The Zoo Lake: A Birthday Hike Nobody Asked For

My annual "I Don't Want to Discuss It" is approaching at an alarming rate.

To mark the occasion, my glorious Glitter Squad - friends for between 20 and 25 years - agreed to join me on what can only generously be described as a hike.

Since I won't actually be with them on the official day, I may have suggested they owed me a token outdoor activity.

By "suggested," I mean I approached the matter with all the subtlety of a debt collector.

Twenty-Five Years of Friendship Deserves Recognition

There should be a brief moment of silence to acknowledge these women for tolerating me for so long.

Then again, now that I'm nearly grown and marginally wiser, I've realised there are probably people who would congratulate me as well.

The truth is - we couldn't be more different, and for years I thought that difference needed explaining or "fixing".

These days I've finally figured out that there's nothing wrong with me, and there's nothing wrong with them - we're simply very different people who somehow kept showing up for one another for more than two decades.

Frankly, that's impressive from all sides.

I think my friends appreciate authenticity - up to a point - specifically, right up until my authenticity wanders directly into one of their sore spots.

At that stage, there is usually some eye-rolling, a gasp of theatrical exasperation, and then they continue chatting amongst themselves as though I've quietly ceased to exist.

It's a system that has served us remarkably well.

When Seven Friends Become Three

There are seven of us altogether.

Through a combination of my last-minute decision-making and my exceptional lack of logistical talent, our hiking party consisted of me and two others - not entirely surprising, as I've never met a well-orchestrated plan that survived my involvement.

Still, two women showed up on the coldest day of the year to do something they would never voluntarily choose to do, simply because it mattered to me.

If that isn't friendship, I don't know what is.

The Final Missing Friend

Our seventh Glitter Girl has relocated - taking a considerable portion of my heart with her and, while I support her happiness entirely, no amount of adult maturity has convinced me that this arrangement is acceptable.

The Zoo Lake

Once again, I was ridiculously pleased with this little urban gem.

Scenic walking trails, affordable rowing boats, picnic spots, ducks, geese, and enough waterfowl to make a birdwatcher hyperventilate.

I'm sure some people would write it off because of the usual concerns around safety vigilance and the odd maintenance issue.

Personally, I've learned that if I waited for every public space to achieve perfection, I'd never leave the house.

The trail loops a lovely lake dotted with benches placed in peaceful spots overlooking the water.

There's a fountain, plenty of bird life, and an island in the middle of the lake where the ducks and geese appear to hold regular homeowners' association meetings.

As always, you can see the fingerprints of local residents who genuinely care about the place and work hard to keep it looking good.

We walked the 1 km loop once - largely because my representatives from the Glitter Squad were already displaying the early warning signs of people who had been tricked into exercise.

However, there's absolutely nothing stopping you from walking multiple loops, jogging, walking a dog, or jogging with a dog if you're one of those overachievers.

We also had a look around the restaurant, "Sakhumzi" which was in the process of being transformed with some incredible graffiti artwork on the exterior walls.

They weren't quite ready to serve us lunch yet, but what I saw was enough to convince me that it's definitely well worth a visit.

A special thank you to my two Glitter Queen delegates for braving the coldest day of the year and participating in an activity they would never have selected from a menu of options.

When one of them remarked that she felt as though she were on holiday, I mentioned that this is how I feel every weekend.

After nearly two years of delivering this exact message to a largely unreceptive audience, this sort of statement is met with polite dismissal and an immediate change of subject.

But this time, I detected what may have been a flicker of understanding - or possibly hypothermia.

The distinction remains unclear.

Thank you my special friends, next year - we climb!

I’ve made peace with this decision.

You will too.