominated it. No less than five of them were in the top-six. The only one spoiling the party was Lydia in third position. Nadja came home tenth and Femke had a torrid day, languishing in thirtieth position.
The two races in Falun happened on the same weekend, putting even more strain on already exhausted athletes. Except for the Russians, of course. They had fired the afterburner right before the World Championships in Lahti in February.
The first Falun race was a ten kilometer freestyle, with the same distance in the classic technique the next day, and both races saw the same dynamic. The top positions were full of Russians, but their perfect clean sweep was spoiled by Lydia. She finished the freestyle race in second, Nadja came home fourth and Femke tenth.
Lydia’s big day came in the second race the next day. After utterly dominating the last races, including taking the world cup lead from the Norwegian who had held it for most of the season, the Russian team quarters had been getting an unannounced visit from the doping control agents. And, lo and behold, they were strangely off the pace the next day. Lydia won, twelve seconds from the Norwegian in second and the first Russian, who was now sporting the yellow bib of the world cup leader. Nadja finished fifth and Femke had sat this one out.
My bet with John was starting to look good. Not only had Lydia scored a podium in all three Swedish races. She even had the full set – a win, a second and a third.
The girls got a short five day respite, which they used to continue their Scandinavian road trip, going from Falun to Kuopio in Finland by car – a thousand kilometers, including an overnight ferry ride across the Gulf of Bothnia from Umeå in Sweden to Vaasa in Finland in a first-class cabin.
The last race of the season was a real humdinger – a whopping forty kilometers in the freestyle technique. What the powers that be had smoked when they had decided to put the longest race of the season at the very end of it, was anyone’s guess. The girls were in good spirits and felt reasonably refreshed. They were all determined to eek out one last result, most of them Femke. She was not pleased with herself that she had had to sit out the last Falun race and was determined to prove her mettle in a properly long race.
The realistic variant though was that Lydia was the only one with a proper shot at it. Both Femke and Nadja had experienced deteriorating energy levels lately and only Lydia had the sheer grit and the ability to absolutely torture herself. That ability had never failed her since that abandoned London marathon in 1991.
I doubted the powers than be had foreseen that race to be a highlight, but the athletes made it one. No less than seven athletes – four Russians, Lydia, Nadja and Femke – kept battling each other at the intermediate checkpoints. Femke was leading early on, but it didn’t take a psychic to foresee that she had simply underestimated the sheer length of this race. The unscheduled four-week break in Colorado had helped a lot with her transition towards longer races, but fifteen kilometers and forty kilometers were two very different types of racing. Nadja and Lydia with their history of marathon running had way more experience with races that ran for close to two hours.
But Femke, stubborn as she was, refused to give up, and despite the fact that she started to fade at the half-way mark, she soldiered on and kept herself in the fight for a top position. The real battle had already moved to Lydia and two of the Russians, who kept trading the lead at every intermediate checkpoint. Nadja was hanging on for dear life, just a handful of seconds behind, but she was consistently fourth, a position she had finished in way too often for her liking this season.
That was how the race finished. The two Russians finished first and second, only separated by a single second, with Lydia coming third just three seconds behind the winner. For such a long race that was almost the equivalent of a photo finish. Even Nadja was only 5.9 seconds behind the winner in fourth. Yet another Russian finished fifth, thirty seconds back, closely followed by Femke in sixth, and – guess what – another Russian in seventh. After that there was nothing. The eighth-place finisher – surprise, another Russian – was a whopping two minutes down on the woman finishing seventh.
Jenny
I came home from a very satisfying test session in auntie Nadja’s car to find the house looking like the emergency room of a hospital. Dad had put up three of the collapsible massage benches and he was working on aunties Nadja, Femke and Lydia at the same time. Mom and mommy Meri helped him best they could. They were not really masseuses, but with some basic techniques they could pass the time as dad switched back and forth between his three patients.
Especially auntie Femke did not look good. She even wept a bit now and again. That last, very long race had done her in.
I decided that my test report for auntie Nadja could wait and decided to go outside to take a dip in the pool.
Mark
If physiotherapy was a competitive sport, I would have played the big league at the time. Trying to unwind Femke’s leg muscles when she had overdone it in a race was the real-life equivalent of trying to squeeze water out of a stone.
All three of them had gone to their absolute limit, and although Marshall had done his very best directly after the race, I knew that I would probably need another day or two until they would be back to normal. Thankfully, after nearly two years of continuous competition they were headed for a break, and I had decided to make it a good one. After all the running in the snow, what they needed was warm weather.
Germany was unusually mild for this time of year, but it was still not warm enough for any outdoor activity, especially when considering the usual dress sense of the girls. There was only one place that had the weather pattern and equipment to match. I picked up my cell phone on my way out to the backyard.
“Mark!” came the excited replay to my call. Not too many people had access to Ian’s private cell phone number and he had apparently immediately recognized mine.
“Hi Ian,” I replied. “Listen, our Falcon jet seats six, right?”
“Well, we had two seats taken out to save on weight and fuel, but it shouldn’t take longer than an hour or two to put them back in. What do you have in mind?”
“We need a flight to St. Kitts & Nevis on Thursday and back to Dresden two weeks later,” I told him.
I heard a chuckle at the other end of the line. “Going to John’s mansion again?”
“Exactly,” I replied. “After an entire winter season the girls could use a tan, and John’s place still has the training bikes around from four years ago.”
“Weather permitting, we should get there with a refueling stop at Dakar in Senegal. I’ll have Fred sort out the plane and the initial flight plan, but I can’t give you an exact schedule before Wednesday afternoon. Such long Atlantic crossings are always prone to meteorological surprises.”
“Wednesday afternoon is quite okay. You know that Nadja doesn’t need much time to get us to Dresden airport.”
We both chuckled and ended the call.
Regina
Being a former teacher at Jenny’s school had some advantages. Not too many parents would have succeeded in taking their daughter out of school for two weeks. Of course that came with the compromise that we would be mailed the topics of her lessons, but they had no problems believing that I would be able to teach her those topics.
The thing that I had conveniently omitted: Jenny was indeed going to the Caribbean, but I wasn’t. I had fulfilled my wanderlust with those visits to Malaysia and Australia, but Jenny had never seen anything outside Germany, and the one time she was about to see Sweden, we had nearly drowned in the Baltic Sea. It was time she got to see some of the other parts of the world.
Mark and the other girls had promised not to go overboard with the adult activities, but Lydia had reminded me that Jenny being around would be the biggest possible bucket of cold water for Mark anyway. The fact that she had reached that long-awaited milestone of fourteen years, Mark was no less attentive to keeping a comfortable distance.
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