Unfortunately, the result was the same. The next year I tried again and this time told nobody. It was almost a secret. Sadly, the result was just the same. I couldn’t get over those middle miles. I quit the sport in disgust. It should have been simple and easy, but it wasn’t.

I followed the sport from afar over the next several years. Every year I watched the New York City marathon on TV. Like watching paint dry, this was some riveting TV. I got the itch again. My 30’s were looming and beer and fast food had done quite a number on me.

I started training again. Just run to finish, I told myself. Don’t worry about the time. Oprah did it, so can you! I told myself that I would conquer the middle miles this time. I would persevere. It would be simple, not easy, b

Over the years I’ve realized that giving great customer service is simple, but not easy. I imagine that you’ve read many customer service articles. You may have heard many new approaches to serving customers. Perhaps you’ve tried to reach the finish line with your customers, only to come up short. Giving great service, like running marathons, is simple, but not easy. It’s what you do every day, every mile that makes the difference. It’s the little things you do over and over, so perserverance is the key.

Developing your plan for showing customers you value them, and then on race day, when your customers choose you, having the dedication and determination to see it through is simple, but not easy! Keep up the right training, and before you know it, you will have crossed the finish line. I’d like to draw a parallel to make my point. Back in my early teens my Dad was a heavy smoker. He smoked nearly 3 packs a day. I remember, with way too much detail, how he would cough and cough out the window as we drove down the expressway.

One day, he announced, “It’s time for me to quit smoking and start running!” He asked for company on his first run. At the time, I was small and skinny (those were the days) and ripe for a new challenge. We ended our first run at the Dairy Queen, where we ordered hot fudge sundaes and called Mom for a ride home. All exercise should end this way, don’t you think! The next year we ran the Chicago Marathon. I was thirteen and officially hooked on running.

After college I moved to Chicago. You haven’t truly lived until you’ve run along the Windy City’s incredible lakefront. The sights are breathtaking from sunrise to sunset. I started training to run the marathon that October. The goal was to qualify for Boston, hallowed ground for marathoners; however, to do so I needed to run a fast time. That was my first mistake. As the summer neared completion, I was strong, I was fast and I was ready. This would be simple, and easy, I thought. I toed the line that October morning full of myself. Listen to the experts and pace myself? Hah! I was 23 years old. I knew what I was doing.

Unfortunately, the weather was unseasonably hot that day. By the 6-mile mark, I was feeling the pace. I was struggling at 10 miles. At 12 miles I was walking, as if out for a leisurely stroll. At the 14-mile mark, I stepped off the course. I dropped out! Running the marathon may have been simple, but it certainly wasn’t easy.

My wife was looking all over the city for me, chasing ambulances while riding her bicycle. (This is how we existed before cell phones!) Finally, my sister picked me up at a bar and grill. I was eating a burger and watching the Bears game while all my friends and family were waiting for me at the 20-mile mark. I had told everyone to meet me there. I was a “no show.” The embarrassment was excruciating; the ridicule started almost immediately. I remember my buddy stopping by that afternoon. “What a great day to run a marathon,” he said, “well, half-of-one anyway!”

I set my sights on next year’s race, told fewer people and ran much more conservatively. Unfortunately, the result was the same. The next year I tried again and this time told nobody. It was almost a secret. Sadly, the result was just the same. I couldn’t get over those middle miles. I quit the sport in disgust. It should have been simple and easy, but it wasn’t.

I followed the sport from afar over the next several years. Every year I watched the New York City marathon on TV. Like watching paint dry, this was some riveting TV. I got the itch again. My 30’s were looming and beer and fast food had done quite a number on me.

I started training again. Just run to finish, I told myself. Don’t worry about the time. Oprah did it, so can you! I told myself that I would conquer the middle miles this time. I would persevere. It would be simple, not easy, b

inish line. I’d like to draw a parallel to make my point. Back in my early teens my Dad was a heavy smoker. He smoked nearly 3 packs a day. I remember, with way too much detail, how he would cough and cough out the window as we drove down the expressway.

One day, he announced, “It’s time for me to quit smoking and start running!” He asked for company on his first run. At the time, I was small and skinny (those were the days) and ripe for a new challenge. We ended our first run at the Dairy Queen, where we ordered hot fudge sundaes and called Mom for a ride home. All exercise should end this way, don’t you think! The next year we ran the Chicago Marathon. I was thirteen and officially hooked on running.

After college I moved to Chicago. You haven’t truly lived until you’ve run along the Windy City’s incredible lakefront. The sights are breathtaking from sunrise to sunset. I started training to run the marathon that October. The goal was to qualify for Boston, hallowed ground for marathoners; however, to do so I needed to run a fast time. That was my first mistake. As the summer neared completion, I was strong, I was fast and I was ready. This would be simple, and easy, I thought. I toed the line that October morning full of myself. Listen to the experts and pace myself? Hah! I was 23 years old. I knew what I was doing.

Unfortunately, the weather was unseasonably hot that day. By the 6-mile mark, I was feeling the pace. I was struggling at 10 miles. At 12 miles I was walking, as if out for a leisurely stroll. At the 14-mile mark, I stepped off the course. I dropped out! Running the marathon may have been simple, but it certainly wasn’t easy.

