That is not really rude. Only I had a lightbulb moment at the end of my deadlift workout today — on a deadlift you can really feel anything that’s a bit tight in your rotator muscles — and jumped up off the Swiss ball I was using for an extension stretch. (You sit on the ball, flop backwards so that your back is arched but supported by the springy curve, and just loll, inching up and back to get different parts of your spine to spool out.) There was a rack of medicine balls just behind my head, which suddenly seemed like the perfect solution to my thirst for pullovers.
If you spend your days leaning into a massage table or pushing heavy rocks uphill pullovers are very good for you. People do them in all kinds of forms; hyperflexibility runs in my genes so I used to dote on a custom bench about hip high that used to dwell in my old gym before the place turned into a girls’ gym class from 1969. You could sling yourself over the thing crosswise and drop a dumbbell behind your head to the full length your arms would play out and it would still not hit the floor, which was always my problem with a regular crossbench pullover. The Swiss ball is higher than a standard bench if not so tall as my old beloved bench, and the medicine ball doesn’t dangle like a dumbbell.
I grabbed a twelve pounder, a little less than half of what I usually play with, just to get the range. No clonk. It actually felt like work on account of having to maintain a grip on the ball that would prevent it from dropping on either the floor or my face at the extremes of the movement. The face end was especially ticklish. I did a nice 15-rep set, feeling my shoulder capsules open out, and filed the move for future use, sometime when I feel like trotting up front to get to the medicine balls with handles on them. It was already snowing like angel dandruff out there and I had overstayed my workout time as it was.
It’s a nice change from a gym that has no balls at all. Actually the old place does have one pair of the Swiss ones, sternly confined to a “stretching room” where there is no space to actually use them, but no one ever pumps them up any more.