Life is a cycle, and you have to keep on pushing through the pain.

Midway through the fifth day of the world’s toughest mountain bike race, Letshego Zulu was hurtling down a fast single track when she hit a massive rock.

The 37-year-old adventure junkie was catapulted off her bike. She slammed into the ground, ribs first.

She had survived back-breaking climbs and teeth-chattering descents, but as she picked herself up, her body was begging her to please — PLEASE — give up!

Letshego told her body to stay in its lane: not finishing the Absa Cape Epic wasn’t an option.

Three days later, she crossed the finish line, adding “Amabhubesi member” to her impressive list of achievements as a mom, author, entrepreneur, biokineticist, fitness fundi, and Survivor survivor.

Riders gain entry to the exclusive Amabhubesi club when they complete the gruelling race for the third time.

More than 30 percent of the 527 two-person teams that started this year didn’t finish, making it the toughest Epic yet.

Letshego and her teammate, sports medicine physician, Phathokuhle Zondi, spent 57 hours in the saddle in their 681-kilometre trek across the Cape winelands.

Letshego’s journey from mountain biking newbie to Amabhubesi ninja began 12 years ago when her childhood sweetheart, racing car legend, Gugu Zulu, bought them matching bikes.

Once she joined the lycra community, she heard that to be considered a “proper” mountain biker, she needed a Cape Epic under her belt, so she made her way to the starting line in 2013.

Two things happened when Letshego finished eight days later. She became one of a handful of black women to complete an Epic, and she became betrothed. Gugu proposed at the finish line.

It was the stuff of fairy tales. The couple married and had a daughter, Lelethu. The fairy tale ended tragically a year later, when Letshego and Gugu climbed Mount Kilimanjaro to raise funds for sanitary pads for schoolgirls. Gugu experienced respiratory problems and died on the mountain.

Letshego returned home to rebuild her shattered life. Two years later, her inspiring memoir, I Choose to Live: Life After Losing Gugu, was published, a testament to her remarkable courage and determination.

Letshego trained hard for the Epic, consulting sports scientist, Mike Posthumus, who tailor-made a programme for her.

“I trained five, six days a week,” she says. “On the bike, strength work, running, hiking and heat training. You have to be ready for whatever the Epic throws at you. And the Epic throws everything at you.”

Juggling training and being a single mom was tricky, and Letshego often found herself on the indoor trainer at night to keep on track with her programme.

When she took her place at the start, she knew she was ready to tackle the rugged terrain, heat, headwinds, rain, and brutal climbs. Riders ascend 16 900 metres during the race.

There’s a daily cut-off, and if you miss it, you’re out, so riders constantly chase the clock.

But Letshego wasn’t worried.

“We had prepared. We just had to stick to our strategy. Keep calm and ride on. We told ourselves that the gold, silver and bronze medals are already taken, so we must just ride within ourselves, not get injured and draw on our mental strength when our bodies want to give up,” she says.

After the painful rib-bruising crash, Letshego kept going, because she knew 6-year-old Lelethu would be at the finish line, cheering for her.

She didn’t want to let her daughter down. She wanted Lelethu to know she can accomplish anything she puts her mind to.

“I did it for my baby,” she grins.

Most riders avoid their bikes for months after an Epic, but a few days after finishing, Lelethu sidled up to Letshego. “Epic is over,” she said. “Now can mommy ride with me?”

Letshego — bruised ribs and all — couldn’t say no. After all, she had taught her daughter that she could do anything she put her mind to, and Lelethu had put her mind to riding with her mom.