My wife was looking all over the city for me, chasing ambulances while riding her bicycle. (This is how we existed before cell phones!) Finally, my sister picked me up at a bar and grill. I was eating a burger and watching the Bears game while all my friends and family were waiting for me at the 20-mile mark. I had told everyone to meet me there. I was a “no show.” The embarrassment was excruciating; the ridicule started almost immediately. I remember my buddy stopping by that afternoon. “What a great day to run a marathon,” he said, “well, half-of-one anyway!”

I set my sights on next year’s race, told fewer people and ran much more conservatively. Unfortunately, the result was the same. The next year I tried again and this time told nobody. It was almost a secret. Sadly, the result was just the same. I couldn’t get over those middle miles. I quit the sport in disgust. It should have been simple and easy, but it wasn’t.

I followed the sport from afar over the next several years. Every year I watched the New York City marathon on TV. Like watching paint dry, this was some riveting TV. I got the itch again. My 30’s were looming and beer and fast food had done quite a number on me.

I started training again. Just run to finish, I told myself. Don’t worry about the time. Oprah did it, so can you! I told myself that I would conquer the middle miles this time. I would persevere. It would be simple, not easy, b

l you’ve run along the Windy City’s incredible lakefront. The sights are breathtaking from sunrise to sunset. I started training to run the marathon that October. The goal was to qualify for Boston, hallowed ground for marathoners; however, to do so I needed to run a fast time. That was my first mistake. As the summer neared completion, I was strong, I was fast and I was ready. This would be simple, and easy, I thought. I toed the line that October morning full of myself. Listen to the experts and pace myself? Hah! I was 23 years old. I knew what I was doing.

Unfortunately, the weather was unseasonably hot that day. By the 6-mile mark, I was feeling the pace. I was struggling at 10 miles. At 12 miles I was walking, as if out for a leisurely stroll. At the 14-mile mark, I stepped off the course. I dropped out! Running the marathon may have been simple, but it certainly wasn’t easy.

My wife was looking all over the city for me, chasing ambulances while riding her bicycle. (This is how we existed before cell phones!) Finally, my sister picked me up at a bar and grill. I was eating a burger and watching the Bears game while all my friends and family were waiting for me at the 20-mile mark. I had told everyone to meet me there. I was a “no show.” The embarrassment was excruciating; the ridicule started almost immediately. I remember my buddy stopping by that afternoon. “What a great day to run a marathon,” he said, “well, half-of-one anyway!”

I set my sights on next year’s race, told fewer people and ran much more conservatively. Unfortunately, the result was the same. The next year I tried again and this time told nobody. It was almost a secret. Sadly, the result was just the same. I couldn’t get over those middle miles. I quit the sport in disgust. It should have been simple and easy, but it wasn’t.

I followed the sport from afar over the next several years. Every year I watched the New York City marathon on TV. Like watching paint dry, this was some riveting TV. I got the itch again. My 30’s were looming and beer and fast food had done quite a number on me.

I started training again. Just run to finish, I told myself. Don’t worry about the time. Oprah did it, so can you! I told myself that I would conquer the middle miles this time. I would persevere. It would be simple, not easy, b

k, I stepped off the course. I dropped out! Running the marathon may have been simple, but it certainly wasn’t easy.

My wife was looking all over the city for me, chasing ambulances while riding her bicycle. (This is how we existed before cell phones!) Finally, my sister picked me up at a bar and grill. I was eating a burger and watching the Bears game while all my friends and family were waiting for me at the 20-mile mark. I had told everyone to meet me there. I was a “no show.” The embarrassment was excruciating; the ridicule started almost immediately. I remember my buddy stopping by that afternoon. “What a great day to run a marathon,” he said, “well, half-of-one anyway!”

I set my sights on next year’s race, told fewer people and ran much more conservatively. Unfortunately, the result was the same. The next year I tried again and this time told nobody. It was almost a secret. Sadly, the result was just the same. I couldn’t get over those middle miles. I quit the sport in disgust. It should have been simple and easy, but it wasn’t.

I followed the sport from afar over the next several years. Every year I watched the New York City marathon on TV. Like watching paint dry, this was some riveting TV. I got the itch again. My 30’s were looming and beer and fast food had done quite a number on me.

I started training again. Just run to finish, I told myself. Don’t worry about the time. Oprah did it, so can you! I told myself that I would conquer the middle miles this time. I would persevere. It would be simple, not easy, b

Unfortunately, the result was the same. The next year I tried again and this time told nobody. It was almost a secret. Sadly, the result was just the same. I couldn’t get over those middle miles. I quit the sport in disgust. It should have been simple and easy, but it wasn’t.

I followed the sport from afar over the next several years. Every year I watched the New York City marathon on TV. Like watching paint dry, this was some riveting TV. I got the itch again. My 30’s were looming and beer and fast food had done quite a number on me.

I started training again. Just run to finish, I told myself. Don’t worry about the time. Oprah did it, so can you! I told myself that I would conquer the middle miles this time. I would persevere. It would be simple, not easy, but possible nonetheless. At long last, I finished the marathon that year.

To ensure customer satisfaction, and to keep them coming back, is simple, but it is not easy. When the right environment is in place, and the right processes are in order, and the environment and processes are predictable and repetitive, customers will return again and again.