Somewhere in the last few bars of the Bluebird coda from "The Sleeping Beauty," I felt my foot give way. I can’t remember exactly what step it was, but I knew instantly something was wrong. I almost managed to get to the end of the rehearsal, but the foot had completely locked up. Overwhelmed by a mixture of shock, pain and embarrassment, I needed to be out of view. As I limped to the seclusion of the corridor outside the busy rehearsal studio, all I could hear was white noise. Our company ballet master and my dance partner joined me moments later and, although I appreciated their support, no words came out. The intensity of months of hard work washed over me as I knew deep down, my year was over. I cried.