The word you want is ambipedal
Strictly speaking, ambidextrous does not apply to feet. The word comes from the Latin ambi- ("both") and dexter ("right"), so it literally means something like two right hands. Feet were never part of the deal.
The word you are looking for is ambipedal: ambi- plus ped-, both feet. In sport, and especially in football, almost nobody says that — they say two-footed.
So if you can kick, balance and push off equally well with either foot, you are ambipedal, or two-footed. And if you have ever wondered whether that is normal, the honest answer is that it is rarer than you think, and far more trainable than you think.
Why the two words are not symmetrical
There is a small curiosity buried in the etymology that I find genuinely delightful.
Ambidextrous is a compliment baked into a word. Dexter in Latin did not only mean "right" — it also meant favourable, skilled, lucky. Its opposite, sinister, meant "left" and also unlucky. So calling someone ambidextrous is literally saying they have two good hands, two lucky hands.
Ambipedal carries none of that. Ped- is purely anatomical. Nobody in Rome thought one foot was morally superior to the other.
Which tells you something about how we treat the two halves of the body. We have spent centuries judging hands and almost entirely ignoring feet — and that neglect is exactly why foot dominance behaves so differently from hand dominance.
How common is it to be two-footed
Here the data is surprisingly good. A 2020 meta-analysis pooled 164 studies and 145,135 people to estimate how footedness is distributed[1]. Depending on how strictly you define it, between 12.1% and 23.7% of people are not straightforwardly right-footed.
Compare that with hands. The best estimate for left-handedness is about 10.6%, and for true ambidexterity — equal skill at everything, with either hand — well under 1%.
The gap is the interesting part. Mixed-footedness is far more common than mixed-handedness, and the reason is almost embarrassingly simple: school forced you to pick a hand for writing. Nothing ever forced you to pick a foot. One large survey found roughly 30% of people are mixed-footed, against about 9% who are mixed-handed.
Your feet, in other words, were never disciplined. They kept an openness your hands lost at the age of five.
There is a second reason researchers care about feet.
Because footedness escaped the cultural pressure that shaped handedness — no teacher ever slapped a child's left foot — it may be a cleaner window onto how your brain is actually organised than handedness is.
One influential study found that footedness predicted emotional lateralisation better than handedness did[2].
Your feet, it turns out, may be more honest about your brain than your hands are.
Right-handed and left-footed
Now the fact that surprises almost everyone, including me when I first read it.
Cross-dominance is not evenly distributed. Among left-handers, roughly 60% are also left-footed — but among right-handers, only about 3% are left-footed[1].
Read that again. If you are left-handed, your feet probably followed your hands. If you are right-handed, they almost certainly did too — but a large slice of right-handers, around 30%, sit in the mixed-footed middle, using different feet for different jobs without ever noticing[3].
That middle group is the one I care about, because it includes a lot of people who assume they are entirely right-side dominant and are quietly wrong. You might kick a ball right-footed, hop better on your left, and trap a pass with whichever foot arrives first.
If you have never actually checked which side you favour, the ambidextrous test is the fastest way to find out where you are starting from. It measures hands, but the pattern it reveals is usually the same one your feet follow.

Why footballers are the exception
If two-footedness is rare in the general population, it is noticeably less rare among athletes. The same meta-analysis found left-footedness is elevated in athletes relative to everyone else[1].
Part of that is selection — a left-footed player is valuable, so more of them make it. But a large part is simply training volume. A professional has kicked a ball more times by sixteen than most of us will in a lifetime, and coaches drill the weak foot relentlessly, because a one-footed player is a predictable player.
Even so, genuinely two-footed professionals stay rare: estimates put them at roughly one in six players in Europe's top leagues. If that many professionals never fully develop the second foot, it tells you something honest about how much work it takes.
I have written separately about what being ambidextrous means in football, including which players actually deserve the label.
Can you train your weaker foot
Yes — and more easily than you can train your weaker hand.
Writing is a fantastically precise task: your dominant hand has decades of fine-motor programming that your other hand simply does not have. Kicking, balancing and pushing off are gross motor skills. The gap between your two feet is smaller to begin with, so it closes faster.
There is also a genuine assist from your nervous system. Practising a movement with one limb produces measurable improvement in the untrained limb on the opposite side — an effect called intermanual transfer, well documented for hands and the same principle that makes weak-foot work pay off quicker than you would expect[4].
Expect awkwardness for the first two or three weeks. Expect it to feel like your leg belongs to someone else. That feeling is the point — it is what learning actually feels like from the inside.
Four drills for your weaker foot
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Stand on it. Single-leg balance, barefoot, 60 seconds each side, eyes open. When that gets easy, close your eyes. This is the cheapest and most useful drill on the list.
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Wall passes. Ten minutes, weak foot only, against a wall. Not powerful — accurate. Aim at a specific brick and keep aiming at it.
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Stairs. Lead with the weaker foot every time you go up a step, for a week. You will forget constantly. That is fine, just restart.
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Toe pickups. Pick a sock up off the floor with your toes, weak foot only, ten times a day. Absurd, mildly humiliating, and genuinely effective for foot dexterity.
Ten focused minutes beats an exhausted hour. Consistency is the whole game.
The same logic applies to hands, and if you want the fuller version of this I have collected the whole set in my guide to exercises to become ambidextrous.
Have you tried training your weak foot? Tell me in the comments how long it took before it stopped feeling ridiculous.
Both hands, both feet
Training your weaker foot teaches you something that goes well beyond football: the side of your body you have been ignoring is not incapable, it is just untrained.
That realisation is what sent me down this road in the first place. I started with my hands, expecting very little, and found a level of control I had assumed was simply not available to me. The feet came later, and easier.
In my book "How to Become Ambidextrous" I have put together the structured version of that journey — a full assessment, dozens of graded exercises for writing, drawing and coordination, and a day-by-day programme for turning your non-dominant side from a passenger into a partner.
It is the guide I wanted when I began, and I wrote it for people who are curious enough to actually try.
- Four meta-analyses across 164 studies on atypical footedness prevalence and its relation to handedness
- Footedness is a better predictor than is handedness of emotional lateralization
- 5 Scientific Facts About Left-Footedness - Psychology Today
- Specialization in interlimb transfer between dominant and non-dominant hand skills