Christopher X. Shade has been GOLF.com's technology executive producer for nearly two years, but he'd never picked up a golf club in his life before this spring, when he and his wife, Paige Sellers, signed up for lessons at Chelsea Piers, a multi-tiered driving range in Manhattan. He is writing about their attempts to learn the game in a series of articles on GOLF.com.

I like to swing confidently, and when that rare shot from the hitting stall at Chelsea Piers Golf Academy lands on one of those artificial greens in the distance, I make a point of glancing at Paige and our teaching pro, John Hobbins. I nod, as if to say, yes, I felt it that time. I made it happen. I was completely aware of how all my movements worked together to create that swing. But the harsh reality is, I have no idea what worked. I'm completely overwhelmed with all the minute body movements that must come together to form a swing.

We've now had four lessons. I'm bruised and battered. My back hurts. My thumb hurts. Yes, I sprained my thumb. It happened one night, about 10 o'clock, while practicing at Chelsea Piers. In my mind, that's a great time to go because there are fewer people to see how poorly I'm swinging. It's silly, but I can't help but imagine that everyone around me is noticing my stooped posture, my tight grip, my closed clubface on the backswing — not to mention all the bad shots. John doesn't have an explanation for how I sprained my thumb. Who knows? I'm guessing it's because I'm swinging the club like a baseball bat. That's a carousel motion, John says. We want a Ferris wheel.

The day after our third lesson, Paige said her shoulder, side and arm hurt, but she still felt well enough to shop. She loves the adidas golf line by Stella McCartney, which doesn't come cheap. I was warned about this by my guy friends. This past Saturday, while we were "picking up a few things" in the adidas store in SoHo, I said to her, "Maybe we should tone down the enthusiasm." I don't think she heard me. I was outside her fitting room, speaking from behind a pile of Stella outfits she'd already chosen. Fortunately she didn't take this pile to the register — a budget disaster averted.

And we haven't even started looking at shoes yet. All this shopping is for our first round on a real course, the one we haven't scheduled yet. I'm looking for just the right people to fill out our first 18-hole foursome. Maybe another nice married couple who won't sigh with exasperation every time we slice one into the trees. I can't help but wonder how many times I'll lose the ball during my first game. Even Tiger loses his ball, right? In this week's Arnold Palmer Invitational at Bay Hill, Tiger lost it in the grassy bank of a water hazard. So I guess it happens to the best of us.