Let’s cut straight to the point, much like the coaching philosophy in that quote from Reyes. We’re not here to sugarcoat the realities of modern football. The game, at its highest levels, is a relentless test of physical and mental extremes, and speed is arguably the most glamorized metric of them all. Everyone wants to know: just how fast are these athletes, and what does that number really mean in the grand scheme of the sport? Having spent years analyzing performance data and watching countless hours of game tape, I’ve come to see average speed as a fascinating, yet often misunderstood, figure. It’s not just a number on a stats sheet; it’s a story of position, context, and pure, unadulterated explosiveness.

So, what is the average speed of a football player? Well, you have to define your terms. Are we talking top speed, or average speed over the course of a match? For a full 90-minute game, the average outfield player covers about 10-12 kilometers, but that’s distance, not pace. The actual average speed, when you factor in walking, jogging, and standing, sits somewhere in the range of 7-8 kilometers per hour. Now, that sounds almost laughably slow, doesn’t it? A brisk walking pace. But that’s the whole point—it’s an average that masks the extreme bursts that define the sport. It’s in those bursts where the magic, and the true differentiation, happens. A winger’s peak sprint speed is what captures headlines. We’re seeing players like Kylian Mbappé and Alphonso Davies clock registered top speeds exceeding 36 kilometers per hour, with some data even pushing toward 38 km/h. That’s world-class sprinting. A central midfielder, orchestrating play, might have a lower average match speed but an incredibly high number of high-intensity runs. Their engine is different. A center-back’s average might be pulled down by more positional, lateral movements, but their explosive acceleration over 5-10 yards to intercept a pass is a critical, and often overlooked, metric.

This is where Reyes’s no-nonsense attitude resonates for me. If you can’t handle the physical demand of these repeated, maximal efforts—if you can’t accept that your average speed stat looks pedestrian while your body is screaming from anaerobic exertion—then you might not survive in today’s game. The data doesn’t lie, and neither do the coaches. I remember reviewing tracking data from a top-flight match where a fullback had an average speed of just 7.5 km/h. On paper, underwhelming. But the context showed he’d hit over 34 km/h on three separate recovery sprints to stop clear chances. That’s the duality. The “average” is almost a decoy. The valuable insight is in the peak velocity, the number of sprints over 30 km/h, and the acceleration metrics from a standstill. That’s what separates players. When I present this to clubs, I often say the average speed is the calm ocean surface, but the sprint data is the hidden, powerful undercurrent that pulls everything along.

How does this compare to other sports? It’s a favorite comparison of mine. An elite soccer player’s average match speed is significantly lower than a basketball player’s, for instance, where the constant end-to-end action keeps averages higher. But the peak speeds in football can rival those of rugby wingers and even approach, though not quite match, the sustained speeds of elite 400-meter runners in their event. The key differentiator is that footballers achieve these peaks unpredictably, with minimal rest, and often with technical demands like ball control or a tactical foul on their mind. A sprinter’s 36 km/h is a pure, linear explosion. A footballer’s 36 km/h might involve a subtle change of direction, a glance over the shoulder, and a decision to cross or shoot. It’s a more cognitively loaded speed, which makes it all the more impressive in my book.

In the end, the pursuit of higher averages and higher peaks is reshaping training. The game is getting faster. Data from the last decade shows a clear upward trend in high-intensity running distances. The “average” is creeping up because the slow periods are becoming less frequent and the fast periods more intense. My personal view? We’ve become obsessed with the top-speed number, sometimes to the detriment of appreciating repeatability. I’d take a player who can hit 33 km/h ten times a game over the one who hits 36 once and is gassed. It’s about sustainable explosiveness. So, while the average speed of a footballer might seem modest at around 7-8 km/h, it is merely the canvas. The real artwork is painted with strokes of 30+ km/h sprints, the brutal accelerations, and the mental fortitude to do it all again in the 90th minute. That’s the uncompromising standard today’s players must meet. As Reyes implied, there’s no room for those who can’t handle that truth. The data tells the story, and the story is one of ever-increasing, savage pace.