As teenagers, a group of friends and I spent every spare moment at school playing tag. The game developed into more than just chasing each other round the playground; it involved strategy and cunning. But when I failed to tag someone in the last moments before school broke up for summer – he'd locked himself in his car to avoid it – I resigned myself to for ever being "it".

We all went our separate ways, off to college or moving away for work, so the game fizzled out. Then a reunion brought the 10 of us together again a few years later and someone suggested reviving it. Since we had busy lives and lived hundreds of miles apart, we agreed on three rules. First, we would play it only in February each year; second, you were not allowed immediately to tag back the person who had tagged you; and finally, you had to declare to the group that you were "it".

Now we are grown men, we don't run like Usain Bolt, so subterfuge and collusion have become our weapons. Eleven months of the year are spent planning. Collaborating with a friend is where the fun is – we can spend hours discussing approaches.

I was tagged spectacularly a few years back when a friend popped round to show me his new car. As I approached it, Sean sprang out of the boot where he'd been hiding and tagged me. He'd flown 800 miles from Seattle to San Francisco just to stop being "it" – to shrug off the "mantle of shame", as we call it. My wife was so startled she fell and injured her knee, but she wasn't angry; she was pleased to see Sean. All our partners are good-natured about the game – they even get involved in the sting operations.

Some things we did early on we wouldn't do now – like when Mike sneaked into Brian's house at night, crept into the bedroom and woke him up to tag him, surprising the life out of him and his girlfriend.

Perhaps one of the most unexpected tags was during Mike's father's funeral. During the service, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Joe mouthing, "You're it." Afterwards, he said his father would have approved, because he found our game hilarious.

When the month arrives, you feel as edgy as a deer in hunting season, locking doors and checking under cars to avoid being caught. When a friend stops answering his phone, you know he's up to something – and your days are numbered. Patrick, who does everything he can to avoid being caught, sometimes spends February in Hawaii. When he learned that he was likely to be tagged as he arrived at the airport, he hired a man to hold up a card with his name on it in arrivals, so one of us would wait near it. Then he slipped out of another exit.

As well as nerve-racking, it's hugely enjoyable, and I love the ingenuity involved. When the game had a lull a few years back, my daughter persuaded me to reactivate it; we disguised ourselves as an elderly couple and surprised Joe in a restaurant. His double take was classic.

Sometimes the strategies don't come to fruition. Mike once flew to Boston and staked out Chris's place, hiding in bushes and searching in bars, only to discover after two days that he was away for the weekend.

I also had a thwarted attempt when I wanted to create a diversion by starting a fire in a front garden. I spent hours discussing how to do it with a chemist friend – we were considering burning magnesium in a pumpkin – but it was just too difficult. I had to draw the line at damaging property. Another tentative plan is to buy an old car and somehow orchestrate bumping into my prey's car with a friend; it's going to be hard to pull off, but I've got a few months to finalise details.

Sometimes we allow friends a grace period – Chris is currently enjoying time off as he has two-year-old triplets and a four-year-old son. I don't think his wife would appreciate him spending hours on this when his hands are full.

The best thing about the game is that it has kept us in touch over all these years – it forces us to meet and has formed a strong bond between us, almost like brothers. How many fortysomethings can say they still see nine friends they went to school with? We joke that we'll still be playing in our retirement homes. I plan to use a wheelchair instead of a Zimmer frame, because it's faster.

• As told to Emily Cunningham

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