It had been a very strange couple of weeks. J.T. had grown used to traveling a certain distance each day, set into a routine that worked. He accomplished, and generally exceeded, his goals each week and was doing well.

Then came the great upheaval.

An unavoidable detour forced him off the path and through the countryside, disrupting his pace and generally making things harder. Out of his comfort zone, J.T. fell into bad habits. He was waylaid by a band of Coca-Cola ruffians and for a time was captured in a White Castle, where he made the regretful decision to eat far too many of their steam-cooked delights and rings of chicken.

He escaped briefly back to his good path, but a few days later was detoured again, tossing him right back into danger. Finally, after one last assault by bratwurst and other barbecued villains, he stumbled back into the clear. The detour had circled around, pushing him backward a few pounds, but he knew all he could do was press on, and make up for lost time.

He knew that despite it all, the detour could be a very good thing in the long run. Only time would tell. Feeling hopeful, he peeled a banana, and headed back down the road.